My friend Nicole bakes the most delicious confections. When we lived in Holladay, she’d arrive to the cookout or rooftop party with something extravagantly hand-crafted, like an artisan lavender shortbread cookie infused with a sprig of fresh mint from her garden. Once, she tackled an oversized Yule Log for a Christmas Party and we all crowded around her campfire of sugar, cheering as it was accented with twigs of mistletoe.
Or Laurie would immaculately display each creation on her enormous collection of cake stands, sometimes drizzled with honey or accented with flowers. Pretty things taste better, she’d say. She’d show up to your dirty house on a Tuesday afternoon carrying sugar-coated orange rolls stacked on a glimmering brass tray and waltz into your entryway to declare, It’s National Friends Day! Let’s eat!
(She is obviously a favorite of mine.)
Our circle of friends had long adapted to her culinary whims, but once, at a weekend BBQ when everyone brought chips and salsa or boxed cookies, she presented over 70 homemade miniature croissants from a gingham lined picnic basket...
At the BBQ, while kids ran underfoot and kickballs flew in the air, another friend made a comment to her. Laurie! You’re making us all look bad. Can’t you just take a nap or something?
And Laurie looked at my friend, puzzled, and said, simply, You don’t get it. Baking IS my nap.
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