- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Baking with My Mama
When I was younger I use to watch my mama bake cakes and pies for family gatherings. I use to say to myself “one day im going to be able to bake as well as my mama can”, and I did just that.
I woke up one morning and saw that my mama was at work and my older brother was asleep, so I decided to go and bake my mama some cookies for her afternoon snack. I went in the kitchen and got everything I needed – eggs, flour, sugar, milk, and chocolate chips to put in the cookies. I started mixing everything together and it was looking like everything was coming out the right way, but then I realized that I did not know how much of each ingredient to put in the bowl and I didn’t know what temperature to put the oven on, so I guess. It was going on 10:00 a.m. and my brother woke up, when he got to the kitchen his mouth dropped and he said,
“What in the world did you do to the kitchen?”
“I was trying to make mama some cookies to eat after she got off of work”
“Well your doing a bad job and if the kitchen looks like this when mama gets home somebody’s going to be in trouble and its not going to be me.”
Well I can clean it up as soon as my cookies get done, which should be ready right about now.”
The timer went off and my brother pulled the tray out of the oven and put it on the shelf, to let them cool off. When the cookies cooled down my brother picked one up a bit it, and then he spit it out.
“These cookies are horrible; it tastes like sugar and salt”
“No they don’t.”
I picked one up and bit it, and he was right my cookies were horrible and they tasted nothing like my mama’s. I sat on the floor and started to cry because my brother was laughing at me and I had a lot to clean up.
When my mama made it home my brother met her at the door to give her the cookies. She bit it and looked at me.
“These cookies taste different, who made them?”
“Your daughter” my annoying brother blurted out.
“Nice try, but the next time you want to bake something tell me and I will help you.”
Every time my mama bakes something she had me in the kitchen, so that I could see everything she does. Now I can go in the kitchen and make a cake just as well as my mama can.