I have come to the conclusion, after years of gendered effort, that I am not a baker. I enjoy baked goods – very much so – and I can throw together a one-bowl banana bread for lunchbox filler no worries. But over the last eight years I have become acutely aware of my lack of baking enthusiasm thanks to the multi-annual pressures of the Children’s Birthday Cake.
You have probably seen and even participated in baking competitions played out in subtle and not-so-subtle ways within the parenting world. While I of course applaud anyone for whom cake decorating brings joy, it’s one area of my life where I have consciously decided to exert very little creative effort. The musk stick that broke the buttercream-frosted camel’s back was that year a friend helped me fashion some Coles sponge bricks into the shape of a recycling truck. It did not taste good. That cake preceded my next share-worthy effort: decanting a tub of icecream into a cake mould, et voila.
Point being, I was definitely NOT going to be baking for this exhibition challenge. My plans to source vintage recipe books – maybe even the bible of birthday party caking (you know the one) – were thwarted by that thwarter-of-all-things, Covid-19. Art supply stores, always worth a wander if only for the myriad paper options to touch and inspire, were also off limits. All that remained as a source of materials was the supermarket.
While at this time the supermarket is a sanctioned respite from the four walls of home, it’s undoubtedly a breeding ground for contagious anxiety. The ingredients for this work were less intentionally selected and more haphazardly grabbed, my reluctance to be seen lingering too long in one aisle (nor panic-buy — it’s a fine line!).
Making this piece at the kitchen bench – not only because it’s a food prep space, but because all other home-based work spaces are currently tenanted – made me think about the female experience of party hosting and the competitions we enter into with ourselves to do it all and show it off.
A couple of weeks into isolation, it was my oldest son’s birthday. We put an IOU on the party and enjoyed a simple household dinner. There was spaghetti & ice cream & new LEGO. All the things he likes but rarely gets all in one day. The vibe was the same – elation and general merriment – without the extreme food preparation sessions or the need to appease multiples of children and adults with a creative and personality-appropriate baked centerpiece. Happy Birthday was sung multiple times, mostly as a handwashing guide. It was the best anniversary of my first birth day ever.
Like many of you, once we have won our right to party again, I’m hoping what lingers from this pandemic is the conviction that we can be just as happy with simpler things. There’s no need for competition or trying to make a thing from a magazine that is actually scaffolded with carved foam and sewing pins. Crack a pack of bikkies, lather some bread with 100s and 1000s, cut Bega into cubes and enjoy the company. There’s no need to keep up with the Joneses… just being together in person is enough.
