In August, we bring a set of new full-time writers to the blog. Today, please welcome Elisabeth Stevens (‘25), who will be writing for us on the 13th of each month. Elisabeth graduated from Calvin with majors in Spanish and strategic communication and now is a graduate student in rhetoric at Penn State. She spends her free time running, swing dancing, baking, and finding new coffee shops at which to write.

Is the first question people ask when I tell them I bake.

And it irks me.

My typical response is to chuckle and say “no, but I procrastination bake.” And they nod, understanding, as all grad students do, that productive procrastination is the bane of our academic existence. But the phrase “productive procrastination” is too limited a term to describe my relationship with baking.

You see, my introduction to baking was neither stress nor procrastination. As a homeschooled child, I pored over cookbooks while eating breakfast at the kitchen table. I made multiple passes through Mark Bittman’s How to Cook Everything Vegetarian (impossible to get through in one sitting), the Pillsbury Complete Book of Baking (featuring a broken binding and falling-out pages), and the Trinity Lutheran Book of Desserts (a hand-me down from a great grandmother). I learned about which flavor combinations work, how to know when a pudding is done, and the never-ending list of ways to make cookies. Family evenings spent watching the Great British Baking Show also featured heavily in the milieu of my baking journey, and now I (at least theoretically) know the difference between French, Swiss, and Italian meringue and the basic ratio for a Victoria’s Sponge.

But of course, baking cannot be done through books.

I don’t remember the first time I made a batch of cookies or assembled a layer cake. Perhaps my mom could tell you. All I know is that I gradually began baking snickerdoodles for every single potluck, church event, or other gathering which required food. I burnt my fingers on the krumkake iron making a multitude of Christmas cookies with cousins, aunts, and grandparents. I braided challah with my mom and crimped pie crusts with my neighbor. I discovered how humidity affects the rise of conchas and that Limpa bread should be scored before baking. I found the best chocolate cake recipe and realized that choux pastry really isn’t that scary.

Since starting grad school, my baking rhythms have changed. Sometimes they’re seasonal—fall requires pumpkin. Sometimes they’re craving-driven—the absolute necessity of chocolate shortbread. But more often than not, they’re personal—I share my grandma’s soft ginger cookie recipe with my office; I celebrate my friends’ birthdays with their favorite cakes; I produce even more snickerdoodles for yet another family gathering.

And this is the crux of the issue. Because baking is so much more than a stress reliever. Crafting a weekly batch of cookies is a moment of rest from my quotidian academic routines, but it is also a space of exploration, experimentation, and creativity. Constructing a layered birthday cake is an exercise in precision, but it is also an act of love, attentiveness, and personalization. Creating, again, an old family recipe is a holiday tradition, but it is also a deeply embodied act of remembrance.

In short, there is something absolutely magical about bringing something into existence. Participating in creation. Changing the world?

Despite my understanding of the Maillard reaction or how gluten works or the chemical reaction that makes red velvet cake distinct from chocolate cake, the joyful mystery of creating a thing, a new thing, which I can share with others, does not stop.

It is true that many of the reasons I love baking make it an excellent coping mechanism. It gives you control, it involves linear processes, it organizes time, it offers sensory engagement. And yet I lament that this joyous act of creation is so easily reduced to a stress response. I lament the ubiquity of the fact that one’s primary association with baking is that of emotional distress.

What about messily frosting Christmas cut out cookies? What about the taste of your grandma’s pie she makes every Thanksgiving? What about laughing as you realize that your donut recipe completely failed? What about licking the leftover brownie batter from the bowl?

What about the joy?

***

Do I have a solution for my stress baking related frustrations? No. I fear that would involve somehow erasing the plethora of stressors we face on a daily basis. Do I have some wisdom to offer about how baking will fix all of your problems? Also no. In all honesty, it probably won’t.

But I do have lemon blueberry pound cake waiting for me in the fridge. And exciting plans to make strawberries and cream sweet rolls tomorrow.

And, for now, I’m okay with that.

Elisabeth Stevens

Elisabeth Stevens (‘25) graduated from Calvin with majors in Spanish and strategic communication and now is a graduate student in rhetoric at Penn State. She spends her free time running, swing dancing, baking, and finding new coffee shops at which to write.