Bake with Me

In a couple of days my dear mum will come and visit us from Sweden. This morning I was trying to plan things to do together supplementary to the lamb scented Easter Sunday in our garden. On the top of my list I put baking cinnamon buns. Not something that you imagining doing when on holiday in Greece, but something I’m longing to do with my mum. It might sound silly and housewifely, but baking with my mother makes me feel happy. It is the whole process that brings me joy, from preparing the dough, to spreading the cinnamon butter and feeling the heat from the oven to see the buns swell and then to take that first bite of a hot bun. The keyword here is to do all of that together. When I share the cinnamon-bun-practice with my mum I travel back in time and I’m a little girl again. Sometimes it feels good and therapeutic to lose that “mother apron” that is so tightly tied around my waist. For me those moments are precious. Truthfully, since I left home and became an expat far away from my Swedish family, those moments are like fuel for me.

I have come across this fantastic Swedish company Bombadill that makes toy-cakes and food. In their range they also have cinnamon buns. I’m seriously thinking of getting a couple of those and some of their other pastries to my son’s imaginary café in his play house. They will go very well with his make-believe coffee and tea made of dried grass.