Easy Baking Dream

There was something I wanted for my 13th birthday that I didn’t even know existed. The second of November involved a typical celebration. All the gifts were what most boys my age were requesting and I certainly wasn’t ungrateful. But, a little more than one month later, on Christmas morning, I was biting my lip waiting for my little sister to open her final gift. Only, she was content with the ones she had already opened. My presents were all completely unwrapped and unboxed, yet, I had an unfulfilled feeling inside, but I wasn’t sure what to name it.

Disappointment?

Even though Joanna still had one more present to open, she was contently playing with her new Baby doll. I could barely sit still and focus on my new toys, because I had a feeling I knew what was in that final box.

“There’s only one box left, and it has your name on it, Jay,” I clarified; trying my best to coax my sister to open it, but she was not getting the hint. Since our mother was snapping pictures left and right, I decided to try something sneaky.

“Mom, would you take a picture of me with all my presents?” I asked taking great pains to set them up all around me. She did.

“Now, how about taking one of Joanna with her presents?” I suggested. “Oh wait! Joanna has one more that she hasn’t opened yet. Here Jay,” I said. “You can just rip it open really quick so mom can take a picture with all your gifts.” She obliged and our mom snapped the picture. I tried to be nonchalant when I “helped” her by opening the box.

Joanna didn’t seem to care at all. She was only interested in her new doll.

Nevertheless, I went as far as pulling the mini oven out of the box and continued to act as though I was just “helping” her.

“Look, the pots are just like mom’s and there’s cake mixes, too.” I confirmed. Again, Joanna was not at all impressed. I realized I had slipped up when I said, “we could make our own cakes.” Joanna still did not even glance at the Easy Bake Oven. But I knew my statement would not get past our mother. I didn’t dare look up at her because I knew she would be frowning. She was not at all open to my interest in cooking. Or to me playing with my sister’s toys. I don’t know why. My dad was even worse. If he found me in the kitchen, he would always make sure I was just looking for food. I didn’t understand their fear, though. Could it be that medieval idea that it would make me gay? And, if I were gay, how would not cooking change that?

I left the oven alone and played with my own presents acting like I was happy with my gifts, but it was just a show. Inside, I was screaming to be able to begin making brownies, cakes and muffins in that stupid hunk of plastic with a lightbulb for heat. Why do they ask what we want for a present, but only accept a certain stereotypical answer, I wondered?

Later, in the afternoon, I went to Joanna’s room.

“Hey, don’t you want to make a cake with your new oven?” I said pointing to the cake on the box.

“We can make chocolate cake anytime we want.”

She had tired of her dolls and welcomed my intrusion.

“Ok. Will you help me?”

“Of course,” I said eagerly grabbing the instruction book and acting like I was reading it for her benefit. I now had her undivided attention.

“Get the bowl and empty the packet into it,” I instructed as I reached for her unopened water bottle. Using the measuring cup to measure a quarter cup of water, I told her to “pour the water into the bowl and mix it up.”

“Now, go to the kitchen and ask mom for an egg,” I told Joanna as I was plugging in the oven to heat it up. She left the room smiling enthusiastically. Please don’t let mom say no, I prayed.

Joanna did not even ask; she just went to the fridge and took one. Most of the time, she destroyed every plan I concocted; but this time, she made it even better.

“Way to go, sis,” I praised.

Showing Joanna how to whip the mixture with the tiny whisk, I remembered that mom had cherry flavoring and cherries in the fridge. So, I snuck down to get them and a couple other things I thought I might use, since I knew the kitchen was free. Once I added the cherry flavoring, I poured the batter into the pan. Joanna was not nearly as excited as I was. While we waited for the cake to cook, I, uncharacteristically, hung out in her room. When the cake was ready, I slid it out of the oven, and placed the pan on a towel to cool. Then, I set a timer for 10 minutes and went back to my room in case mom decided to check on us.

Rushing back in when the timer went off, I flipped the pan and deposited the cake onto a plate. Then, after cutting the sides off to make it square, I let Joanna ice the top. When she finished, I cut the leftover pieces and arranged them to make a circle shaped second layer using icing to hold them together. Next, I made a zig zag design by thinning the icing provided and drizzling it back and forth. My crown jewel was a piece of toffee on the top center with cherries all around it. I was so engrossed that I hadn’t noticed my sister with her mouth hanging open. Lastly, I shaved white chocolate over the top layer. When I finished, she squealed as she jumped up and down.

The small cake was beautiful. Joanna just stared at me.

“Wow. It looks way better than mommy’s,” she said. “Let’s eat it,” she said grabbing a fork.

“Wait!” I said. “I need pictures.” As I ran to get my phone, Joanna ran to get our mother. During the photoshoot of my first masterpiece, my mom entered the room.

“Where did this come from,” she asked. “It looks like an expensive dessert.”

“Mommy, Dylan made it with the Easy Bake Oven,” Joanna explained.

“What? That isn’t possible. Dylan, where did this come from?

“Joanna and I made it, mom.” I answered, amazed that she thought we bought it from a store and careful to say my sister’s name first.

“It’s the chocolate cake bundle that came with the Easy Bake Oven. Would you like a slice?”

“I don’t believe this, Dylan. How did you know how to do this?”

“I am not sure mom. I just know that it is the most amazing feeling creating something so beautiful and edible, as well. I want to be a chef. Maybe, a pastry chef,” I pondered, no longer caring about her opposition.

“Well, I sure would pay money for a cake that looks like this, honey,” said mom. “Joanna, go get your father,” mom demanded.

“Ok, mommy.”

Oh no, my palms started to sweat as I wondered if my dad was going to blow a gasket.

“What is all the fuss about?” asked dad.

“Honey, look at the amazing cake our son made.”

“What? Dylan, you made that?” he questioned. “Babe, give him the keys to your kitchen,” said my father proudly as he picked up the tiny work of art and carried it to the kitchen.

“How come you guys always seemed so against me doing any cooking before?” I asked confused. “Is it because you thought I would be gay?”

“Gay? No, son.” Dad clarified. “Your mom just wanted to let you enjoy not having to worry about cooking as long as possible.”

“Yea, my mom made me start cooking when I was only nine. So, I did not want you to have to be concerned with the kitchen before high school, anyway. But if you want to get started now that is fine with me,” she said handing me an apron.

“Awesome, but you’re going to teach me some stuff first, right?”

“Sure, Dylan. I’ll teach you everything I know.”

“You can do that later,” yelled Joanna. “I want to eat the pretty cake.”

I cut the cake into 4 small slices and handed them out. That tiny lightbulb was probably not the best means for “cooking.” My sister’s grimace said it all. We laughed and laughed as she ran to the fridge for some juice to “wash it down.”

“It sure looked pretty, Dylan, but it tasted gross,” Joanna proclaimed.

Mom and I immediately decided to make a regular sized cake in her regular sized oven. Dad sat at the counter and interjected his opinions while Joanna fished out every bowl, pot and utensil we needed, so she could say that she helped.

The kitchen became a gathering place for our family. We had many adventures into the unknown there, especially when I entered school for my culinary arts degree. Mom, dad and Joanna were quite impressed with my abilities and regularly dined on my creations.

But, the true testament, is my pastry business, Easy Bake Dream which I have owned for the past five years. A copy of that first Easy Bake Oven cake photo hangs on the wall right next to one of me in my chef’s uniform. Almost every customer peers at it and says there is no way I made that with an Easy Bake Oven. But Joanna is always right there to confirm that her little oven ignited my passion for creating beautifully decadent treats.