I came to baking because I got married when I was 19 years old. I had never cooked, and I had certainly not baked. I burned down my parents’ kitchen when I was 13 years old, and I was not allowed in there again. When I got married, I was a college student; my husband Michael had his first job. They didn’t have takeout the way they do now, and we didn’t have the money for it anyway. So I learned to cook, but I was very excited about it; it was a whole playing-house thing for me. I cooked some pretty disastrous meals and some not bad ones, working from cookbooks. I tried to bake and I found that I loved it. I loved the process of it. I loved the way you touch ingredients when you’re baking. I loved the magic of it, the fact that you kind of don’t know what you’re going to get. It’s the same ingredients over and over again; butter, flour, sugar, eggs, but you can get so many different things from it. Also, it didn’t hurt that when you put a homemade dessert on the table, everybody was happy.
-Dorie Greenspan talks with Christine Muhlke in the latest issue of Cherry Bombe. I love that she burned the kitchen down and still came back for more, something with which I obviously have some experience.
One of the things I love about this magazine—which is still really new; this piece is in the current, third issue—is how long it takes me to read. I got it last week, and I’m still working my way through! That’s pretty much unprecedented for me with any magazine barring the New Yorker (which, anyway, I tend to consume on my phone between 3 and 7 a.m., when my body regularly wakes me up for a very cool 4-hour party break). It feels luxurious, and not just because of the thick paper stock and the gorgeous photographs, although those things don’t hurt. It’s chock full of thoughtful Q&As, reported features, cozy essays, and beautiful images, mostly about women and food, and mostly by women. Not that I only read food writing that’s by and about women! It’s just a very appealing world they’ve created over there: Like the discreetly fancy kitchen (you know the type: French countryside vibe, vintage pastel Cuisinart mixer resting casually on the countertop) of your chic, funny friend—who, naturally, also happens to be a fantastic chef. What I’m saying is, it’s worth the $20.