This is me and my mom, a few years ago on Cape Cod, in Massachusetts.

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This is me (on the right) and my mom – and sister, brother, and dad – one long-ago Christmas.

Somewhere in between those two snapshots in time, my mom taught me to bake.

Mom wasn't the world's most avid baker, and never claimed to be. She was more the handyman type (since Dad proclaimed himself a “mechanical Christian Scientist”).

Mom could build shelves, fix bikes, repair the washing machine... AND bake homemade bread and cookies and pie. White bread. Apple pie. And oatmeal cookies, snickerdoodles, chocolate crinkles...

Now that I think about it, Mom baked quite a lot. Back then, baking wasn't a leisure time activity; it was just something moms did. For the bake sale. For your lunchbox. For your birthday, of course.

And on Sunday, back when that day was an actual day of rest. No shopping; the stores were all closed. It was fancy breakfast, church, and big midday dinner.

Cinnamon-Streusel Coffeecake


Our Sunday breakfast was always one of two things: cinnamon-streusel coffeecake, or cinnamon buns. The coffeecake I loved because Mom always let me have the sugary crumbs in the bottom of the pan, after it was served. The best part of cinnamon buns? Licking the spoon after she'd spread on the icing, of course.

I watched. I scooped peanut butter cookies and made the fork marks on top. I poured muffin batter into the pan, spread butter on top of just-baked bread to keep the crust soft, and (haltingly) rolled out pie crust. And always, licked the beaters and bowl, learning to associate baking with yummy flavors and Mom time.

And gradually, I became a baker. No formal lessons; just osmosis, and the constant passing of wisdom from parent to child.

Now I bake every day. I've gone way beyond those initial cookies and breakfast sweets; now Mom reads this blog. And (she says), learns from me.

But I'd never be where I am today unless someone, long ago, took my hand and showed me the way. With patience, guidance, and love.

Thanks, Mom. I owe it all to you.

Oh – and if you want to re-create those Sunday cinnamon buns, I've worked up a recipe I think you'll love: Now or Later Cinnamon Buns. We'll make them together next time I visit, OK?

Now or Later Cinnamon Buns


Happy Mother's Day, to our mothers everywhere!

Readers, please share your family baking memories in the comments section below. We look forward to hearing from you.

[Ed. note: It's late in the evening of Mother's Day, and I'd like to thank each and every one of you for the wonderful stories you've posted in the comments section below. Funny, bittersweet heartwarming... And at the end of the day – particularly this special day – what it all boils down to is this: love is the answer.]

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The Author

About PJ Hamel

PJ Hamel grew up in New England, graduated from Brown University, and was an award-winning Maine journalist (favorite topics: sports and food) before joining King Arthur Flour in 1990. Hired to write the newly launched Baker’s Catalogue, PJ became the small but growing company’s sixth employee.&nbsp...
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Comments

Sharon

May 9, 2010 at 3:34pm

My Mom was the youngest of 4 girls. One could cook like an angel (if angels cook), one was the family baker, who baked lemon meringue pies to cry for and tiny cinnamon rolls she baked in a square pan which my brother and I could finish in one sitting along with an unreasonable amount of sweet butter, one could sew and knit, and there was my Mom, who burnt every pot she cooked in, even water! Because of her (or in spite of her), I learned early on to cook and bake and love it. Perhaps she wasn't very good in the kitchen, but our house was filled with laughter all the time. I hope my daughters remember me with the love I still feel for my mother.
Susan Kehoe-Laptew

May 9, 2010 at 3:29pm

Mom taught us to bake early on - my earliest memory is spooning chocolate chip cookie dough at age 5. We always did birthday cakes and lamb shaped cakes at Easter. Mom died in 1999. but her recipes and gift of fun while baking lives on.
Jeanne from NJ

May 9, 2010 at 3:03pm

My mother was an artist whose creativity did not extend to the kitchen. She only made 3 dishes that were exceptionally good -- meat loaf, cole slaw, and a cake dessert she called cottage pudding -- but she taught me those and encouraged my incomprehensible (to her) interest in baking & cooking, signing me up for a 4-H club as soon as I was old enough, eating my leaden cakes and leathery pie crusts until they actually became praise-worthy, and finally bragging about my talents and county fair ribbons with wonder and a little envy. Obviously, you don't have to be a good cook to be a great mother.
Mike T.

May 9, 2010 at 2:54pm

We always had something baked in the house. Whether it was pies, cakes, cinnamon rolls or just cookies, there was always something. I can remember her and my grandmother rolling and cutting cinnamon rolls when I got home from school. :-) She would let me help her mix up cakes, and of course, lick the beaters. That led me to baking cakes whenever she and my dad went out with their friends and left my sister and me at home. It was my chance to "do it myself" and that's what led me to building my baking skills. I new mothers that would have a fit that their kid was doing something like operating a hot oven and using a mixer without them there, but mine never did. I think they just liked coming home with their friends in tow and having something fresh waiting for them. I know she was always so proud telling them that "Michael made this". :-) Ah, good memories...
Kathleen

May 9, 2010 at 2:53pm

Mom never baked bread until later in life when she got a bread maker, but cakes and pies and cookies, oh my! She even made cream puffs and other delicacies for us. Christmas was our favorite time in the kitchen, making mincemeat filled cookies, spice cookies, and the most delicate sandies, among others. When each of my brothers married, we were charged with teaching them to make Shoo-fly pie, too. Birthdays were an occasion for us to select the menu and she would always make me a devil's food cake with green cream cheese frosting - not matter what anyone said! Thanks for bringing up this topic - there are some very happy memories there.
Jay

May 9, 2010 at 2:33pm

Being one of 5 kids, my mother was always baking when we were growing up -- but my favorite memory is the birthday cake she made for my 4th birthday -- 3 tiers, like a wedding cake, with those rock-hard white sugary birds and roses they used to sell -- but boy oh boy was I in heaven! She always baked using a "Foley Fork" that my Dad had welded back together several times -- when my sister and I discovered that our brother has thrown "that old fork" out after Mom passed away, we almost disowned him! We both still love to bake and continue to do so for friends, family, even our dogs. Thanks Mom!
Maureen

May 9, 2010 at 2:16pm

What a beautiful post! This is our first Mother's Day without my Mom, who died just before Christmas. She and my grandmother taught me how to bake and cook, and I remember lots of wonderful times in the kitchen. (In an Irish-Italian family, much of our time was - and still is - spent in the kitchen.) My greatest accomplishment was my first loaf of bread at age 12, which turned out so well that Mom let me take over the bread-baking. I felt so proud! As an adult, I often thanked my mother for teaching me how to bake and giving me not only a practical skill but many warm memories. My older sister, her younger daughter (now a mom herself) and I recently spent the afternoon recreating our aunt's rice torta and recalling what it was like to grow up with such good food and togetherness. Those times are priceless. It is indeed a gift of love and nurturing that we pass on from generation to generation. Thanks for all that you do at King Arthur to help carry on the tradition. Happy Mother's Day!
Nancy J

May 9, 2010 at 2:05pm

Circa 1956, when I was about 6 years old I was helping Mom mix something (tasty, I'm sure) in the electric mixer. Somehow my long ponytail got caught in the beaters and it pulled my head down to the bowl. My Mom kept her cool and extricated my hair from the beaters and we went back to the bathroom for a shampoo. She did not appear to have lost focus and I had no idea how upset with herself she was. I only learned that years later. Just think of all the kitchen accidents our Moms handled without any big fuss, just doing what needed done. Thanks to Mom, I love to bake. I do have a healthy respect for my electric mixer.
Marsha

May 9, 2010 at 1:52pm

As a child, I remember Mommy making special Baker's coconut "cut-up" cakes for our birthdays, in the shapes of teddy bears or other fun things. As an adult, she gave me my favorite cookbook in 1972, "The Joy of Cooking." When I discovered KAF in 2004, the "Baker's Companion" became my favorite.
Nancy Humbach

May 9, 2010 at 1:49pm

During the War, Mom and I spent a lot of time at home cooking. One day when I was about three, she was baking pies. I wanted to bake a pie, too. So she told me to wash my hands and she would help me. I did as told (washing palms only, of course) and assured her my hands were clean. She gave me a small piece of pie dough and a rolling pin. By the time I was finished, the dough had fallen on the floor a couple of times, was mangled by slightly clean hands until had taken on an ominous shade of gray. Undaunted by the mess and gray dough, Mom put some apples in the dough, already in a very small pie tin. We baked it and I designated it for "Daddy's lunch" the next day. I just found out, about 65 years later, that she secretly threw it out, after Dad praised me to the heavens and told me it was the best apple pie ever. To this day, I love baking pies, an art I learned from Mom, whose pies were the favorites of everyone among family and friends.

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