When I picture my mom's hands, I see them rolling out dough. I see them patting a sugar cut-out onto her palm to loosen it. Tap tap. It falls gently into her hands, then she places it effortlessly onto a sheet. With my grandma's, they are squeezing a pastry bag, turning out a delicate rose. She knows just where to place it as she eyes the cake.
There is a strong tradition of baking and decorating in my family. My grandmother sold wedding and birthday cakes for most of her life. My mother just retired her Christmas Oven business, having baked over 500 dozen cookies every December for nearly 50 years. Every holiday and event in my life included beautiful cakes and themed cookies.
I spent countless hours with my mother in the kitchen, helping her with the constant baking projects. For more elaborate decorating, I headed over to my grandmother's house. I loved to watch her write on her cakes with such disciplined cursive. I aspired to become a great decorator just like her.
I carry on these traditions. I continue to bake and decorate, using all the knowledge and skill passed onto me. I have inherited many of their supplies and have put them to good use. And the next generation of family pastry chefs are eagerly being trained as well.
But as I turn pots in my studio, I also see how those same skills being tapped there. My hands roll, pinch and prod with that practiced amount of pressure. My tendency to add ornamentation to each piece draws from the traditions of pastry work. I envision the scalloped edges of my grandmother's cakes as I spin the banding wheel and apply my brush. I imagine the care that my mother gave each detail. I am grateful for all the hours in their kitchens. The art made by their hands will not be forgotten.
