Since yesterday’s weather conditions were pretty much like Monday’s, only worse… I occupied myself with (GASP!) baking. Now, some of you might wonder what the big deal is here, but believe me, for those who know me best this revelation will come as a shock and they probably need to grab a cookie just to get back off the floor. I am not exactly what one might call “domestic”. I’d much rather go for a 15 mile run or find a sunny spot by the pool and read a good book in my spare time than spend it with cooking utensils cluttering the shiny, unused kitchen counters.

There really is no good explanation when it comes to my lack of desire for domestic bliss. All logic would tell you that the circumstances under which I grew up would have left me nothing short of a domestic goddess. Both my mom and grandma were full time home makers and took their roles extremely serious by basically  spending their entire lives in the kitchen. While I was growing up my parents and grandparents all lived under one roof. Ma and Pa upstairs, Oma and Opa downstairs (my room, incidentally, was downstairs as well which made for easy midnight escapes through the window, but that’s another story). My grandparents were both retired by the time I reached toddlerhood and Opa spent most of his days tending to his organic garden, where he grew everything from potatoes, to carrots, from beans, to black currants. As well as fruit trees of various delights. Had it not been for the occasional jar of Nutella that I insisted on we could have been self sustaining vegetarians. But then we were Germans and somehow vegetarian Germans are pretty much an oxymoron. But I digress…

From the day I could stand up on my own I spent all of my free time in Oma’s humongous kitchen which always smelled of lemon and butter. Although she was a great cook, and handed this skill down to her daughter, my mom, her specialty were baked goods and for as long as I can remember there was always something delicious coming out of the oven. “Low fat”, “butter substitute”, “egg beaters” were not part of her vocabulary and her creations were the real mccoy, laden with buttery goodness and sugary deliciousness. She loved baking with yeast and it was my job to knead the dough with my bare hands as she did not believe in mechanical kitchen devices. Her Zwetchgenkuchen with fresh plums from our tree was to die for and when I was older my friends lined up on Saturday afternoons during plum season to get a piece, or two, or… of the pie, always covered with freshly whipped cream.

After my grandpa passed away, Oma lost her motivation for cooking and spent less and less time creating her masterpieces. Opa and yours truly had been her biggest fans and since neither of us ever had to watch our weight we were also her biggest consumers. But by the time Opa died I was well into my teenage years and my brain was occupied with anything but cake, although one might argue that the consistency was similar. In the end Oma resorted to eating with my parents and my mother became the only cook and baker in our house. Oma’s kitchen became more and more deserted, sort of like mine looks now. Ma was less adventurous when it came to the oven and stuck with her few staples. Her specialty really was cooking. I have never been a big eater and all throughout childhood mealtimes were a battle of wills between my mother and myself, most of which I won. This might explain why cooking as become more of a necessity than a pleasure in my life. I do it, of course, but it is not something I will ever get excited about. Given a choice I prefer to go out to eat bake but it is definitely not something I do often, which leads me back to yesterday’s adventure in flour throwing. I have to admit here that my biggest hang up is the inevitable mess it creates. Have I mentioned I like my kitchen counters shiny? Call me compulsive! I don’t care, as long as the house is in order! As I bake I tend to clean up every utensil I use right after I used it, even if I end up washing it six times. Although it shortens the big clean up (and believe me there always is one), it can become a logistical nightmare navigating the different bowls, measuring devices, and spoons. I also have an anal tendency! To re-read the recipe at least 12 a few times! All this always seems like too much hassle to even begin but once I get into it I really do enjoy licking the spoon the creations. And so does Hubby. And like magic the baked goods almost always turn out good as well. Maybe the apple did not fall too far from the tree after all.

In the end this was the successful outcome of a rainy afternoon:

Scones I would most definitely climb 25 stories to eat (although I did substitute the pomegranate arils – not a fan – with dried cranberries)

Light and fluffy cookies (heavily) laced with one of my most favorite liquors

Today’s Running Tip: Eat after your run!

If you eat within 30 minutes after your run, you can minimize muscle stiffness and soreness.Ideally you should consume food of a ratio of 1 gram of protein to 3 grams of carbs. A bagel with peanut butter is an excellent option, so are nutrition bars. If you do not feel like eating solid food you can opt for a smoothy made with fruit and yoghurt or low fat milk.