She fractures her soul and mixes it into pâte à choux. This is the only way she knows how to survive; baking away intrusive thoughts and feelings that take up residence in her flour-dusted mind.
70 grams super-fine almond flour.
90 grams confectioner's sugar.
45 grams of stress (although this commonly masquerades as saccharum officinarum, granulated sugar. It fluffs up just as well so she doesn't think anything of the swap) whipped with 60 grams egg whites until soft peaks.
Fold together and pipe to perfect circles. Let rest before baking.
Even if she's not perfect (and she knows she's not), her macarons are. That's enough for her, for now.
Her delights are baked into cakes for she fears that they will mold if left in the pantry too long. She flavors her batter with nostalgia; even one taste leaves the cynics wanting more. Rather than tinted by a flavorless amalgamation of water, Propylene Glycol, FD&C Reds 40 and 3, and 0.1% Propylparaben, her red velvet cake gains its color from fever dream friendships and summer sunsets. Encased in a thick layer of laughter-infused buttercream, she hopes her happiness can remain.
2 cups flour.
½ tsp salt.
⅔ cup shortening.
Cut together until crumbly. Sprinkle 1 tbsp fresh tears (while not ideal, vinegar may be substituted in a pinch) and gradually combine with 5-6 tbsp milk until incorporated. Refrigerate before rolling.
Pies, on the other hand, are for love lost.
5 ½ cups blackberries.
¾ cup granulated sugar (again, stress may be used with no ill results if trying to cut back on sweets).
1 tsp lemon zest.
1 tbsp lemon juice.
Simmer with ¼ cup passion (cornstarch will have a similar effect; however, flavor may be drastically affected) until saucy and sweet.
Her heartbreak is woven away into latticed crusts and any residual love bubbles out through the pleats at 375°F. Melancholy coats freshly-burst berries in a sweet syrup imbued with sadness and silence.
For a single moment, flaky crust and juicy-tart fruit remind her of her worth. She forgets sometimes.
Profiteroles commemorate friendships with a messy assembly line of chocolate and smiles and towering caramel. With anger comes bread, an edible punching bag of yeast and bitter triumph that comes with transfiguring air into life. Chocolate chip cookies for refuge, brownies for shame, scones for hope, doughnuts for guilt. She could go on, but certain ingredients must be kept secret if her desserts are to have any intrigue.
She creates horcruxes of pastry and mousse and delivers them to friendly waiting stomachs. This is the only way she knows how to live; baking away excess emotions that litter her flour-dusted mind.