NOW WE’RE COOKING
Kohlman’s first cookbook makes baking fun
Q How does it feel to have your own cookbook?
A It feels amazing. It’s a little overwhelming, actually, but it feels really good. I have to keep pinching myself. It’s been two years since TouchWood Editions contacted me and said ‘Hey, we like your stuff, have you ever thought about writing a cookbook?’ It’s not very often that a writer or a blogger gets that email from a publishing house. For them to contact me was quite earth-shaking; it really changed my world.
Q Were you thinking of doing a cookbook?
A I don’t know if I would have put together a proposal because it’s such a long shot that a publishing house would read your proposal among all these other proposals. And I didn’t have a literary agent — I still don’t — to go to bat for me. So it worked out really great. I think it’s like what Oprah says, luck is when opportunity meets preparation. I was ready to write it, I had these stories in me when I got the call.
Q How did you get interested in cooking ?
A My mom. My mom is a really good cook and I was always in the kitchen with her practically from the time I could stand up and do some dishes in the sink. I was always in the kitchen with her, baking, just learning from her. When I moved away to university in Montreal, my roommates and I loved to cook. We ate a lot of vegetarian because we were poor. And then as a distraction to avoid studying, I would bake cakes and brownies for my roommates. And we had dinner parties. Our kitchen was a real hub.
Q In the book, you mention the spiritual aspect of baking, how it’s almost meditative.
A I think the process of measuring, sifting, stirring is a great distraction for your brain rather than worrying about car repairs or world events or what’s going on in your life. It’s very tactile, all your senses are involved when you’re baking. It’s a great way to be in the moment. My sort of therapy, I suppose. Tasty therapy, right?
Q How significant was starting a blog for you?
A It was super significant in my professional life and my personal life as well. I was always taking pictures of my food and putting them on Facebook. Friends kept saying, your pictures are so great, start a blog. In January of 2011, I started. The pictures got better and the stories got better, I think. Then in April of 2012, the National Post named me one of Canada’s best food bloggers. That was fantastic. Still one of my best moments, ever.
Q This is not just a book of recipes. Why was the storytelling important to you?
A I wanted my book to stand apart. I knew that my voice was very authentic and I wanted people to see themselves in my stories. I’m not the only girl who’s been dumped once or twice or three times, or had a father who passed away too early. Writing it was very emotional. There would be times when I’d have to take a break because I would be breaking down and sobbing. I still cry when I read them, actually. But it felt really good to get these stories out of me, very cathartic.
Q Why are people so afraid of baking ?
A Because you have to be fairly exact. It’s not like cooking spaghetti sauce or making tacos when you kind of throw this and that together and it’ll all probably end up tasting good. With baking, there are rules about measuring, baking powder, baking soda, you have to make sure you have the right proportions. For an inexperienced baker, there’s not much wiggle room.
Q But pie crust!
A I used to be scared too, making it. But you have to keep doing it and realize the mistakes you’re making so you remedy them the next time you make it. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to dust the counter.” The more you do, the better you’re going to get at it. It’s a skill that people should learn. If we ate more pie, we’d be a lot happier.
Q What do you hope people take away from your book?
A Baking’s fun. Don’t worry about it. Get in the kitchen, stir together some ingredients. You don’t have to start off making French honey crullers. Pick a recipe like chocolate-dipped pretzels. Bake with your kid. Turn off your phone, turn off the TV, spend some time together. Do the dishes afterwards — I always helped my mom do the dishes. Some of the best conversations are around the sink or the counter.
SMALL TOWN SATURDAY NIGHT
J.D. Salinger wrote that “certain things should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and leave them alone. I know it’s impossible, but it’s too bad anyway.”
I’ve been blessed to have felt this way a good many times in my life, and perhaps never more so than in my late teenage years, growing up in a small town that bordered Alberta and Saskatchewan. I had a tight group of good friends — the kind of friends you spill all your secrets to while staying up too late and eating ice cream cake. The summers of 1990 and 1991 were especially fun. We were going into Grade 12, then university. Friday and Saturday nights mainly consisted of us spraying our hair too high and dancing around to the B-52s or INXS in someone’s living room. Eventually we would pile into a parent’s car (or if we were lucky, our own) and drive up and down the four-lane main drag, otherwise known as the four-laner. General objectives of this activity were twofold: scout for boys (preferably not from our high school) and stop for snacks.
I won’t dish too much dirt on the boys (a girl has to have some secrets), but when the cruising came to an end, we almost always stopped in at the local Tim Hortons for a doughnut. With our honey crullers and chocolate glazed, we’d sit at our table and go over the evening’s events, or lack thereof. When the curfews approached, the driver would drop each of us off at our houses. More often than not we lingered in the driveway as we said good night to each other. Talk tends to get more serious when sitting in the dark. Topics covered usually included the looming future and what the hell are we doing with our lives. The usual teenage angst. While we were excited to be growing up and moving further out into the world, in our hearts we were scared and a little sad that what we had would eventually end.
After graduation, I was the first to move away, then a few others followed. Some stayed behind, and while you make all kinds of efforts to visit and talk, nothing is ever quite the same as it was on those high school weekend nights. A couple of those girls are still my closest friends in the whole world. Whenever we find ourselves in each other’s city, talk over bowls of ramen or coffee and doughnuts tends to still be along the lines of what the hell are we doing with our lives and the looming future. The usual adult angst. I’m so happy our friendships have stood the test of time. Those pals you had when phones still had cords are the best pals you can ever ask for. We’ve seen marriages, births, big moves, breakups, death, great big joys and the depths of despair, dreams come to life, and dreams come to an end. I still have to bust a move whenever the B-52s come on the radio — even if means dancing in the seat of my car. I don’t care if I look like an idiot. I’m 17 again, with big hair and big dreams. For a second it feels like the friends of my youth are sitting in the car with me, rocking out in spirit.