Amuse bouche... Bake off

‘You can’t just say no without giving a reason,” said Lola. “I actually can,” said her mother, Andrea.

“That’s not fair,” said Lola. “And you’re being reasonable.”

“You mean unreasonable,” said Andrea, “and do you even know what that means? You’ve just heard your father saying it, so don’t be smart.”

“I’m not,” said Lola. “You’re being smart.”

Andrea caught herself before a counter-counter-accusation came out of her mouth. This was no way to talk to a five-year-old. It was no way for the five-year-old to talk to her mother, either but someone had to be the adult here.

Andrea felt less and less like being the adult with every passing day, but what was the alternative?

In terms of bickering with her daughter, Andrea had to show some maturity. In terms of the baking her daughter wanted to do, Andrea had to stand her ground. And find a way around the fact that while she was denying Lola the right to bake today, she herself had been up at 6am, kneading and giving her pain de campagne a second prove after its initial overnight rise in the boiler cupboard.

The bread was delicious — Andrea had already eaten three slices and it wasn’t even lunchtime — but being up in the silent house, alone, was even better.

Also, when she baked, there was blessed little mess. Andrea was so sick of tidying up and cleaning a house that had her entire family of five in it, all day, every day.

The baking was only adding insult to injury in the cleaning stakes, especially when it was Lola, her youngest, whipping up one of her messy and very fattening creations.

“You promised I could bake today,” said Lola.

“Well, I’m sorry,” said Andrea, “but I already baked and, remember, Daddy made the rule about only one baking per day?”

“You told Daddy to make the rule,” said Lola. “I heard you.”

“Well it’s just that we can’t waste food right now and we have to make sure everything gets eaten before we bake again,” said Andrea.

“Ah-ha!” said Lola, like a barrister in a TV court drama. “Me and Dad ate two brownies each before bed, so they were all gone this morning.”

“Dad and I,” said Andrea. “Stop it!” said Lola. “You’re not my teacher!”

“Well, I am,” said Andrea. “And that’s just greedy.” “You’re fattist,” said Lola. No, thought Andrea, just rapidly and steadily the fattest. She bit her tongue. Someone had to be the adult here. And, Andrea thought, a small batch of cookies seemed reasonable.