Unlearn to Cook: A Baking Guide - Beatrice Basso

Unlearn to cook family recipes written in teenage handwriting because your mom has just died and you happen to be the next vagina in line. Forget your mother’s gnocchi. Become tentative about how long to boil the potatoes for. Will they ever even cook? The flour is ostica (try to say it, sounds like “difficult,” sounds like “hard”) – make yourself unsure about the quantities, doubt the yolk and the details of shape and time.

Claire Ptak has written a new book, named – after a Warhol’s quote – “Love is a Pink Cake.” Pink reclaimed; love reclaimed.

Instagram has programmed you to fall in love with her happy British bakery, her California background transplanted in London a mirror of your own dislocation from Italy to here.

The more you check on her online, the more there is to see.

The more you see her doings, the more you want to find her.

The brilliant algorithm, her book already on your shelf.

You will not learn to bake; you are still unlearning to cook.

You drive the two and half hours north.

You tell your twenty-something cousin, who’s just moved from Italy to LA, to meet you at this book talk of mid-age bakes.

You don’t see meringue cakes around that much but I challenge you to make them popular again. Like a pavlova with substance, the sponge at the bottom soaks up all the cream and berry juices in a beautiful way, says Claire Ptak.

Before the event, you offer your cousin dinner, bits of wisdom, Yes yes let’s taste all the cakes here on display. You are like her and you are also her mother – your mother? You apologize for dragging her into hag-like activities. You gift her the book that will be signed by Claire Ptak.

This delicate dessert is super-fast to make but really can’t be made ahead of time so pour your guests another drink, excuse yourself from the table and get to work, says Claire.

Pink (not) Reclaimed.

Women still excusing themselves from the fun parts.

Time to go. 

You tell your cousin you can come back to LA anytime, she can call you, lean on you.

You will see her theater show in June and buy her more dinners, presents, coffees too.

She tells you she has so many coffees at her Philz’ day job.

She laughs, indulges you, tells you stories, but doesn’t need you.

You realize she has parents, both alive.

She is not you in your early twenties, attaching yourself abroad to any older female who was willing. Making women tutors, gurus, parents in exchange for lost cuddles, gone with your mom.

Sweet Crust Pastry

Rough Puff Pastry

You drive home, full of sugar, and with a touch of disappointment.

It was the same to scroll the Instagram instead of going, you were not needed as a mother.

Your cousin had the book so Claire Ptak paid more attention to her than you.

The unfairness of that. You are the child.

1 kilo of boiled potatoes, 300 grams of flour, yolk as needed, salt.

Roll this up in snakes, cut them up.

Let the gnocchi rise in boiling water.

Drain. Season them with sage and butter.

You don’t have to make them yet.

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Beatrice Basso (she/her) is a Californian Italian writer and performance maker who writes creative nonfiction. Her recent writing has been developed by Novel Readings NYC, was presented at The Front Gallery in San Ysidro (“Domestic Geographies” exhibit) and Diversionary Theater’s Open Flame, and was selected for the DimeStories podcast at Book Catapult. Beatrice is ensemble member with Affinity Project where she co-devised Nocturne and Russian Play (named one of five Bay Area “Wildest Theatrical Moments of 2015 by KQED/Theater Junkie). Her theater translations premiered at Oregon Shakespeare Festival, Santa Cruz Shakespeare, and American Conservatory Theater. Beatrice’s curating includes a consultancy for the academy award-nominated Pixar film “Luca” and the creation of Práctica, a multidisciplinary collaboration of international artists across the Tijuana/San Diego border.