Cinders and cinnamon
Sounds like the perfect scent of a candle
Except, all I can think about is that time I tried a new Paul Hollywood recipe,
promising the most luscious bake witnessed this side of the ocean.
Following the steps
Religiously
Studiously
Not veering off course
Letting it rest and chill, and rise, and all that baking goodness
At the precise moment, delivering the tray to the oven
With as much reverence as one might deliver a tray of jewels
With the same care as a brand new parent with their new child
Carefully, slowly.
Repetitive strain endured to set the appropriate minutes on the timer.
Miss it, and you go round again
By the time you get the right number, you question…
How long has it been in the oven now?
So you wait a bit longer, and a bit longer, just for luck
You peer through the glass, that you forgot to clean
Impossible to tell from here
At last, the time has arrived
The shrill beeps heralds insistently
Approaching the oven, very much as a
bomb disposal team might approach their target
I gingerly lift out the tray
Knowing somewhere I got it wrong
as I’m faced with a tray of cinders and cinnamon
© wordsfromanotebook / suzie pearson