My First Cake Day

It was 6:30 a.m. when I started baking. After a restless night, I finally gave up hope of sleeping and decided to put my time to good use. Today was an excellent day for Cake Day, because I needed to celebrate: I submitted my first research paper. Granted, it still needs to be reviewed and accepted and published, but entering my 4th year of grad school with one first-author manuscript submitted is an accomplishment to be celebrated. Additionally, I was nervous--putting your work out there to be judged by the scientific world is nerve wracking, and I'd been informed by the boss that if I wasn't confident it was ready to go, we wouldn't submit. Hence the lack of sleep. But baking is soothing for the soul--gathering ingredients, measuring, and following instruction requires focus, mixing and beating relieve tension, and the sweet nostalgia of the smell of butter and sugar and the sound of the hand mixer is overwhelming; for an hour, I can imagine I am a child again, helping my mom bake cookies or my grandma make her special mock-angelfood cake.


This week's recipe is the "Perfect Chocolate Cake," so named because "it is chocolate and it is perfect." Scientists name things logically. When the cakes finished, I wrapped them carefully to cool while I went to work--to submit that paper, which was sadly anticlimactic. I spent the rest of the day dreaming about frosting and the chocolate goodness waiting for me at home. It's amazing how simple things can brighten the day. Especially lately, I find my work environment somewhat oppressive--the competitive atmosphere and windowless rooms can be tiring for one's spirit. But chocolate cake and a good, hard run promised a sea of pleasant endorphins was waiting to fill my evening, and made getting through the day just that much easier.

I confess I've never been good at frosting cakes--I don't often tackle the baking of cakes because they never come out looking "pretty," and while taste is much higher on my priority list, I never feel completely satisfied presenting a cake that looks like it just got back from a rough night of tequila shots. So I was a little apprehensive heading into the frosting portion of today's cake adventure. But, by some miracle, it turned out beautifully. The prettiest cake I've ever made. I credit the instructions, partly--you can see the influence of the scientist as the instructions are particularly clear and descriptive. But perhaps I am developing some skill as well. Goodness knows by the end of this little journey I ought to be a professional!


Celebration and cake are best shared, I think (and what would I do with a whole cake myself, anyway?), so I contained my desire to devour a large piece until after the run, so that my running partner could partake (our motto is: we run so we can eat). Delicious. Truth be told, I don't particularly like chocolate cake, or chocolate frosting. But the cake is excellent and this is the best chocolate frosting I've ever tasted. I think the title "perfect" is well deserved.

The Perfect Chocolate Cake was more than just pastry perfection, however. It was the perfect start to my cake adventure: simple, classic, delicious. It was the perfect complement to my paper submission, easing my nerves before and rewarding me after. In this chapter, the author states, "Our only hope of being happy in this world is to find joy in small things while we are working toward big things." I think this statement applies today, my first Cake Day. Tomorrow, I will go back to waiting for the next step with this first paper, and to planning and executing the next big experiment to start working toward a second paper so I can start working toward graduation. But tonight, my only responsibility was to enjoy good conversation over great cake, to pause and take in a moment of pure, simple, chocolatey happiness.

The Beginning

Exactly one week into my first year of college, I sat on a bench outside the freshman dorm, sobbing on the phone to my mother.

“I hate my classes, I hate the people in my classes… what if I made the wrong choice? What if this isn’t really what I want to do with the rest of my life?” After only one week of college, I already knew I was not destined for journalism. The problem was, I didn’t know what exactly I was destined for.

After calming my hysteria, my mother suggested that I go talk to my academic advisor. I had been assigned to her randomly—she was a professor of microbiology, I was a communications major. But in our few interactions up to that point, she seemed pretty ok to me, and after all, her job was to advise me, right? Because I am a person that likes problems solved NOW, I immediately set an appointment to meet with her.

She asked what other subjects I might be interested in, and after considering briefly, I confessed, “I really liked my high school biology classes. But I don’t want to be a doctor.”

This was obviously a puzzling statement. Apparently, there is a multitude of career paths one may pursue with a degree in biology. I was simply unaware of this fact, as basically every student from my high school going on to study biology planned on later attending medical school. Although if I had been thinking logically, perhaps I would have realized I was sitting in the science building, full of scientists who weren’t doctors, including the woman sitting directly in front of me.

Dr. Robinson outlined some possible career choices, and then simply stated, “Study what you love. The job will follow.” So it was decided. In one day, I had a new major, new textbooks, a new class schedule, and, according to my roommate, a completely new (and much improved) personality. This was the first of many invaluable lessons I would learn—to pursue happiness and fulfillment rather than worry about how you will fit into some mold 12 steps down the line.

Since I switched into her field, Dr. Robinson continued as my academic advisor. We actually had a lot in common, and upon taking up her offer to work in her lab, I inevitably fell in love with her specific field: microbiology. As she guided me through my undergraduate years toward grad school, she helped me grow not only academically and technically as a scientist, but also emotionally and spiritually as a person. The most important thing I took away from all of our meetings was that I could be a scientist, but science didn’t have to define me. There is room in life for multiple passions, and one should explore and pursue all these passions. I can be a scientist and also a baker, a runner, a dancer, and maybe one day a wife and a mother. Dr. Robinson was an excellent role model in this respect, and if I hadn’t learned the possibility and the importance of life outside the lab, I think I would be utterly consumed and burnt out by the grueling process of earning a PhD.

But we never see these things when we are facing them head on. It’s only later, after we’ve had time to absorb and reflect, and to put these lessons into action, that we realize their true importance. So I never said thank you. I’m not very good with such “touchy-feely” subjects to begin with, and how do you ever thank someone for having such an impact on your life anyway?

I recently discovered another passion Dr. Robinson and I share, apart from microbiology: cake. Well, baking in general, perhaps. Regardless, unbeknownst to me, my last year of college Dr. Robinson had actually embarked on an adventure with her family: each week for one year, they would celebrate Cake Day, by baking and sharing a cake together. She wrote and published a book about this journey, entitled “The Cake Chronicles,” full of not only recipes for each cake they baked, but also unassuming wisdom and reflection on family, friends, life, and the power of pastries.

This book came to me in the midst of an existential crisis of sorts. I could use a few of Dr. Robinson’s wise words right now, and I can always use some cake. And as a former shy, quiet wallflower struggling to come into her own, I’m not currently in the habit of turning down a challenge. So in a Julie and Julia-esque project, I am going to undertake my own cake journey. One cake every week for a year.

No recipes here—go buy the book, it’s worth it. (The Cake Chronicles, by Jayne B. Robinson). Part of the proceeds benefit MS research. I just want to do a little chronicling of my own—share my experiences and the lessons that can be learned through cake. And maybe, in my own way, this will help me say “thank you” for everything.