I have said before that baking is like therapy to me.  Maybe its measuring out the soft flour.  Maybe its the smell of the comforting vanilla.  Maybe its following a set of directions to get a scrumptious end result.  I don’t know.  But I know I like it, and have for quite some time.  I have a favorite cookbook.  My husband actually bought it many years ago because he will occasionally have cooking sprees where he makes fantastic dishes that we get to enjoy, and a friend of ours had this cookbook and raved about it.  You can see by the looks of it that it has been used quite a bit…

But you would also notice, if you were looking at it, that there are definitely pages on the inside of it that have noticeably had some wear and tear…

And if you could read these worn pages, you would notice something peculiar… they are all pages with recipes for cakes and cookies.  Sure, there are great recipes for chicken and rice with tomatoes and white wine, fettuccine with porcini cream sauce, and steamed broccoli with orange-ginger dressing and walnuts, but my fingers always go to the sweet, sugary goodness towards the back…  Even as I am thumbing through the cookbook now, some of the recipes sound completely amazing… I should venture into the other pages a little more.   I may find relaxation in the aroma of lemon zest, rosemary, and garlic…