Cupcakes, Cake Crumbs and Childhood Memories

This weekend I swapped clinic notes, deadlines and emails for piping bags, buttercream and fondant flowers, creating a 1st birthday/christening cake for my friend’s granddaughter.

I made a two tier cake for little Emily’s first birthday, along with 100 cupcakes. The baking only took about an hour. The decorating was another story. My back may never forgive me.

Mum came over today to help, which made the whole thing feel rather special.

As we sat making flowers and decorating cupcakes, we found ourselves chatting about cakes we had made over the years, old birthday parties, and all those memories that somehow come flooding back when you are in the kitchen together.

My mum used to decorate cakes as a paid hobby when I was growing up. This was proper old school cake decorating, long before fondant became the norm. Think royal icing, piping bags and endless patience. Cakes were always homemade.

I spent so much time in the kitchen with her as a child, and over the years we have done all sorts together. She helped me when I ran cookery classes in local schools, we ran a monthly cake stall at a local market, and even catered events together.

Talking about birthday parties brought back so many memories.

Birthday teas back then were simple, but magical. Crisps in bowls, sandwiches, sausage rolls, homemade birthday cake, and jelly in those orange plastic bowls that were probably very fashionable 1970s Tupperware.

I remember going to a friend’s birthday party once and they had cakes from the bakery. I was so jealous. I thought shop bought cakes were the height of luxury.

Funny how perspective changes.

Now I realise the homemade cake was the luxury.

Not because it looked perfect. Not because it cost more.

But because somebody gave their time.

They planned it, baked it, decorated it, worried over it, and made something just for you.

Talking about cakes also got us laughing about my nan, my mums mum. She was hilarious. Completely bonkers in the best possible way.

She was not a great baker, but that never stopped her. Her Christmas cakes were always wonky, so she would simply pile on more icing to disguise it. The little Santa and snowman decorations would end up clinging on for dear life like they were caught in an avalanche.

She worked in a care home despite being nearly as old as some of the residents. She was caring, funny and very naughty.

My dad adored her, and those two were always laughing. Dad was a lorry driver and used to pass through her town. If Nan spotted a lorry that looked like his, she would run into the middle of the road waving frantically. The problem was there were several lorries in the fleet, so Dad had to warn his workmates about the mad woman who might run into the road waving at them.

That was Nan.

She also taught me cheeky little songs when I was small. One Sunday at Sunday school, we were asked if anyone knew a song. I proudly put my hand up and sang one of Nan’s songs in complete innocence. She loved it when she heard.

Funny how making a cake can bring all those memories rushing back.

Whilst I love working as a nutritionist and writing my books, I am always reminded when I make cakes just how relaxed I feel when I am being creative.

I have always loved making things with my hands. Baking, painting, crafts, cake decorating, styling food, hunting for vintage treasures. Creating something from nothing has always brought me joy.

In a world that feels increasingly fast paced and disposable, there is something deeply grounding about making something tangible.

Something real.

I think we all need moments that pull us away from the noise of everyday life. Away from screens, endless notifications and the pressure to always be doing more. Moments that allow us to slow down, think, remember and simply be present.

Food nourishes us, of course, but sometimes it does far more than that.

Sometimes it reconnects us to the people who shaped us.

Sometimes it brings back memories we had forgotten.

And sometimes, while piping cupcakes and making fondant flowers, it transports us straight back to childhood. To birthday teas, orange jelly bowls, wonky Christmas cakes and, in my case, to a rather awkward moment at Sunday school singing one of my nan’s cheeky songs in complete innocence.

Some memories really do stay with you.

And somewhere around cupcake number 73, with melting buttercream and an aching back, I was reminded exactly why making things still matters.

Until next time…. x