Joni Mitchell once
said in regards to
performing arts that
‘nobody ever said to
Van Gogh, “Paint

Starry Night again,

man!” You know?
He painted it, and
that was it.’ I think
about that a lot.

The shop bakes I created were repeated over
and over, and like with most endurance-based
undertakings – love, relationships, anything we
do touched by passion and purpose – you can
find yourself asking if love can slip away in the
repetition. If the tenacity to love every moment is
lost, does the embryonic spark of love fall away
too? And if so, then how do we keep stoking the
flames of creating and baking? How do we clear
space to explore and grow new recipes, hemmed
in as we are by the terrestrial pressures of the
everyday? I have never stopped loving what I do,
but I did stop loving where I was going. How could
I turn my smoky, embered path into a boulevard of
renewed incendiary baking joy?
My answer? Write. Write this book. Write these
recipes. And here we are. This is a collection of
adored cakehouse favourites we couldn’t fit into
the first book. Recipes that were waiting to find
their cake stand. Methods I’d ignored and then
fallen hopelessly in love with (that’s you, jam).

There are bakes that felt like a life-support system
at times. Writing about these cakes brings me to
life. These recipes demanded something of me –
to keep finding ways to mix flavours, to sift, fold
and whisk. To beat and knead and bake. They
demanded I find the light. They demanded that I
remember who I am and why I do what I love to do.

I’m just a caker, standing in front of a batter- smeared
counter, working her way back to the
oven light.