It’s funny how much pleasure you can get from cooking when you don’t have to do it every day. I was not a big fan of cooking at home, there was the planning and the shopping, then there was the cleaning afterwards. No sooner had I tidied up from one meal, I was planning the next; sometimes it felt relentless.

I baked a lot when the children were young and then again when the grandchildren came along. I have fond memories of flour covered tea towels and butter fingerprints on the walls. The finished products were always a bit lop sided and rustic looking but they were delicious because they contained that magic ingredient, love.

I didn’t miss cooking when I moved into Canterbury House. The pleasure I get from having every meal prepared for me is immeasurable. Food always tastes better when you haven’t had to cook it yourself.

I know that some people miss cooking for themselves and for them our weekly baking club is something to look forward to. I must admit that since taking part, I too have discovered a fondness for cooking. Now that’s something that I never imagined myself saying.

It’s quite therapeutic rolling pasty and kneading dough, there are no time constraints, nobody rushing you; it’s just me and my baking. 

Although nobody will admit it, we do get a little competitive when it comes to our bakes. We all want to create something that everyone will admire and enjoy. I suppose that is what cooking is all about; creating something that others will enjoy. It’s a display of affection.

It’s so lovely to not only see the men joining in. but enjoying it too. Those that come along are sometimes baking for the first time. We are of a generation that had set roles; the men rarely cooked and they certainly didn’t bake.

This week we made cheese twists, we rolled, we grated, and we baked. The results were not perfect, Paul Hollywood would probably have raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow; but they tasted amazing, and do you know why? It was the addition of that special ingredient, love.