Baker? I think not. I pretend.

SO here I sit on a Saturday night sipping a lovely Chamomile tea smacking my lips at the thought of starting a new recipe. You see we recently acquired a spanking brand new stove with my husband's bonus and I have to break it in.

I am the daughter of a baker. Literally. My dad he was a baker and my mother, a candlestick maker. Ok, no just the baker part. He owned a wonderful shop in New Hampshire called ' Holly's Pantry,' that was full of delightful treats and warm smells. There is this feeling inside me, I can't explain that wants to punch dough, sift flour and chop apples. I have been pushing myself to bake for years and I never really had the time. Until now, cue SAHM music.

Tonight's agenda is Sweet Potato Buttermilk rolls. I have NEVER purchased buttermilk. Eaten it in recipes made by other more skilled cooks. But this time its me, all me. I went to the store and purchased a carton, to my surprise it was located in the milk section with all the other creams and skims. The carton is yellowish, like the devil's son. But I need it for my recipe so I will have to cope with being scared.

To Be Continued....