When my son was in Year One, he came to me with a simple request.

“I want a cake.”

“Great,” I said. “Let’s go and buy one.”

“No. I want us to make one.”

There was just one problem: I had absolutely no idea how to make a cake.

Baking powder, baking soda, self-raising flour, yeast — as far as I was concerned, they were all mysterious white powders with different names. I didn’t own a kitchen scale. I didn’t even own a cake tin.

But I did have an old milk pan.

It was metal, including the handle, which made it the only pan in my kitchen that looked remotely oven-safe. And it was old enough that, if the experiment went badly, I wouldn’t miss it.

So I mixed flour, eggs, sugar and vanilla, poured everything into the milk pan and put it in the oven.

To my surprise, it rose.

Cake No. 001 came out slightly burnt on top, something my husband immediately pointed out.

He has always been my most enthusiastic food critic. He is also usually the person who eats the most. A cake can receive several complaints in our house and still disappear within 24 hours.

I have learned to trust the empty plate.

After that first cake, things escalated.

Chocolate cake. Apple cake. Orange cake. Savoury cakes. Cream cakes. I measured ingredients with spoons and cups until another school mum saw my photos and asked if she could borrow my baking equipment.

“What equipment?”

I didn’t even own a scale.

Eventually, the equipment arrived. First a cake tin. Then a £13 hand mixer. Then, during lockdown, I decided I needed a couple of piping nozzles.

Amazon apparently disagreed.

I bought a 137-piece cake decorating kit.

On a video call, I proudly showed my new collection to my mother-in-law in Italy.

“Are you planning to become a pastry chef?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said.

I was joking.

Mostly.

For a while, my cakes improved, my equipment got bigger, and my kitchen worktop got smaller.

Then summer arrived.

The days became longer, London opened up again, and I realised I wanted sunshine, long walks and fresh air as much as I wanted the smell of cake coming from the oven.

I still love baking. I’m simply not interested in living in my kitchen.

These days, I have better equipment and much better instincts. I can usually look at a cake and know whether it needs another five minutes. But I still skip recipes that look unnecessarily complicated. Simple ingredients, simple flavours and less fuss suit me perfectly.

I never became a pastry chef.

Instead, years later, I somehow created a website with a Recipes section.

Not bad for someone who started with a spoon, a cup and an old milk pan.

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