A balebusta is a homemaker, someone who not only fills the house with the scent of fresh treats but also with sheer devotion to the smallest of acts. Someone, who despite the tasks of the day, takes the time to whip up a fresh treat to wait beneath the cake dome when the kids get home from school. Someone who always has a dollar in their pocket for when the ice cream truck comes by and then an ear to listen to whatever’s on your mind as you sit on the veranda letting that chocolate vanilla twist drip to the ground. The house may not always be perfectly tidy, but the mixing bowls and recipe books scattered about only solidify the homemakers standing. It isn’t only about keeping a neat and tidy house it’s about keeping a happy home, a cohesive home, one where everyone is welcome despite beliefs, positions or their past. A home where when Sunday at 5:30pm rolls around, all differences, chaos and hassle stay at the door while everyone takes their seat for the weekly family dinner. A balebusta keeps the kitchen, home and family running.
I come from a family of epic women – women who have been given challenges and always come out as an example to the world of how to handle life with courage, grace, and strength. I am the oldest daughter and granddaughter in my family and so incredibly proud to continue on the example set before me, into the third generation. I may not be able to knit like my mom or grandmother and my grace is still in training, but if there’s one thing I've tried my hand at and love it's being in the kitchen.
I am by no means an expert. I’m pretty sure I’ve thrown out and cried over more batches of ruined cakes or cupcakes than had cause to celebrate but it’s not the product that interests me when it comes to baking. When I was in elementary school I used to go to my grandparent’s house every day after school. I’d stand by the counter and watch my grandmother finish up making dinner while eating a piece of cake she had just made and placed under the classic glass dome. Very little compares to the scent of coconut cake with chocolate frosting when you come in the door only to see the condensation on the inside of the dome confirming the cake is still warm and fresh. I’d stand by the counter trying to figure out how she could so easily throw ingredients into a pot and create a meal. Trying to make dinners in my own kitchen now, my awe only continues to grow.
This blog is more than simply stating the number of cups or teaspoons necessary to whip up a classic dessert. It’s also far from being any sort of authority on how to do so expertly. This blog is a testament and celebration of the recipes, traditions and lessons these incredible women have passed down to me. Next to them, I’m still an itsy bitsy balebusta, learning what it takes to make a home and how to take the batches life gives us with a grain of salt.