If I had some understanding–a clue, even–as to why, over the last few weeks, my mixing bowl was repeatedly filled with varied cornbread batters, I’d tell you. It’s probably simply an extended craving which takes hold and continues until the next one grabs me.

Cornbread. Once again. How duplicative of me. Yet, how wonderful that I am so repetitious. People Who Love to Bake, this one is a deep-dish wonder, and different from my blue corn cake that weakened my knees not too long ago. You’ll love it for its deluxe qualities of depth and richness. Slices sit so pretty in a bread basket. The crumbs are irresistible. Leftover slices, if it’s possible to have them, toast well.

I’m inclined to prepare a meal around this quick bread–tall and mighty. The formula boasts an authoritative use of corn meal and lush dairy staples. This one is for the go-to recipe file.

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In my cookie-baking pantheon, the distinguished chocolate chip rules supreme. Nearly any twist or turn of it intrigues me–chewy, crispy, thick, thin, jumbo, regulation-size, or petite.

Here’s the latest, a dreamy cookie with a caramelly profile, one that’s loaded with chips and a full three teaspoons of vanilla extract. The texture? Chewy, with crispy edges. The cookies are just a little thick. Using cool eggs and cool butter creates a firm dough that scoops into high mounds. On baking, the hillocks of dough slump (perfectly!) and collapse into shapely cookies with wonderfully crinkled edges: I love The Slump.

I think of these brown sugar chippers as Saturday Afternoon Cookies because baking them on a weekend afternoon has long been a household tradition–a custom worth passing along.

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Though not the brightest of bright-eyed individuals on wake-up, I am more inclined to be somewhat cheery if welcomed by a hunky slice dislocated from a plump, fruit-tangled bread.

Something not-too-refined. Something knotty with dried fruit. Something a little burly, texture-wise. Something that lures me, coffee-in-hand, to begin the day. (Or at least attempt to initiate my mental “start engine.”)

Once introduced to my rustic fruit bread–a fast-from-scratch dough that clasps dried apricots, dried cranberries, dried tart (Montmorency) cherries, dried blueberries, and uncrystallized candied ginger into its firm but moist network–you may very well claim this item as your own. Go right ahead. Break bread and share.

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Taking a visual tour through my collection of flours and meals early one morning made me wonder the following: Why is the bag of buckwheat flour unopened? Here’s the answer-thread: The item was purchased for partial use in a dense butter cake batter, then largely abandoned in order to bake brownies (there’s no turning back when the urge for chocolate overtakes).

The result of ingredient guilt appears in a recipe for waffles created with a portion of buckwheat flour, plus two other flours to build and offset texture, and a big pour of buttermilk–in addition to the classic components which develop the griddled quick bread.

I doubled up on the buckwheat savor and topped this honey-of-a-waffle with, well, a streamlet of buckwheat honey–dark, aromatic, intense. Or, you could scoop up and release a waterfall of berries over the waffle’s warm and tender surface. Fruit-enhanced or quite plain, this fairly cakelike breakfast treat adds a dose of modern glamor to a largely second-string ingredient.

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As revealed in Baking Style: Art, Craft, Recipes, in my elementary school days, I loved to play with snowy mounds of leavened and sifted cake flour, flicking my fingers through it and compressing the airy piles. It was a major annoyance to my working mother who largely valued kitchen neatness more than life itself–or so it seemed.

Fast forward to my own kitchen, March of 2012: I’m spinning my fingertips through all kinds of corn meal, loving the different textures, colors, and grinds. It’s my personal playdate with corn meal, and I’m free to coat the expanse of a counter top with a gritty haze. Who says you can’t mess up the kitchen? Eventually.

The result of my extended encounter with corn meal is one splendid–if not respendent–cake, a lightly sweetened something made with blue corn meal. It’s a little grainy and moderately soft. Some would eat this as bread, others as dessert with a side of melted blueberries or sliced and sugared peaches in the summertime–but if you, like me, can’t wait, warm and au naturel is just so, so fine. (Footnote: The kitchen needed some serious dusting, but it was worth it.)

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Hand-crafted bread. Emphasis on the word hand-crafted. I’ve been in the bread zone for weeks now. And it seems there’s no letting up. Bread with texture and a gentle cragginess. With enough moistness to love on its own, or a day or two later, when a light warming or toasting revives its original composition. A slice of lightly sweetened bread, oh so mellow, is perfect with a cup of tea.

A creamy-textured quick bread dough, whipped together in the time it takes to preheat the oven (I’m talking fast and fabulous), simply enchants. The dough is made with the usual dry ingredients (flour, leavening, salt, and sugar) and big flecks of butter that’s brought to a fairly soft conclusion by mixing in a whisked mixture of egg yolks, sour cream, half-and-half, orange flower water, and freshly grated orange rind. A big handful of broken walnuts disrupts the dough–in the nicest way possible. Broken refers to the act of reducing walnuts, which are fairly soft to begin with, into smaller pieces (using your fingertips)before toasting or roasting. The edges of broken walnuts are more textural and have a flavor-edge that chopping does not seem to bring about. The ball of dough is shaped into a round, slashed lightly with a paring knife to encourage a pretty expansion in large petal-like segments during baking, and sugared.

One matter you should be aware of up front: The recipe doubles nicely (you’ll need much bigger bowls, though) and a back-up would be handy–one for you, and an extra to share, because friends and neighbors will sniff out the scent, and you know the ending, don’t you?

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Porridge–the hot-cereal-in-a-bowl, mostly of the lightly-sweetened (rather than savory) variety–furnishes you with many cups of goodness with little work. My stir-up of rice farina (specifically brown rice farina) is simple and satisfying. It doesn’t take a kitchen sorcerer to understand how nurturing this can be–devotees of oatmeal and oat bran already understand its virtues.

While you could create a more complex rice-pudding-like treatment for this hot breakfast cereal, I went with a more direct route, cooking the cereal in water with light brown sugar and pinches of salt. Once the rice farina evolved into its softened, perfectly creamy state (be sure to keep it on the moderately loose side, density-wise), I added a touch of vanilla extract and freshly grated nutmeg. A few droplets of French coconut essence (a splurge ingredient) spooned through rounded out the flavor outline, and tied in with the topping of toasted coconut and splash of warm coconut milk.

Inventive visitors of baking style diary (I know you’re out there!) will likely find other ways to add character to my basic recipe: Thoughtful additions include golden raisins, dried currants, tart (Montmorency) dried cherries, pistachios, a swirl of fruit butter, or fruit preserves. It’s simmer time.

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Birthday cookies. Birthday tea bread. Birthday candy. Birthday snack. Oh, and a birthday anything-else (like cake).

I believe that there should be, perhaps, at least one of the above on hand around the time of one’s special day. Here’s a report on what’s currently on the menu for my celebration week (and it does take a week to chew through it all): One tea bread, cupfuls of special coconut-cashew muesli, and a tin of fudgy-chewy brownies. (Since I’ve been rolling through a Coconut Bake-a-Thon during the last few weeks, I’ve swapped my traditional chocolate-coconut cake for muesli and a luscious tea bread–plus brownies.)

A chocolate chip tea bread, bulky with bittersweet chocolate chips and other good things, is ready to slice. The dense, sticky dough bakes into a moist round loaf once settled into a round cake pan. It’s a sentimental choice, baking a sweet with chocolate chips, since cookies of the chocolate chip variety were usually baked during the preceding weekend of each childhood year. (I’ll be on that, too–later on.)

In all, it’s a sweet-packed celebration. One bite at a time.

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Drenched. Dewy. Vivid.

My solid sheet of brownies cooling on the kitchen counter top is all of the above: Another day, another chocolate-intense experience. Life is sweet, and riddled with choices. Brownies, plain? Brownies, nut-riddled? Brownies, with chips? Brownies, without chips? Brownies, frosted?

To arrive at a pan of goodness, I combined a number of chocolate-based items, backed up by the usual brownie-friendly ingredients. The result? Chewy-fudgy brownies broadcasting the flavor of chocolate. Interestingly enough, I defied conventional wisdom (and my own baking rule–oh well!) a bit, and used a certain amount of melted semisweet chocolate chips in the batter. Both the formula and construction that allow the chips to hold their shape actually contributed, in part, to its dense, pull-y texture. A stir-in of extra chips adds little melty pockets of chocolate when the confection is enjoyed freshly baked.

For those devoted to chocolate configured into a raging bar, my deluxe brownies are for you.

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My baking agenda is, oftentimes, set by a craving–like a desire I had recently for gingerbread. Somehow, I was searching for something bready with the overarching flavors present in gingerbread (which is really a bread anyway but most people think of it as cake).

So I was intent on having a warm ginger quick bread on my mid-morning plate, though not an item in the department of scones or pancakes. It was a fairly lazy Sunday and I was inspired (very hungry, actually, having just returned from a two-mile speed walk and, well, not that lazy) to get this treat going quickly, in a spice-tastic way. Don’t you just love how urgency drives right past more complex recipes and leaves them in the dust?

In a twinkle, white whole wheat flour, leavenings, sugar, and the indispensable spices appeared in a large mixing bowl, and buttermilk, eggs, oil, and molasses were whisked up in another bowl. Once combined, the batter–moderately thick and scented–was ready to spoon between the heated grids of a waffler. Oddly enough, the key to creating a delicate, somewhat cakelike gingerbread waffle, is to leave small lumps in the batter, for over-mixing the wet and dry ingredients toughens the quick bread. There’s a fine line between mixing the components thoroughly so that all large and small pockets of dry ingredients are absorbed and combining the elements too vigorously.

A few (leftover) roasted pear segments tossed in a tablespoon of warmed maple syrup was all I needed to ornament this lovely waffle, though having it simply with a pat of butter or sideswipe of jam would have been just fine with me.

Postscript: Oh, visitors of baking style diary, thank you for chiming in to declare the wonderfulness of these waffles, and for offering suggestions–herewith–for accompanying the freshly griddled waffles. Here are some of your thoughts: lemon curd; lemon custard sauce; lemon butter; ginger butter; maple butter; maple walnuts; and maple yogurt.

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