Women are often taught that the things we want most are sin

I can buy myself flowersssss

Feb 05, 2024

Hey y’all,

Happy Black History Month!

And happy love month ❤️❤️❤️❤️ As I mentioned last week, we’re trying something new around here and introducing themes (insert jazz hands). February’s theme is How To Love.

Although it may seem cliche on the surface, one thing that has stood out to me after publishing dozens of essays on this platform is that Black women have to learn how to love on their own. There is no guide, there is no formula—and because of this, many of us have to take an arduous journey full of dark nights of the soul, shadow work, and healing our inner child. Just to fully commit to loving ourselves. I want this theme to be an exploration of the different journeys Black women take to find love, express love, and give love. And who knows, maybe by the end of this month, we will all be a little smarter on “how to love.”

This Week’s Story

By definition, to indulge is to “allow oneself to enjoy the pleasure of.” It’s a word typically used to point to something superfluous that we’re treating ourselves to. We indulge on our birthdays. We indulge on vacation. We indulge in Carefree Mag stories (*wink*). Now, join me in indulging in this week’s essay, written by Kristen Jeré—who last wrote with us on everyone going back to their exes—who is baking a chocolate cake and really, really enjoying it. She doesn’t feel guilty about it, and you shouldn’t either.

Take care,

Anayo Awuzie
EIC of Carefree Mag

On Chocolate Cake and Desire

by Kristen Jeré

On a Sunday evening, I am baking. In the fading afternoon light of my three-story walk-up, a process is being built off of desire, want, and a need to create something fulfilling, shareable, and most importantly—sweet. It is quiet, except for my rustling inside the kitchen cabinets for various bowls and mixers. It is an alone time I deeply treasure and hold close to my chest. As I prepare for this particular recipe, I unload the ingredients that I’ve gathered: a carton of six eggs, a canister of cocoa powder, a lemon, a bag of flour, and a container of raspberries, among more.

Food is hard for me, with sweets being the hardest, but I so badly want it to be unconditionally pleasurable. Why is it that women are often taught the things we want most are sin?

I want to pop a miniature chocolate into my mouth without falling into an anxious guilt. To toss spoonful, upon spoonful of the most decadent ice cream with more crunchy and fudge-like additions than I can count on one hand with nothing but the joy of eating. To not cringe at the thought of having a second serving of dessert.

And sometimes, baking from scratch helps me do that. There’s my fingers intentionally pressing down on the dough, rolling the glutenous mass into something uniform, the wafting smell of scents like cinnamon, honey, and ginger as I blend, mix, and knead spices. There’s the anticipatory rising of muffins, spreading of cookies, and the smooth icing on top of a moist chocolate cake. The act of baking itself engages so many parts of me that it becomes a sensual ritual grounded in the present, making me focus on every detail to create my desired result. The energy I might otherwise spend fixating on societal ideas around what healthy eating is and means is used to make this thing that is fully my own—meant to be intimately indulged in.

In “Uses of the Erotic”, the iconic essay where Audre Lorde helps us expand our understanding of pleasure, Lorde describes the erotic as “not a question only of what we do; it is a question of how acutely and fully we can feel in the doing”. In that case, the erotic can be whatever it is we unapologetically engage our full selves in. I contemplate this idea as I brew a cup of coffee to combine with the cake’s wet ingredients. The smell of caffeine mixing with the cocoa powder is equal parts lazy morning and the smell of a Black matriarch's kitchen—comforting and quaint. I think about the array of textures often found when baking as I mix the dry ingredients separately before combining them with the wet, and how important every individual ingredient is to the recipe. I remember how essential sensation is to all types of pleasure—igniting multiple senses at once in a way that can only be described as all encompassing.

Next, I mix the batter with a thick wooden spoon until my biceps get sore, before transitioning to the electric mixer as the scents continue to waft up toward me. The mixture begins to smell less like a heterogeneous mix of flour, sugar, and eggs and closer to its final form: a humble one-layer chocolate cake whose inspiration comes from Jerelle Guy, a Black woman baker, who was inspired, for this particular recipe, by her childhood creations made with an Easy Bake Oven.

While adult me is often hesitant when making food choices, the version of me from years ago engaged with sweets intuitively. She savored Oreo ice cream with her family after dinner or chocolate brownies with the perfect flaky top layer. In 5th grade when the “Spirit Cart”’ would come through the hallways on Fridays at the end of the school day, she would shamelessly purchase a Twix and a pack of Sour Punch straws, joyous with the anticipation of eating the candy while watching Nickelodeon once she got home.

Part of reengaging with pleasure is a recommitment to oneself. When I put the cake pan into the oven, I’m not only completing a final step in a recipe, but I’m solidifying a process that centers my joy. I’m reclaiming a part of myself that’s been abandoned at times in my life, a part that I have become deeply ashamed of—the craving, the desire, the indulgence. I’m choosing to lean into pleasure instead.

Audre Lorde wrote, “As women, we’ve learned to distrust the power that arises from our deepest and nonrational knowledge”. Pleasure can be said to be a feeling that falls into the intuitive category. I’ve found often that, as a Black woman, I’ve had to relearn what it means to honor deep feelings and longings when it comes to food. What do my cravings tell me that I need more of? Not just physically, but emotionally, mentally, and sometimes spiritually? The power of my inner knowledge is what guides me to knowing my cravings.

One aspect of baking is that I never really know how it will turn out and, for me, it’s also one of the best parts—an experiment I can keep trying again and again. While the cake rises, I begin the steps for making a homemade raspberry icing, boiling the berries on the stovetop. I zest a lemon and add the tiny yellow coils on top. My entire kitchen fills with the syrupy sweet smell of raspberry. But, when I try to combine the syrup with confectioner sugar to create icing, the raspberry syrup refuses to turn into a fluffy texture.

Part of the way that I view the erotic is as an exercise in discovering what gives me joy, and then being willing to shift into new ways of experiencing a deep feeling of “yes”. I see finding that feeling of “yes” as an experiment in learning pleasure. In and outside of the kitchen, I want to be willing to experience that “well of replenishing and evocative force” that Lorde says waits for women who choose not to be afraid of the revelation of their desires.

Not a novice to tweaking recipes, I buy a container of icing from the corner store—a Pilsbury brand classic vanilla icing, the same as my mom would use when frosting all the cupcakes she made during my childhood. In many ways, not limited to baking new recipes, I am constantly in a state of reviewing and revising; there is joy in this too. As the cake cools, I am pleasantly satisfied. I fill a butter knife with a hefty scoop of the icing and smooth it on top of the chocolate cake until the entire top is covered. I finish with shiny sprinkles colored periwinkle, muted pink, and gold.

In “Uses of the Erotic”, Audre Lorde expresses the warmth of getting to experience the erotic with others. She says, “The sharing of joy forms a bridge between sharers which can form a basis for much which is not shared between them and lessens the threat of their difference”. The next morning after baking, I have a few slices of cake for myself, I share some with my roommate and her partner, and bring three pieces in a tupperware container over to my lover's apartment. In moments like these, I am intuitively indulgent, and my pleasure grounds me in community. There are no second guesses and there is no shame.

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?