Pristine. Nothing is. Yet, why do we try to box life into it? Homes are never spotless if they have been lived in. Yet, we see so many stunning photos of perfectly styled and photographed homes that set our hearts racing. Kitchens, are rarely clean if someone who loves to eat resides there. Yet, most photos that you see, styled rustic or contemporary, are so flawless. I ponder about it and wonder why. Is it a quest for something that is not really achievable in reality that makes us obsessed with it in smaller frames where we have more control? Like through the lens of a camera for a short period of exemplified purity? Like a mummified moment....

I have at times yearned for that carefree impeccability that has taken the styling world by a rage under the name of Scandinavian aesthetic that paints a sunny, pleasing picture of everything. I have tried to get it that look, live that life, be that person.

The truth is my kitchen always looks like a war zone, my fridge always has something that has been there too long, my pantry has jams and preserves that I forgot I had made, or packets of lentils and spices stashed in the recesses and completely forgotten until I go looking for something and find something else. The truth is this is my reality. I am not perfect. I am not pristine.

And, I am happy I am not. Phew!

I suppose this cake is kind of my way of acknowledging that. It is a strawberry cake of sorts with a cake using a borrowed recipe. My rhubarb strawberry compote was a tad overcooked because I left it on the stove and got immersed in a book I was reading. But, it tastes awesome and makes for an lovely sweet-tang note on this frosting.