Letter 123: Becoming New Again
When we find the best recipe
A sweet friend told me a few months ago, “I have the perfect writer for The Learning Curve.” I was so grateful when her suggestion turned into an introduction, which then turned into Lauren saying yes to writing for TLC!
As the owner of a Memphis favorite, Sweet LaLa’s Bakery, Lauren believes in combining her mantra of “making life sweeter” with service for others. I was grateful to learn more about Lauren’s why and to see, through her story, the beauty and grace in people like her who find ways to advocate for those on the margins. —Molly
“God uses the unlikely to do the unlikely.”
Kitchens hold a space of familiarity for me.
From the time I was little until today, I can find my way around a kitchen because measuring cups, whisks and spatulas all do what is asked of them. Each tool has its purpose. When I was little, recipes offered steps to make what was expected.
A good recipe takes the surprise out the moment and relieves the anxiousness of the unknown.
Creating food can be almost cruel work. Butter sizzling on the stovetop. Mom pounding veal into flat filets for veal piccata. I didn’t care much for the capers or, honestly, the veal, but the sides she served up had me drooling.
Skinned and boiled potatoes were beaten relentlessly by a stainless-steel mixer while drizzling melted butter into the mixture; a technique to smooth the lumps into submission. Watching food come to the plate was the best show.
Meals were mandatory, but they became our very own Michelin-starred moments where we made space to be together.
I was a good helper, a sous chef before I understood the meaning. Serving up the portions allowed me to bury an extra spoonful into the mashed potatoes for myself. Brownie batter, cookie dough… all the best carbs I could scrape off a mixer had me licking the whisk before I dropped it like a mic into the kitchen sink. Meals were mandatory, but they became our very own Michelin-starred moments where we made space to be together.
Life threw a lot at me in my 20s—the good stuff was marriage, college graduation, a teaching job and my first house. The bad stuff followed—carjacking, miscarriage, depression and more.
I came to the kitchen this time as a young mom looking for a saving grace: a salvation I could believe in; a space I could trust. I had been broken by the things that happened to me.
Putting things back together to make something new was found late nights alone in my kitchen. No one was watching, judging, or expecting. For a couple of hours in this space, I was in charge. Food fed emotions in me I could create or conquer. I was free to explore or stick to the measured steps. I hit repeat over and over on these dark nights. Slowly, with each new dash of this and scoop of that, I found more of me again.
This creative process in the kitchen led me to open a space in myself that had been hardened, a cracked egg, fragile but curious. I heard about the work of a local organization that helped kids caught in the juvenile justice system find a way out. Broken systems were leading to broken results.
With time, I felt the pressure bubbling up within me, a conviction to create a kitchen full of second chances and renewed hope. For all the merciless moments that built and shaped and nearly broke the kids I met, baking was the proof we could go through fire and not be burned. We could become new again. Whatever hurt us, did not have to define us.
I grew an idea inside a kitchen carved out of a juvenile justice program. I worked with over a hundred young people. The bakery gained a reputation with more recipes, more kids, more customers—but with all gains, comes loss.
As we built the kitchen we use today, five of our kids we baked with were buried, along with the dreams they had of getting out of the life from which they were formed. One is awaiting trial, and yet there is one; the one who still works with me, thriving in his element, making a new batch of happy out of the life he left behind.
Kitchens hold a lot. They are the spaces we come to not only to feed ourselves, but to nourish a place within us that might need attention. I like to say we built a table big enough to share in the sweetness of life, but we know it’s sturdy enough to hold up the hurts we all carry too.
Of all of the recipes I have created, this is one of my best so far.
Lauren’s 5 Favorite Things
Jackson Hole, WY: Not only are you 20 minutes from town but you are 20 minutes to nowhere and I can get lost traversing a place so majestic where my thoughts and voice echo against the Grand Tetons.
The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah: This book reflects the heartache and commitment of a love that asks the most of you without losing yourself completely. This story documents the tragedy and triumph of traveling around the world only to learn your greatest fears are within you.
Captain D’s Three Piece Fish and Hushpuppies: I confess to being a closet Captain D’s lover and happily run through the drive thru alone for a fried pick me up on days that feel a little extra hard to handle.
The only other man in my life is my giant, sturdy and reliable mixer I splurged on when I expanded my bakery.
I love a good pair of fuzzy slippers and my Uggs help me settle in and relax after a long day of being on my feet.
In gratitude,
Lauren Young
P.S. Another Memphis gem and creative (and friend!), Bess, shares important words of wisdom about creating art and the worthiness of our work.
My favorite place to go when back home! I didn't know about the founding mission and now it's all of the more reason to love it. Lauren -- the lattes and lemon cookies are those of my DREAMS.
Love this and love Sweet Lala's. So glad to learn more about its important mission. Their cookies and coffee are delicious!