Wild, weird baked goods (that work even though they shouldn’t) don’t happen by accident, and neither does delicious copywriting.
Weekly email archives and occasional extra words that don't have a home anywhere else on my site.
I like to live dangerously.
Being surrounded by baked goods at all times is right up there with cliff diving — I’m guessing, because lol — with the added bonus of frequent and devastating crashes that follow every stratospheric sugar high. 🏔📉
A couple of years ago, I took an online baking class led by Milk Bar Founder Christina Tosi.
We were long past the Zoom-happy-hour-sourdough-starter-7500-piece-puzzle stage of the pandemic, and I needed a summer activity. The natural choice was, of course, an entire month with my oven at 350 degrees when Chicago was in armpit mode. 🥵
Each weeklong module — cookies, pies, and cakes — started by teaching a classic Milk Bar recipe and the techniques and components behind them.
For example, the Cornflake Chocolate Chip Marshmallow Cookies (🤤), called for:
Then we began recipe development. Cookies needed a base dough and mix-ins to add texture and interest — all based on a “flavor story” to ensure what we created would make the person enjoying said cookie fall in love with the baker.
Learning the building blocks of each type of baked good gave us the freedom to play.
🍪 My chocolate-chai cookies with espresso crumble evoked my high-school years as a Starbucks barista.
🥧 A cheddar cheesecake with a pretzel crust and cocktail-cherry topping was inspired by family vacations to Door County, Wisconsin.
🎂 My Reese’s layer cake was born out of…my love of Reese’s.
Those recipes all came from my brain! All because I internalized the basics and built up the confidence to use them as a springboard.
Ready for a cinnamon-swirl twist?
This applies to marketing, too.
Wild, weird baked goods that work even though they shouldn’t don’t happen by accident, and neither does delicious copywriting.
Getting the basics down — nailing your message, defining and refining your voice — frame out the story, and that’s when the fun really starts.
(Hell, I believe that first part can be fun, too. Let’s schedule an hour to explore your message.)
You might just end up living dangerously, too, forever on the verge of being crushed under the weight of all that demand.
I won’t tell if you just eat the dough,
P.S. Are you liking these emails? Be a sweetheart and share this with someone else who might.
F-S: Reserved for rest