About Cake Recipe Love

What this work is made with

This page is not a story. It is a list of things—objects that do the work of *Cake Recipe Love*, where every recipe is a step-by-step guide to making something real.

Instead of telling you what we believe or how we do things, we’ll show you the tools that make it happen. The things that hold the heat, shape the dough, and carry the weight of every bite.

*Cake Recipe Love* is a place for recipes: the ones that feel like home, the ones that surprise, and the ones that turn a simple kitchen into a stage. These are the things that help us get there—no fluff, no theory, just the honest parts.

The things that do the work

Four things make the recipes here. A pan that’s seen too many batches. A knife that’s lost its edge but still cuts through. A wooden board that’s warped from years of rolling. And a spoon that’s been bent and battered but never lets go.

These are the things that turn ingredients into something you can hold.

The cast-iron skillet

A 10-inch skillet with a warped handle and a bottom that’s never quite flat. It’s been here since 2015, before the site even had a name. It’s the one we use for caramelizing onions, searing steaks, and baking cornbread—anything that needs to hold heat without letting go.

It changed how we think about patience. This pan doesn’t rush. It’s taught us that some recipes—like a deep-dish apple pie—need time to build layers, even if the edges burn a little. We’ve ruined 12 pans trying to replace it, but none worked the same way.

The plastic spatula

A $2 spatula from the back of a drawer, its handle cracked down the middle but still taped together. It’s been here since day one, folding egg whites, scraping batter, and saving more ruined cakes than we can count.

It’s the one we grab without thinking—no fancy silicone, just sturdy plastic that doesn’t care if you drop it.

It taught us that the best tools aren’t always the expensive ones. This spatula has survived being left in the sink, microwaved by accident, and dropped into a pot of boiling water.

It’s still the one we trust for the final fold in a meringue, because it doesn’t slip—and neither do we.

The wooden rolling pin

A cherrywood pin with a handle that’s split at the base, held together with twine. It’s been here since 2013, long before the site existed. It’s the one we use for pie dough, cookie dough, and anything that needs to be thinned without tearing.

It’s heavy enough to work, but not so heavy you’ll hate it after five minutes.

It taught us the difference between *rolling* and *beating*. This pin doesn’t just flatten—it stretches, it coaxes, it turns tough dough into something tender. We’ve tried lighter pins, smoother pins, but none of them feel like this one when it sinks into the dough.

It’s worn out, but we keep it anyway.

The copper measuring cup

A single 1-cup measure, its rim chipped and its interior scratched from years of scraping. It’s been here since the first batch of cookies, back when we were still learning how much flour to use.

It’s the one we fill first, the one we trust when the recipe says ‘by volume’—because this cup has never lied.

It taught us that precision isn’t about perfection. This cup is slightly dented, its edges uneven, but it’s the one that gives us the same results every time. We’ve replaced every other measuring tool in the kitchen, but this one stays. It’s the only one that feels like it’s *ours*.

What is not in the drawer

Some things we don’t use. Not because we can’t afford them, not because they’re bad—just because they don’t belong here.

Behind the scenes

I am Perry Kirchner, the founder and editor of *Cake Recipe Love*. My job here is to write recipes that feel like home—whether that’s a weeknight dinner or a dessert that makes guests stop and say *‘how did you do that?’*

I grew up in a kitchen where the best meals were the ones that tasted like memory. My grandmother’s chocolate chip cookies, my mom’s spaghetti sauce simmered for hours, the way my dad could flip a pancake without looking. I didn’t learn to cook from a book—I learned by watching, by tasting, by burning a few things along the way. When I started this site, I wanted to pass that on: the joy of a recipe that works, the pride of something made by hand.

—Perry Kirchner

Behind the scenes

This work has changed me. I used to think cooking was about precision—measuring exactly, following every step. Now I notice the little things: the way a pan heats unevenly, the way flour clumps if you pack it too tight, the way a recipe *feels* before you even start.

I can’t unsee the way a wooden spoon leaves a groove in the dough, or how a cast-iron skillet changes the texture of a crème brûlée. I’m always looking for the tools that tell the story, even the broken ones.

Behind the scenes

I’m here to make recipes that feel like they were written just for you. Not because they’re complicated, but because they’re *real*. The ones that make your kitchen smell like something worth waiting for. The ones that turn a simple list of ingredients into a story.

That’s what these tools do—they turn flour, sugar, and time into something you can’t resist.

Why any of this matters to you

Every recipe here is built on the same things: a pan that’s seen better days, a spatula that’s been dropped too many times, a rolling pin that’s held together with hope. These aren’t just tools—they’re the reason the food tastes like *home*.

They’re the reason a cake rises just right, a sauce thickens perfectly, a cookie stays crisp at the edges but soft in the middle.

When you read a recipe on this site, you’re not just getting instructions. You’re getting the weight of experience—the way a skillet changes a dish, the way a wooden spoon coaxes batter into something better.

You’re getting the same tools we use, the same lessons we’ve learned, the same trust that good food starts with good hands.

If you’ve got a question about the tools, the recipes, or just want to share your own kitchen stories, there’s a page for that. The contact page is where we’d love to hear from you.