There is only one art form that marries art and science. It’s also the only one that, each and every time, employs all five senses.

Baking.

Yes, baking.

Put down that marble pound cake and pay attention.

Baking is chemistry. Think about how baking powder makes your biscuits light as a cloud. Baking soda does its thing in the oven so you can indulge in your favorite chocolate cake or gingerbread. There’s the miracle of watching sugar turning into golden caramel.

Don’t forget the magic of eggs to transform themselves into a silky Italian meringue buttercream, a decadent pastry cream, or an ethereal orange souffle. A dozen eggs are better magicians than Houdini when they reappear as angel food cake. Now that’s chemistry. That’s science.

Baking is mathematics. All kinds of weights and measures are involved. If you want to scale up or down a recipe, you need math. If you decide to bake those brownies in a larger pan, you’ll have to adjust the baking time. Math.

Don’t forget the mathematical genius who solved this equation: C(hocolate) + R(aspberries) = Y(ummy).

Baking is logic. It takes thought to realize that chocolate and orange were destined to spend their short life on this earth together. And mint chocolate chip ice cream, the face of whoever came up with that should be carved on Mount Rushmore.

Baking is psychology. Forget Xanax or whatever mood-elevating pills they’re passing out these days. Can you think of a better pick-me-up than brownies? Or peanut butter cookies?

Baking is life.  We’d all be sadder and thinner without it.

Most of all, baking is our most delicious ephemeral art.

Which would you prefer? A lecture on the theory of relativity or a cream puff? Sure, it’s all relative. Sometimes you want it stuffed with whipped cream. Other times only pastry cream will fit the bill. Vanilla or chocolate? And for those special occasions, how about a raspberry coulis hiding beneath that mountain of whipped cream just waiting to be plundered?

Other art forms involve the senses, but not as deeply or dramatically as baking. Take those aromas. Oh, yes, please, freshly baked bread, blondies, baklava. Inhale deeply. Aromas cast us back in time to relive our precious moments, and today’s aromas linger to become tomorrow’s sweet recollections.

Who can resist the sight of warm peach pie holding up a scoop of melting vanilla ice cream? And don’t forget the beauty of spun-sugar gardenias or chocolate roses or a sugar cage atop your favorite cake. Ah!

How does your stomach react when it hears a blueberry grunt groaning on your stove top? Or popcorn imitating Fred Astaire by dancing on all sides of the pot. What about the symphony a trifle plays as it hits all the notes of the dessert world and the tinkle when your sugar cage collapses under the crack of your fork?

Now we’re getting to the crux of the matter. Last, but definitely not least, taste. Which needs no introduction. Think about the satisfying crunch of southern pecan pie, baked custard sliding down your throat, lemon curd puckering your mouth. Need I say more?

Sir Isaac Newton was goofing off when an apple dropped on his head. We already knew things fall down. So what was the big deal? Did he take the hint? Did it ever occur to him to put that apple to better use? History does not record his answer. If he were the genius everyone claims he was, why didn’t he think pie or dumplings or sauce? Newton failed to capture the essence of apple, a crisp crust stuffed with cinnamony apples.

Thomas Edison had 2,332 patents. Big deal. Did he know how to turn sugar into caramel sauce and pour it over maple pecan ice cream? Did he ever make German chocolate cake? No.

Marie Currie is famous for radioactivity, but could she whip up crepes a l’orange? Oeufs a la Neige? Or even a simple Cherry Clafoutis? Mais non.

Why is there no statue to Auguste Escoffier, the man who created Peach Melba? Why has the Nobel Prize Committee overlooked Franz Sacher or the brilliant person who decided to fry pastry and stuff it with sweetened ricotta to create the cannolo, the glory of Sicilian pastries?

I rest my case.

Oh, one more thing before you go. Please pass the Sacher-Torte. And the whipped cream.

Paula Messina’s “Indiana Jones and the Horse Bit Cheekpiece” appears in The Ekphrastic Review. Her articles on writing and public speaking can be found at https://shortmystery.blogspot.com/ and https://kevintipplescorner.blogspot.com/. She’s working on a novel set in Boston’s North End during the 1940s.