Jack Hazan - Mind over Batter

Copyright 2022 by Jack Hazan.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available.

ISBN 978-1-7972-1231-9 (epub, mobi)

ISBN 978-1-7972-1230-2 (hardcover)

Design by Rachel Harrell.

Photography by Lauren Volo.

Typesetting by Frank Brayton.

Food styling by Marianna Velasquez.

Prop styling by Maeve Sheridan.

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Disclaimer: This book is not intended to be a replacement for therapy. If you are in need, please speak with a licensed professional.

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This book is dedicated to the women in my life, who have been my biggest fans and teachers throughout the years. Youve helped me realize my own powerin and out of the kitchenand have helped shape me into the man, baker, and therapist I am today. I love you all.

To my mother, Sharon Hazan, for being an inspiration in the kitchen.

In honor of Grandma Raquel Benun.

In loving memory of Grandma Peggy Hazan.

Welcome to baking as therapy. Im Jacka licensed psychotherapist, MA, LMHCand Ill be your guide on this healing journey through easy-to-make, deliciously decadent, sweet and savory treats!

You might be wondering, What exactly is Baking Therapy, Jack? or What does this therapist know about baking? Baking isnt just a chore, or something you should be doing for a celebrationits much more layered than that. At its core, Baking Therapy is an innovative approach to some of the most commonly presented issues I see as a licensed therapist. Its a type of therapy that engages all of your senses, is available at your fingertips, and in your own home, even if youve never realized it before. Baking your way through tough feelings helps you break down what youre going through in a digestible way. (Heads up: Get ready for a few too many food puns.)

Before I became a therapist, my life laid out the ingredients to practice Baking Therapy. Imagine a table filled with mise en place, with each ingredient representing a different part of my story, waiting to be mixed together to make me who I am. The same (I hope) can be said for you and why youre here! Lets get startedand bake what your momma gave ya.

I come from a very traditional familyand community. Born and raised in the Syrian Jewish community in Brooklyn, New York, I always thought, Where do I belong? Forget about the black sheep. I was the gold-plated (marzipan) duck. I didnt care about sports. I had a colorful personality. I adore the community I was born into, and I know that they adore me as well. But growing up, finding my place wasnt easy. There were expectationspractically set in stonefrom the minute I was born, if not before.

My grandparents were first-generation immigrants from Syria. They were kicked out of their country just for being Jewish. They came to an entirely new country, with a new foreign culture, with no money, no connections, and no idea what tomorrow would bring. That uncertainty mustve been such a burden. But my grandfather, like many of his fellow countrymen, set out to work hard to provide for his family. When hardships hit him, he never gave up. Lo and behold, he worked his way to owning a building on Fifth Avenue. (Talk about creating the dream!)

He, like many fellow Syrian Jewish immigrant men, was driven by one thing: a desire to not fail. They couldnt afford to not succeed in this new world after being forced from their old one. The community came together with the intention of creating a home, not only for them, but also for their families and future generations. They createdin abundancefinancial security, community centers, and interpersonal relationships. They established themselves as true New Yorkers, becoming an affluent community in the process. This meant that they were wary of things that might challenge the community they had so painstakingly built up.

Enter me! (Insert nervous laughter.) I was expected to go to Jewish school (yeshiva) and grow up to have a wife and 4 kids (none of that nuclear family with only 2.5 kids). I was meant to go into the family business, eventually take over, and pass it down to my sons. That was all part of the plan. Yet there I wasADHD, hyperactive, and (too young to realize I was yet) gaypractically throwing the proverbial wrench into their conservative community. These traits and characteristics werent talked about, so I didnt know who I could confide in and whom I could be my authentic self with. I wanted people to like me, so I put on my best face for the community.

My parents guided me to be able to experience the same sense of safety of community and prosperity. But what happens when you try to mix oil and water? Sure, if you blend them, it looks like they eventually come together. But appearances can be deceiving; theyll separate the first chance they get. For me, I knew I had to find my placemy communityand it might not be the one I was born into. That was a hard pill for my parents to swallow because the Syrian Jewish community was all they knew. Its what they wanted for me, no matter how different the community and I are.

Yeshiva felt like a stricter version of the community: If you didnt keep up with your Jewish and secular studies, you would be kicked out. So school was just as challenging. I had problems paying attention in class. It always felt like the TV channel was changing in my head. I couldnt keep up, and then I was out. I bounced around from school to school to school, therapists office to therapists office. The answer at the time (hello, 90s!) was to take some Ritalin and sit down. Eventually, I ended up on three other medications. The channel no longer felt like it was constantly changing, but the signal was just all static. I was such a vulnerable and open young manjust trying to fit inbut my connections with society back then taught me to close up. I feared the judgment and began to judge myself. (Special shout-out to Mrs. Dabah for her patience and actually seeing me. Dr. Goulet and Debbie Antar gave me a glimmer of hope, too.)