“I Had To Really Trust My Own Instincts”: Helen Goh on Baking and the Meaning of Life

Helen Goh knows a thing or two about writing cookbooks. Her titles Ottolenghi Comfort and Sweet, both co-authored with Yotam Ottolenghi, were international bestsellers. But her latest, Baking and the Meaning of Life, is the first time she’s been published as a solo author.

“The book as a whole reflects my shift from feeling the pressure to be endlessly innovative to focusing instead on creating recipes that illuminate and enrich everyday life,” she tells Broadsheet. “The collection ranges from simple, comforting bakes to more ambitious projects that mirror the variety of moments and occasions that make up life.”

While she’s best known for her recipes, Goh has always lived something of a dual life. The Malaysian-born baker grew up in Melbourne, where she studied psychology and worked as a rep in the pharmaceutical industry. She left that world behind to open a cafe in Hawthorn, followed by a stint as the pastry chef at St Kilda institution Donovans. From there it was on to London where she joined the Ottolenghi team as a recipe developer, enrolled in a doctoral program and opened a counselling practice.

In the new book, Goh marries these two halves and explores how baking is about so much more than whatever comes out of the oven. “Baking has become a source of meaning both in what it allows me to convey with others and in the growth and fulfillment it brings to me,” she says. We took time with Goh to find out more about her solo debut.

After working with Yotam Ottolenghi on your past two books, how did it feel writing this one as a solo author?
It was both daunting and liberating. At Ottolenghi, we have the luxury of focusing on what we do best – in my case, developing recipes. There’s a whole team to test, cross-check and taste along the way, plus an editor keeping an eye on everything. It’s incredibly helpful, but with so many voices, it’s easy to lose your own compass and get distracted. Writing solo meant I had to really trust my own instincts. And because this book is so personal and rooted in my own experiences, I employed an external tester to make sure neither nostalgia or sentimentality clouded my judgement with the recipes. It was a significant financial outlay, but it gave me the confidence and reassurance that every recipe was delicious and would work in someone else’s kitchen.

How did you come up with the concept for Baking and the Meaning of Life?
For years, publishers suggested I write a book combining my two professional passions: baking and psychology. They often imagined “baking as therapy” and, while I believe the focused attention of measuring ingredients, the repetition of kneading and rolling can offer a meditative escape from stress, I realised that my idea went deeper.

The idea crystallised in 2023 after the earthquake in Turkey and Syria. A Turkish British cook organised a bake sale in North London and I delivered cupcakes, cornbread and jalapeno muffins. My husband joked that it seemed wildly inefficient – we could have raised more money simply by donating cash. But what he didn’t see was the energy in the building that day. Everyone there felt a purpose, connection and pride in contributing to something beyond ourselves. We were giving, sharing and building community, fortifying a sense of belonging and showing solidarity with people thousands of miles away affected by tragedy.

Baking is unique in allowing us to express all of this precisely because, in practical terms, it is unnecessary – no one truly needs cake. And yet, in its creation and sharing, it conveys so much more. Once the idea took shape, I realised that much of my life in baking has been about communicating something deeper, not just feeding people.

What was the first recipe you knew needed to be in this book?
That would have to be the Dutch baby pancake. It’s my go-to whenever my boys have friends over for a sleepover. Making pancakes or crepes one-by-one used to be a full-on production, and inevitably, there were arguments over who got the first one. The Dutch baby changed everything. The batter is simple and can even be made the night before, then the oven does all the work. It arrives at the table all puffed up and golden, ready to be torn and shared so everyone eats at the same time. My children love it with Nutella and berries, but I’ve also included my favourite savoury version with mortadella, cheese and rocket – perfect for a leisurely brunch.

Are there any bakes in this book inspired by your time at Donovans?
Yes, there are two: the grissini and the bombe alaska. I made both every single day when I worked at Donovans, and they were a huge part of my growth as a pastry chef. I first created the grissini there, and I’ve made some version of it in every kitchen I’ve worked in since. It’s included in the chapter titled Continuity, which explores how recipes can be passed down through generations, and how that sense of continuity can give our lives coherence, purpose and meaning.

What’s a good recipe for people who are new to baking?
The hazelnut and coffee thins. The dough comes together in minutes in a food processor – though you could easily make it by hand as well – and bakes into crisp, utterly addictive biscuits flavoured with coffee, cinnamon, vanilla and hazelnuts. The beauty of it is in the simplicity: you press the dough into a loaf tin, refrigerate it until firm – it keeps happily for up to five days – then slice and bake whenever you want a little crunchy treat. And if you’re sharing them with guests, dip one side in chocolate to make them feel extra special.

Where do you recommend more advanced bakers start?
I can’t decide between the Wimbledon cake, the 10-layer honey cake, and the champagne and blackcurrant cake! The Wimbledon cake is my playful take on the classic French fraisier. It’s a delicate matcha-scented sponge layered with silky white chocolate cream. It asks for a little precision in lining up the strawberries, but it’s a show-stopping cake that’s beautiful and delicious.

The 10-layer honey cake is deeply satisfying to make. I find its repetitive process almost meditative, and the result is a tall, elegant layer cake, fragrant with honey, whisky and cream that meld into one another.

The champagne and blackcurrant cake is perhaps the most ambitious in the book, a multi-component recipe that calls for half a bottle of champagne. It’s unapologetically indulgent – the kind of cake that feels right for a celebration.

Is there a recipe that you think is most reflective of who you are and how you approach baking right now?
Probably the pineapple ma’amoul. Its filling of pineapple jam is inspired by a traditional Chinese New Year cookie, while the pastry shell borrows from the Middle Eastern ma’amoul, made with semolina. The classic Chinese dough can be a little too short and crumbly for those unfamiliar with it, so I’ve blended the two traditions to create something both familiar and new. To me, this recipe represents the confidence I’ve gained to draw from global baking traditions and to mix and match them in the spirit of cultural appreciation rather than a fear of cultural appropriation.

Baking and the Meaning of Life is out now through Murdoch Books. RRP $55.