The Scale of The Problem

How We Measure Up to Expectations in the Kitchen

When I started baking professionally, I had no idea what I was doing. But I knew how to make desserts people loved. So I faked it. A lot. As a self-taught pastry chef in the early 2010s, I had to mask my humble beginnings and pass as someone classically trained—because back then, that's what it took to be taken seriously.

This was peak Top Chef fandom. Chefs were clawing their way to celebrity status, food media was shifting the gold standard every other week, and the industry was all-in on a "best or bust" mentality.

At some point, I had to tune out the noise—the pressure, the moving goalposts of what "good" looked like, the imposter syndrome creeping in—and do what I did best. It didn't matter how I got a dessert on the plate. What mattered was that I got it there, and it was damn good.

I had to own my approach. Accept it. Sharpen it. Had I gone through classical training, I probably wouldn't have become a pastry chef. I'm an Aries through and through—being told what to do and how to do it, with no room to experiment, is a hard pass. I've always believed there's more than one way to get where you need to go. Hence, my motto for the kitchen: I don't care how you get there, as long as you get there.

This brings me to a debate that's been circling for years: the ongoing push to measure ingredients only by scale.

The Kitchen Scale Pushers

Insisting that you must weigh your ingredients—only weigh your ingredients—is a form of kitchen elitism. It's food classism disguised as precision.

It feeds the idea that you're doing it wrong if you're baking at home and not using a scale. That your cakes, cookies, or breads are somehow less than because you didn't weigh your flour to the gram. That you, a home baker making brownies for your family, are falling short of some invisible standard set by professionals in restaurant kitchens.

Before you assume, I'm saying a scale is useless—keep reading. In Potluck Desserts, I touch on this briefly—I make my case and move on.

But I want to dig a little deeper here.

I Use a Scale, But It Varies. I Don't Swear By It

I switch between volume and weight measurements—it depends on what I'm making and the ingredients I use. It's taken me years to find a rhythm in measuring ingredients and trusting my instincts; muscle memory has been built over time.

Typically, I weigh wet ingredients because:

• Liquids are inconsistent by volume. A cup of honey doesn't pour like a cup of milk; weighing eliminates that guesswork.

• Fat-to-liquid ratios matter. Butter, oil, and dairy have different densities and weight ensures a balanced recipe.

• Emulsions need precision. Things like custards and batters need to be exact, and a couple of extra grams can make the difference between smooth and split.

When it comes to dry ingredients, I stick with volume measurements. Why? Because I trust my method. Years of baking have taught me what a measured cup of all-purpose flour looks and feels like. Volume lets me:

• Adjust for moisture levels. Flour absorbs humidity differently depending on the season or how it's stored.

• Control texture. More flour means a sturdier bake, and less means a softer crumb. Volume lets me adjust in real-time.

• Prevent over-mixing. Gradually adding flour rather than weighing allows me to adjust as I go.

That said, I do use a scale for technical recipes—like croissants or dough for cream puffs and eclairs. Precision matters for those. But even then, there's always an uncontrollable factor: the environment. Temperature, humidity, and altitude—they all affect baking. A scale can't change that flour will absorb moisture differently from one day to the next.

But if I'm making cookies or brownies? Volume measurements all the way.

When I Write a Recipe

I start with volume measurements, knowing that's what most home bakers use. I test the recipe with volume measurements and record weight measurements along the way so I can:

• Provide weight options for those who prefer them.

• Track any variations and make adjustments if needed.

• Offer guidance on when weight vs. volume might matter.

My goal is to make sure a recipe is doable for anyone, even if they don't have a scale. But at the same time, I want to share the knowledge I gain from testing—not just giving you a recipe, but helping you understand why it works.

It Isn't A Fable, Volume Measurements Do Vary

Yes, volume measurements vary. No one scoops flour the same way, and no two flour brands weigh precisely the same. There are tricks to minimize inconsistencies—like spooning flour into a measuring cup instead of scooping—but variance will always exist. And here's the thing: that's always been true in baking. The skill isn't in erasing the variances. It's in learning how to anticipate them and adjust as needed.

But let's talk about the other side of the argument: scales can be just as finicky, imperfect, and as much of a barrier for home bakers.

Scales Aren’t Foolproof—Don’t Let Them Fool You

So you read that a scale is essential, you buy one (most likely digital), and now you're using it. Great! But here's what you might not realize:

• You forget to zero out the scale after placing your bowl on it, so now your measurements are off.

• You don't realize your scale can toggle between grams, ounces, and fluid ounces—and one day, it switches modes without you noticing. Suddenly, 200g of flour becomes 200oz (yikes).

• You don't place the scale on a flat, sturdy surface—maybe it's on a kitchen towel, a cookbook, or a counter with a stray piece of paper under it. Now, it's uneven, and your weights are inaccurate.

• The scale times out mid-measurement, erasing everything, so you eyeball it and think, "Eh, close enough."

• The battery starts dying, and now the display flickers and glitches, giving you wildly inconsistent readings.

• The battery actually dies, and you don't have a replacement because it's a CR2032 lithium coin cell battery—who even has those lying around?

And guess what? Just like volume measurements, weight measurements vary by brand and product. Your King Arthur all-purpose flour might weigh differently than Bob's Red Mill.

The Real Reason Chefs Love Scales: The Bottom Line

Let's be honest: Chefs love scales because they help manage the bottom line.

In a professional kitchen, time is the enemy, and scales are the solution. Weighing ingredients speeds up the process, especially when making large batches. If I'm preparing a 12x batch of brioche dough, I'm using a scale—no question. The faster you can work, the less time you spend, and the lower your overhead costs. Time is money and every second counts.

But it's not just about speed—it's about consistency. In a busy kitchen, multiple people may make the same recipe. A line cook, sous chef, and prep cook each bring their own habits and experience to the table. A scale minimizes (not eliminates) the variations, ensuring the recipe is standardized and always turns out the same. And here's where it really matters: consistency reduces waste. Waste equals money down the drain. Standardization isn't just a convenience; controlling costs when running a restaurant is essential.

At home, though, do you really need a scale when making a single batch of cookies for your kids, a birthday cake for a friend, or pancakes on a Sunday morning?

I don't think so.

The Myth of Perfection in Home Baking

There's a common misconception that using a scale is the only way to ensure perfect recipes, especially in baking. While I absolutely agree that scales are incredibly helpful for specific technical recipes—think soufflés, laminated doughs, or other precision-heavy recipes—this focus on perfection has been contorted into a myth, especially when it comes to home kitchens.

The reality is that in professional kitchens, the scale is a tool for efficiency and consistency. But this practice has somehow become a "gold standard" for home bakers. This has led to a mentality where home cooks believe that anything less than a perfectly measured recipe will fail. A business mindset has infiltrated our kitchens, leaving little room for the joy, creativity, and exploration that cooking should bring.

When we emphasize precision at home, we often strip away the magic of baking. The same magic can turn a mistake into something beautiful. Some of my best desserts came from little mistakes: a forgotten pan of butter becomes brown butter, an extra spoonful of sugar makes a chewier cookie, and a slightly overworked dough creates an unexpected texture.

If we only focus on exact measurements, we risk missing out on those happy accidents that lead to new and exciting versions of classic recipes.

Baking is about more than following a strict formula; it's about experimenting, tweaking, and allowing yourself to fail. Mistakes aren't something to be feared—they're an opportunity to discover something new.

Why We Write Recipes

We write recipes not because we want to create foolproof formulas but because we love to experiment. The joy of cooking comes from the freedom to try, adjust, make mistakes, and discover something uniquely your own. If we keep our recipes locked behind the idea that they must be perfect, we're doing a disservice to the real spirit of cooking. Our job isn't just to pass on a list of measurements—it's to pass on that permission to play, to get curious, and to embrace the magic of imperfection.

Cooking and baking at home should be fun, not a battle for precision. After all, the best recipes aren't always the ones that are executed perfectly—they're the ones that come from a place of creativity and joy.

Here's My Point

Use whatever works for you. The goal isn't to follow rigid rules—it's to make something delicious and enjoy the process. Let's stop treating one method as the "right" way and instead focus on sharing knowledge. Bake with a scale, bake with a measuring cup—whatever makes sense for you. What matters is that you feel confident in your kitchen.

We don't need to turn home baking into a place of rigid perfection. We already live in a world shaped by toxic, cis-masculine ideals of hierarchy and precision. Let's not bring that into our home kitchens by making everyone think, walk, and talk like classically trained chefs in a French brigade system.

The more methods we embrace, the more confidence we instill in ourselves and others. That variety—those different approaches and perspectives—makes our baking, cooking, and sharing richer, more creative, and more joyful.

I don't care how you get there—just that you do.

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