Bittersweettoast

Those who know me well know of my love for The Great British Baking Show. Unlike every American baking or cooking show, this is a kinder and gentler approach to competition where the contestants, vying for a lovely glass plate in lieu of a million dollars, actually help one another and are genuinely empathetic about fellow bakers' mishaps. The show's hosts don't cream puff their comments, but they're never mean or condescending. When octogenarian Mary Berry gives them advice, they listen wholeheartedly. And each season's group of bakers always has a refreshing diversity of ages. These are real people who spend several long and exhausting weekends under a white tent on the grounds of a beautiful English estate. Not because they seek fame and fortune, but because they simply love to bake in their own modest home kitchens. Period. I thought about The Great British Baking Show this morning as I read the Sunday edition of The New York Times. Bear with me; there is a co...

My husband and I recently went to Chicago to visit our daughter who has been living and working there now for over a year. I had never stepped foot in the Windy City and was excited to get to know this place our daughter calls home. Spending time with her was a huge bonus. We live in a suburb of Seattle where our greatest fear tends to come in the form of four-legged creatures that roam through our backyard looking for a den or their next meal in an ever-diminishing habitat. We don't own any small pets, so their presence doesn't tend to affect us much. Life is pretty quiet and safe in our neck of the woods. So when our daughter landed this job in Chicago, I wondered how her transition would go. She has always loved the outdoors; would city life suit her? Our eighteen years of suburban parenting didn't exactly prepare her well for an urban adventure. Thrive she has. More comfortable than me in a big city she is. I had nothing to do with this, and yet it made me proud to se...