Nailed it

Not really. Paul Hollywood is crying.

What you see above is supposed to be a Halloween sugar cookie, a swirl of orange and purple dough lovingly made by me. I made these confections for the grandtwins, who couldn’t care less about presentation, but because these are uniquely ugly, and I wanted to share.

I spent some recent down time watching “The Great British Baking Show,” and in my binge-induced fog, I convinced myself that I was in the same league as the bakers onscreen. This was an incorrect assumption on my part and it is uncharacteristically pompous of me. I never look at modern art and think I could do a better job than what is hanging in front of me, but there’s something about baking that makes me think it’s easy.

Part of that is the long hours I’ve spent doing it. When I was a girl, I told myself that baking was really just edible chemistry, and by extension the kitchen was a lab and I, a feminist-from-birth, could walk amongst the pans and dishes without feeling as if I was doing something girly. I have never created anything particularly fancy, but I’ll put my chocolate cake up against any one’s.

In the baking show, two judges (and two sort-of affable court jesters) assess the end products of nervous amateur bakers, who are amateur only in that they don’t get paid for their work, which is stunning. The judges are Prue Leith and Paul Hollywood, the latter of whom has attracted an international following in no small part because he looks all manly and stuff. I am immune to his charms as I am married to a manly man already and one is enough.

Still, I listen carefully as Paul and Prue walk among the would-be star bakers and deliver their verdicts. This dough is too spongy. That icing is salt. This cake is raw inside. I feel for the contestants, as there are pounds of stuff I’ve scraped into the trash because even I wouldn’t eat it.

In my defense, in this case the cookies actually taste nice and buttery and so I kept them. I guess, in stretching for a metaphor, there’s such a thing as good enough. And the proof in the pudding? The grandtwins sucked them down. Have a wonderful weekend.