I love to cook, and my favorite fantasy is about competing on Top Chef (I’m not at all that good; this is a fantasy). But I’ve never been successful at baking. I guess because baking is so precise, in measurements of ingredients and time, unlike cooking where I tweak and improvise to my heart’s content.
Still, there must be something of a pastry chef manqué inside me, because every time I change Baby A’s diaper, dusting her bottom with cornstarch makes me feel like I’m giving a cake a final dusting of powdered sugar and when I draw a precise line of diaper cream in her diaper, I feel as though I’m frosting some impossibly dainty patisserie.
That picture of yourself in academic drag you took when people were consistently mistaking you for an undergraduate (because genes, but a...