I don’t have many talents. 
I was never the star of the 
spring musical, I never scored 
the winning goal. What I have 
done is bake — a lot. Baking 
has inserted itself into every 
holiday, every major celebration 
in my life. Friend accepted to 
college? Bake a cookie cake for 
them. Got a cool internship? 
Cupcakes! Looking for a way to 
procrastinate on a Wednesday 
night? I’ve got a muffin recipe 
for you. Every part of baking 
is personal, therapeutic and 
painstakingly 
meaningful. 
It gives you the opportunity 
to take a group of tasteless 
ingredients 
and 
assemble 
something extraordinary.
For me, the month of Dec. 
building up to Christmas has 
always meant a lot of things, 
but one of them stands out 
above the rest: baking. While 
other 
children 
associate 
Christmastime with the first 
snowfall or a desperate hunt 
to uncover their presents, I 
was happiest peeking into the 
oven, dipping my finger into 
unwatched batter and being 
the first taste tester of the 
ungodly mass of cookies my 
mother cranks out every year. 
I’d like to think of myself as a 
mature adult, one who doesn’t 
fall for the childish whim of an 
over-advertised holiday. Yet as 
soon as I catch the first whiff 
of my mother’s dangerously 
delicious 
chocolate-dipped 
butter cookies as their presence 
envelops my house, I can’t help 
but become possessed once 
more with that pesky holiday 
spirit.
And so I give you this recipe 
— 
this 
melt-in-your-mouth, 
sacred recipe — in hope that you 
will stop lamenting over the 
allegedly evil personification 
of capitalism and organized 
religion that is Christmas. 
When I make it myself, I lay 
out each step as if I am a Food 
Network star instead of a 
19-year-old girl making cookies 
alone. Each ingredient is a 
story, each step an assurance, 
all coming together to craft one 
damn good cookie. To quote the 
great modern philosopher Sara 
Bareilles, “You wanna know 
what’s inside? Simple question, 
so then what’s the answer? My 
whole life is in here, in this 
kitchen baking. What a mess 
I’m making.”

1 cup butter, softened

If you can give a cookie a 
heritage, butter cookies like 

these are technically Italian, 
but that doesn’t stop my Polish 
side from perfecting them each 
year. I’d like to think baking 
them is an attempt by my Polish 
family to take advantage of 
holiday cheer and reach across 
the aisle to the other half of my 
family, the one that came from 
Italy. Or maybe they’re just 
easy to make. My grandmother 

and mother always fight about 
who used the recipe first. I 
don’t care. I’ll never tell whose 
are better.

½ cup confectioner’s sugar

My 18th birthday was a 
snow day. Instead of enduring 
the ego-boosting delight of 
everyone in the hall wishing 
me a “happy birthday,” I sat 
alone in my room starting and 
restarting books that stood 
piled on my nightstand. I made 
my first mug brownie that day, 
and I’ve made hundreds since.

1 teaspoon vanilla

Who isn’t obsessed with the 
scent of vanilla? To this day 
I inhale the aroma with the 
enthusiasm of a juul addict. 

Spoiler: It doesn’t taste nearly 
as good as it smells.

2 cups all-purpose flour

My first attempt at baking 
came at the hands of a corrupt 
Easy-Bake Oven. It was not even 
my own, because as a young 
tomboy I couldn’t imagine 
anything worse than spending 
my afternoons partaking in 
pink frilly activities meant to 
confine women to the domestic 
sphere before they even hit 
puberty. I tried to make a mini 
bundt cake and burnt my hand, 
cementing 
my 
hatred 
and 
resentment of Hasbro and its 
patriarchal propaganda.

1 cup semisweet chocolate 
chips

As I normally write for the 
TV section of The Daily, many 
of my friends think that I am an 
expert on all things television, 
popular and unpopular. I nod, 
agree and ignore the fact the 
only show I’ve watched for 
the past month is “The Great 
British Baking Show.”

1 tablespoon butter

Do you ever wonder why the 
world still gives Paula Deen a 
platform?

Holiday sprinkles

Christmas was the last day 
I saw my grandfather before 
he died years ago. We snuck 
too many cookies behind our 
family’s back. He helped me 
perfect the art of dunking a 
holiday cookie into a bath of 
hot cocoa, letting the red and 
green colors run together like 
a river. Last year when I was 
baking Christmas cookies, a 
cardinal perched outside the 
window.

In a bowl, cream butter and 
sugar.
Add vanilla; mix well.
Gradually add flour; mix well. 
cover and chill for 1 hour.
Shape 
tablespoonfuls 
of 
dough into 2-1/2-in. x 1/2-
in. sticks. Place 2 in. apart 
on ungreased baking sheets. 
Flatten about three-fourths of 
each stick lengthwise with a 
fork.
Bake at 350° until set, 14-16 
minutes. Cool on baking sheets.
Melt chocolate chips and 
shortening until smooth; dip the 
round end of each cookie.
Add holiday sprinkles. Place 
on waxed paper until firm.

And above all, enjoy.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
b-side
Thursday, December 6, 2018 — 5B

I’ve been holding onto some 
bitterness for a while. Almost 
a year, actually, ever since I 
finished the second season 
of “The Great British Baking 
Show” last February. I don’t 
remember how I came across 
the show initially. It popped up 
on my Netflix queue sometime 
last winter and something in 
the back of my brain told me 
“Yes, Natalie, give this a shot.” 
I’d never even been that into 

food television before, unless 
you count my parents and me 
watching “Chuck’s Day Off” 
on the Cooking Channel or the 
occasional Martha Stewart. 
Food Network, despite The 
Daily’s 
previous 
show 
of 
support for their work, just 
never did it for me.
So you can imagine my 
surprise when I became deeply 
enthralled in the universe 
of “The Great British Baking 
Show.” Because it is, I believe, 
its own universe, with the 
green fields of Welford Park 
and the names of its judges 
— 
Mary 
Berry 
and 
Paul 
Hollywood — existing outside 
the 
constraints 
of 
space 
and time. The entire show’s 
premise 
isn’t 
immediately 
made clear, either. All I could 
glean as I jumped straight 
into the second season is that 
it is set around a bunch of 
U.K. residents gathering in 
a tent to bake, be judged and 
be eliminated by Mary and 
Paul. A year out and I’m still 
not completely sure what the 
star baker stands to win at the 
end of the show, other than 
briefly becoming a household 
name and maybe publishing a 
cookbook or two. But somehow 
none of this is ultimately 
necessary to buy into the 
show’s intrigue, which I did 

without question.
Season two of “The Great 
British Baking Show” became 
a mode of comfort and escape 
for me. I would watch as these 
charming, over-eager British 
men and women of all ages 
would 
either 
persevere 
or 
crumble in their attempts to 
make pastries, cakes, bread 
and biscuits that would meet 
the high standards of Mary 
and Paul. Each episode is 
structured the same: There’s 

a Signature Challenge, which 
allows each baker to present 
a version of that week’s baked 
good they’ve made before; the 
Technical Challenge, where 
the 
bakers 
must 
perfectly 
execute a recipe presented by 
Mary or Paul and which leaves 
out important details such 
as cooking time to see if the 
baker can still pull it off; and 
the Showstopper Challenge, 
where bakers present their 
own interpretation of a classic 
baked good. And in each 
episode, drama would unfold 
when in the final seconds 

of a challenge a finishing 
decoration fell askew or a 

biscuit crumpled upon coming 
out of its tin, laying wreckage 
to an otherwise quality bake.

I bought into all of it — the 
adorable optimism of bakers 
like Glenn and Howard and 
Christine, who were only there 
to make their families proud, 
and the overzealous hosts Mel 
and Sue who moved the show 
along with their bad puns. I 
bought into all of it and, in the 
end, “The Great British Baking 
Show” betrayed my trust.
It isn’t that I’ve never seen a 
competition show before. I’ve 
watched my fair share of “The 

Bachelor” and old re-runs of 
“Iron Chef” glimmer through 
my childhood memory. But in 
accepting “The Great British 
Baking Show” for what it’s 
worth — its innocence, its 
purity, its all together feel-
good nature that felt like, even 
when someone was sent home, 
it wasn’t truly the end for them 
— I didn’t realize that you can’t 
expect to predict the ending 
of a show whose premise 
you don’t understand. I’m a 
firm believer, after devoting 
my unreserved attention to 
every detail of this 10 episode 

season, that Kimberley should 
have been 2013’s winner. Even 
Ruby, 
the 
college 
student 
who I didn’t particularly like 
for most of the season, had 
performed better for most 
of the season than Frances, 
who ultimately took home the 
title of Star Baker. I was quite 
honestly shocked that Frances 
even made it to the final 
episode of the series. While 
her bakes often qualified for 
number one or two spots in the 
Showstopper challenges, her 
technical bakes repeatedly fell 
flat, including her adaptation 
of pretzels in the final episode. 
Kimberley, on the other hand, 
showed intuition in the craft 
and 
demonstrated 
growth, 
performing 
better 
as 
each 
week passed.
In retrospect, I should have 
expected things would not go 
the way I wanted them to for 
Kimberley. My concern began 
around episode six, the sweet 
dough week, when Howard 
was sent home instead of 
Glenn. Despite his inability 
to master the technical bakes, 
Howard’s 
signature 
and 
showstopper bakes had so 
much more assurity, and he 
always executed them with 
confidence 
(we 
all 
recall 
his Picasso Sun Bread from 
episode two). Not only that, 

but he was consistently a 
favorite of Paul and Mary’s, 
with Glenn acting as a more 
alienating 
figure 
with 
his 
frequently panicked execution 
when faced with emergencies 
under the tent.
I feared early on in the 
season that Paul’s evident bias 
in favor of Ruby would be the 
only factor pushing her to the 
finals. But as the episodes 
passed, she began proving 
herself with baked goods like a 

NATALIE ZAK
Daily Arts Writer

No more breaking bread 
with ‘British Baking Show’

SAMANTHA DELLA FERA
Daily Arts Writer

Measuring life in spoons

BBC ONE

BBC ONE

TV NOTEBOOK

STYLE NOTEBOOK

While other 
children associate 
Christmas time 
with the first 
snowfall or a 
desperate hunt 
to uncover their 
presents, I was 
happiest peeking 
into the oven, 
dipping my finger 
into unwatched 
batter and being 
the first taste 
tester.

Citrus Tea Loaf and interesting 
twists on classic goods that 
incorporated 
ingredients 
like 
saffron, 
proving 
Paul 
and 
Mary’s 
suspicion 
of 
such 
ingredients 
wrong. 
Ruby, however, never had a 
believable shot at winning 
the show. Framed as a judge 
favorite from the beginning, 
Ruby’s win would have been 
too expected and would have 
glaringly juxtaposed with her 
constant anxiety under the 
baking tent and vocalized self-
doubt.
The shock over Frances’s 
win truly stems from the 

fact 
that 
she 
was 
never 
extraordinary enough to stand 
out among the other two. She 
was the one among these three 
women with the fewest Star 
Baker wins, and never baked 
anything that stuck in my mind 
as an impressive feat. Even 
on her bad weeks, Kimberley 
still produced at least one that 
stunned (like her vegetable 
cake from week eight, which 
somehow lost to Ruby). Yet 
somehow 
Paul 
and 
Mary 
overlooked this, and I blame 
mostly Paul and his goatee for 
this tragedy, because Mary 
Berry can do no wrong.

Since 
my 
heartbreak, 
I 
haven’t been able to return 
to “The Great British Baking 
Show.” 
I 
don’t 
see 
it 
as 
worthwhile 
to 
once 
again 
become attached to characters 
only to see them ultimately 
deprived of their due fortune. 
I briefly tried again over the 
summer, jumping into season 
five only to find out Mary 
Berry had departed the show. 
This was the final betrayal. 
“The Great British Baking 
Show,” while serving as a brief 
respite from the gaudy reality 
TV saturating our lives, could 
do no more for me.

Because it is, I 
believe, its own 
universe, with 
the green fields 
of Welford Park 
and the names of 
its judges — Mary 
Berry and Paul 
Hollywood — 
existing outside 
the constraints of 
space and time.

BBC ONE