They say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Cuteness, on the other hand, has universal standards. According to several scientific studies, these include big eyes, round faces and other infantile features.
Cuteness also seems to have universal appeal. An Atlanta psychology professor found that “men and women showed nearly identical responses to cute stimuli,” although they rate it differently for social reasons.
Some say cuteness is a survival adaptation that triggers nurturing from adults. But that can’t be true, since people also love to eat cute things.
Still, the effects of cuteness on our brains’ pleasure centers are evident. They give laughing babies, sleepy rodents—even Hello Kitty—power over us. And unleashing this power is a great way to infuse bagels with extra charm.
Spring is such a disorienting season. Yesterday, at this time, I was stretched out on the grass in the sunshine, thankful for the breeze that kept the heat from getting too intense. Today, I’m fighting with the wind to keep my hood up and wishing for a heavier coat.
I’m also discombobulated realizing how close I am to the end of another semester. I’m amazed—but how can I be so shocked when I’ve been so desperately aware of the crawling countdown to summer?
Still, I love spring—so bring it on. To celebrate the discombobulation of this lovely season, I’m throwing my blogging pendulum to the other side of the food spectrum from last week. If any of you were unsettled by last Friday’s bean bread, you can relax. Today, it’s only oatmeal.
Does it sound too pretentious to call this creation “avant garde?”
I’ll accept any of the usual connotations—from daring and innovative to just plain weird.
As far as kitchen experiments go, the recipe was a surprising success. But in a parade of beloved, more traditional breads, I’m afraid it might need an intellectual term to hide behind.
The first recipe I made from my new bread cookbook wasn’t bread.
It was Crispy Rye and Seed Crackers.
This may have disappointed my family (I strongly suspect their motives in giving me the book), but since the author, master baker Peter Reinhart, freely admits his own preference for crackers, I know I have very distinguished company outside the bread box.
I was fascinated to find crackers—which I had only known as mass-produced snacks—among recipes for ciabatta, croissants and baguettes. I was further intrigued when Reinhart’s recipes introduced me to a kind of dough so completely different from anything I had worked with before.
Before many days passed, I had turned out half a dozen different batches. I fell in love with the process—and the results were incredible too. Who knew that humble crackers could be so classy and delicious?