My sort of Olympics
After the rest of you have retired to bed having enjoyed the 4×100 men’s relay or -Husband’s favorite- women’s beach volleyball, I have been staying up late and watching The Great British Baking Show. You may remember my first foray into this British baking competition HERE. My opinion hasn’t changed. It is still pure delight for me.
In case you haven’t been paying attention, the show highlights passionate amateur bakers whose goal is to be named the U.K.’s best. Each week, the bakers tackle a different skill, the difficulty of which increases as the competition unfolds. Unlike our U.S. cooking competitions, these bakers are never called contestants, but always “bakers” ~ given the respect they deserve. And, the show is just that — respectful, with everyone getting along, admiring each others creations, and receiving handshakes and hugs when they succeed. I dislike the U.S. cooking competition shows, filled with dirty tricks and looks that could kill among the contestants.
Like the fan girl I am, I have done some homework and discovered that the judges have the most improbable names, you can’t make this stuff up…
Mary Berry Paul Hollywood
This third season (the U.S. is one year behind the U.K.) is on many PBS stations and also can be seen on-line HERE. I record it, so as not to miss an episode. If you’re a baker you can get all the recipes there as well.
Once again the bakers span all ages, races and backgrounds — but all are interesting and talented.
It was great fun, for example, to watch Nadiya throughout the episodes as her hijab would get smeared with flour and hand swipes of frosting. 
The creativity of these bakers is the most amazing. Each episode they are given three challenges, such as a 3-D bread sculpture, made of three types of dough, and one of them filled – all to be accomplished in 5 hours from scratch with proofing involved. Now, I am, at best, a reluctant baker, but the very few times I have made a bread, it was harrowing – would it rise? has it risen enough?
I never came close to tackling something like this 
There was also a Chocolate Souffle challenge and to make sure each baker has a chance, the timing is staggered so the souffles come straight out of the oven to the judges table. In another contest they must construct nun towers that have to stand for 2 hours, and if you’re like me you’ll groan as some topple with only minutes to go.
Mary and Paul visit each baker as they are preparing their offerings and they take great interest in their creations — sometimes with caution “bubblegum and peppermint flavorings, really quite interesting, not sure about that…” (imagine the British accent here).
I watched the final episode last night, and I won’t spoil the outcome, but I will tell you how each season does end. No disgruntled losers stalking off , no tears or temper tantrums — with this show there’s always a finale picnic on the Highclere grounds (Downton Abbey location) with all the contestants, judges, hosts and their families having a great time, getting along, and sharing hugs.
Now that’s a classy way to end a competition, don’t you agree?
Passport Photo
It was time to renew my passport. Husband and I travel a great deal, so I always keep my passport up to date, but also because I have a secret fantasy
I had a wonderful university professor who taught International Politics & Relations — an elegant older English woman who spoke six languages, had degrees from both Oxford and Cambridge (thank you very much), and dressed like Diana Vreeland. We met for a conference one morning and over a cup of tea, she told the story of falling hard for a Frenchman visiting London. He wanted to take her to his chateau on the Cote d’Azure, but because her passport was expired and it would take 3-4 weeks to renew it, he had to leave and she never heard from him again.
Now this was probably a good thing, she reminisced, because he was a cad not to keep in touch and extend the invitation again once she did have a valid passport…but it taught her a valuable lesson about never letting your passport expire. And her words still echo in my mind — keep your passport up-to-date at all times, you never know when a fabulous Frenchman will want to wisk you off to his castle on the Riviera.
But I digress ~~ sigh…
It was time to renew my passport and I’ve always – always hated my previous passport photos taken by some gum-chewing drugstore employee under harsh florescent lights. Erma Bombeck said “When you look like your passport photo, it’s time to go home.” Given my past photos, I never should have been let outside of my own country. I always feared I looked like a escaped convict on an international no-fly list.
Luckily, I discovered that the passport website has instructions for taking your own passport photo, and a tool to load your image to check that it will meet the sizing requirements – check it out HERE.
Donning a black turtle neck, I spent an inordinate amount of time on my unruly hair, put on some makeup, and found a blank wall for the background. Husband then valiantly suffered through the taking of dozens of photos; “no try again, my hair looks funny”, “yuck look at my double chin”, “too close — my head is huge!”, “err, nice, but let’s try another”…until we had a winner.
My passport arrived in the mail the other day and I opened it warily preparing for the worst — but I actually don’t hate it.
Now, just waiting for that Frenchman…
Soul soothing…
Last night I went to bed troubled by a dark yet gripping novel I had just finished (review to follow)
Then woke to news of yet another senseless, hate-fueled shooting.
I soothed my soul in the garden, ending the day by harvesting some fragrant lavender.
I post some photos in a small attempt to sooth your souls as well.
Goodnight all – sleep tight and stay safe…
Everything is Copy
If you’ve been following Book Barmy, you know of my admiration for Nora Ephron. I professed my devotion to her in this POST.
Last night I watched a wonderful award winning documentary about her life called Everything is Copy – trailer HERE.
This quiet but powerful film, had me glued to the screen, an extended visit with this beloved author, journalist, and screenwriter. The film was written, directed and is narrated by her son Jacob Bernstein (her son from her marriage to the infamous Carl Bernstein).
Everything is Copy celebrates her writings, films, family, marriages and her many many friends. Nora is portrayed as smart, funny, urbane and sometimes insensitive and controlling (“she always had a razor in her back pocket”).
Her ex-husband (Carl Bernstein) speaks of her with guarded warmth and sisters Delia and Amy (also authors) speak of Nora with cautionary admiration.
It seems her friends and colleagues were her true family — her true admirers. Nora was everyone’s favorite party host and dinner guest (I knew it!)— she purposely surrounded herself with smart, influential literary and Hollywood notables.
There are cameo appearances by literary icons such as Gay Talese, Victor Navasky, Liz Smith and Marie Brenner (Marie is deliciously filmed in front of her personal library). Nora was schoolmates with Barry Diller and close friends with Mike Nichols and Bob Gottlieb.
Nora’s essays are read by a range of celebrities including Meryl Streep, Resse Witherspoon and a odd looking Meg Ryan (she’s had work done – badly, in my opinion.)
There are snippets of Nora’s interviews from an early talk with Dick Cavett to a more recent interview with Charlie Rose. Old color film of New York City brings to life her early, exciting days at The Post.
Her illness and death are given much import to this documentary. The fact that Nora had openly shared her life (and sometimes others’ lives) but kept her illness a secret for years, was a shock to her circle of close friends and colleagues. They express their bewilderment, and sometimes anger, that Nora kept this information from them. But in the end, the film draws the conclusion that her illness was her personal business and her choice to keep it a secret, was perhaps because it was the one thing she couldn’t control.
The film ends with a reading of her essay Things I Will Miss , written in her final years. Have some tissues handy.
If you have HBO or Netflicks and, like me, you are a fan of Nora Ephron, put Everything is Copy on your must watch list.
One for the book
My books lie unopened, my PBS shows are filling the DVR and the magazines are unread on the table…what’s going on at Book Barmy you may ask?
It’s because of this guy.
Yes, believe it or not I’ve been watching basketball – mesmerized by our Golden State Warriors and especially Stephen Curry.
Normally, I ignore the sports Husband watches — often, it seems, for hours at end.
I’ve tried to take an interest because he does, but I don’t really understand football, baseball seems slow and I can only watch little bits of tennis before I am gravitating for something to read.
But close my book and grab me a beer, I’m glued to the set, mouth open and holding my breath watching these awe-inspiring games. For those of you outside of the Bay area you may need to get caught up.
Here’s a video of the best of Stephen Curry – just watch his moves and you’ll understand why he’s one for the book — and why I’m, at least for now, a sports fan.
Video HERE
N.B. Full disclosure, while I may have become a temporary sports fan, I still haven’t developed a taste of beer.
Michael Dirda ~ Part Deux
Michael Dirda
I received an email from one of my legion of loyal few Book Barmy readers regarding this post on the book of essays entitled Browsings by Michael Dirda. This reader wondered why, as a declared Anglophile, I had failed to mention his essay called Anglophilia or perhaps I had skipped it?
Well, this sent me scurrying back to the book because I frankly didn’t remember said essay. After reading it I realized that I must have skipped this one — you see, I did not adhere to Mr. Dirda’s introductory rule of reading his essays in order.
I hung my head in shame, and as penance, last night I again browsed through Browsings (sorry for that phrase, but you knew it was coming, didn’t you?). I ended up re-reading several of my favorites and finding a passage or two I had fogotten.
The neglected essay Anglophilia was written during Queen Elizabeth’s 60-year jubilee and should be read in its entirety, as it is chocked full of British greatness. Mr. Dirda admits his secret fantasy of being picked for a knighthood or an OBE. He feels he may have earned such an honor given his lifetime of dreaming of Harrods Christmas hampers, box seats at the Grand National and pub lunches of shepherds pie.
In real life, his Anglophilia is limited to a Harris Tweed sport coat, a few Turnbull & Asser shirts (picked up at a local thrift shop) and watching Miss Marple mysteries on television.
(I watch them) less to guess the identity of the murderer than to look at the wonderful clothes and the idyllic Costwoldian village of St. Mary Mead. My wife tells me I should check out Downton Abbey, but I gather that series might be almost too intense for my temperate nature.
Of course, most of Mr. Dirda’s Anglophilia is bookish, and he imagines his very own country house library – (my imagined room is quite the same):
…lined on three walls with mahogany bookshelves, their serried splendor interrupted only by enough space to display, above the fireplace, a pair of crossed swords or sculling oars and perhaps a portrait of some great English worthy. The fourth wall would, of course, open on to my gardens, designed and kept up by Christopher Lloyd, with the help of Robin Lane Fox…There would definitely be a worn leather Chesterfield sofa, its back covered with a quilt (perhaps a tartan? decisions, decisions) and its corners cushioned with a half-dozen pillows embroidered with scenes from Greek mythology. Here, I would recline and read my books.
I found a few other passages I must read out loud to you…okay you can read them yourselves.
He ruefully muses about his book buying expenditures:
It’s true that even $5 book purchases do add up. Yet, what after all is money? It’s just this abstraction, a number, a piece of green paper. But a book — a printed volume, not some pixel on a screen — is real. You can hold it in your hand. Feel its heft. Admire the cover. Realize that you now own a work of art that is 50 or 75 or even 100 years old. My Beloved Spouse constantly berates me for failing to stew sufficiently about money. For 30 years I diligently set aside every extra penny to cover the college educations of my three sons. I paid off my home mortgage long ago. I even have some kind of mutual fund. Nonetheless, it’s hard for me to feign even minimal interest in investing or studying the stock market. What a weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable – okay, make that profitable — way of life it is to think constantly about the bottom line. Keogh plans, Roths, Schedule C, differed income, capital gains, and rows and rows of little numbers…The heart sinks.
And finally, I’ll leave you with more about his plan to travel around the US visiting second-hand bookstores.
(In addition to stopping at bookstores) …I’d naturally take the time to genuflect at the final resting places of writers I admire. Come lunchtime I would obviously eat in diners and always order pie for dessert, sometimes à la mode. During the evenings sipping a local beer in some one-night cheap motel, I would examine the purchases of the day and fall asleep reading shabby, half-forgotten novels.
Thinking I would not need or want to re-read this book, it almost went into the library donation bag. See what I almost missed? I stand vindicated in my board hoarding collecting. I’m giving Browsings its permanent and rightful place on my bookshelves.
NetGalley Professional Reader
NetGalley Approved Reviewer
Independent Bookstore Supporter
Follow me on instagram
