The Great British Baking Show, The Existential Spiral
The stickiness of gluten and our purpose on this planet
This morning, my fiancee shared the results of a study on Sprite, her carbonated beverage of choice, and hangovers. “Something about an enzyme in Sprite breaking down the acetaldehyde that causes hangovers,” she said. I’m not sure what she expected of me by sharing this news—possibly, I think, that I would finally join the loyal following of Sprite converts that she has gathered amongst our friend group. (Sprite Zero, if you are familiar with the lore.) Instead, I dove headfirst into the existential spiral that occasionally puddles around my brain cells.
Science in all forms turns me into a toddler. I ask, “Why?” Even if only to myself. Or maybe, “How?”
Not, “How,” as in “How did we discover this.”
“How,” as in, “How was this enzyme picked to break alcohol into acetaldehyde and acetaldehyde into acetate?” Or, “How was acetaldehyde chosen to be the thing that causes brain swelling during a hangover?” I picture little molecules lining up and being given an assignment. I picture molecules shaking hands and making deals—you cause this reaction, I’ll cause this one, and mix us both together and the world will explode.
How? Why? How?
Welcome to the Great British Existential Crisis
This little spiral happens a lot when I watch The Great British Baking Show. Over shots of B-roll (“B” for buns, bakers, and basil), the narrators explain the science of baking:
“And now, it must prove for half an hour, so the yeast can expand.”
“Chilling the pastry creates a binding effect that creates folds in the dough.”
“Mix it too much, and the gluten will not activate in the heat.”
(This is not real baking advice.)
How? Why? How?
I picture, again, gluten shaking hands with heat. I picture sugar shaking hands with butter. The enzymes in yeast does this. Heat does that. Sugar molecules do this. I trust that it is true, and I trust that it’s all very tasty, but I get so distracted with these questions that I have to rewind to focus and listen to Prue’s latest innuendo.
My raised-in-Catholicism brain pokes itself and asks, “Who made this all happen?” I’m sure there are people out there who believe that some white man in the sky sat down at a desk and drew out the laws of chemistry and baking and hangovers. Humans are meaning-making creatures and our brains look for simple answers, so I can imagine that someone is satisfied full-stopping at the idea that one being or entity created this all for a reason that we’ll discover once we walk on clouds (if we’re good) or on fire (if we’re not.)
But I…don’t know. Something about the gluten trips me up.
Hence, a spiral.
Like a cinnamon bun of questions and wonder.
Conspiracy Or Miracle?
I heard this Albert Einstein quote once: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
More recently, I read a tweet, a post, a thought, that said something along the lines of, “If you don’t know how anything works, everything is a conspiracy.”
I think the latter is true when you throw in the power-hungry curveball that is human nature. Of course you can paint anyone you don’t like as sneaky, election-stealing, weather-controlling pedophiles. Human nature has shown, time and time again, how evil and destructive it can be. Don’t understand the complexities of chromosomes and intersex people and the social construct of gender? Then sure, anyone who’s challenging the binary must be dangerous. Don’t understand how Social Security works? Anyone who’s in charge over there must be wasting money. Don’t understand how confirmation bias works? Anyone who is challenging your ideas is just as bad as the lizard people.
I’m not interested in stepping in Conspiracy Quicksand. I can accept that some humans want to exercise control over others and some humans just want to get by in life. I understand that the systems put in place to control other people can appear to be “the way things are,” even though humankind is capable of so much more. So conspiracy doesn’t interest me.
I don’t know, however, how molecules, or gluten, or Sprite work. But they cannot be swayed by biases or promised a better future. Molecules have no motive. Gluten doesn’t need to tell a lie. The CEO of Coca-Cola can give himself an 8.4% salary increase but Sprite has no say in the matter.
In the light of my neighbor losing her job and my rush to make my relationship a marriage in the eyes of Texas state officials and our democracy crumbling in the hands of a man who named his son X Æ A-Xii, forgive me if I just want to watch The Great British Baking Show and gaze in wonder at the miracle of gluten activating in the oven.
