Roll Models

 

At some point in the Internet-fueled fever dream that was the 1990s, Charles Barkley – Sir Charles to his royal rooters, Chuck to his friends and fans – implored basketball fans everywhere not to look up to him. He was, he insisted, no role model. He was right, naturally. Children had no reason to admire him. This was a man who never even won a single NBA title. The excuses of being born in the wrong time amid Jordan’s greatness were common, but insufficient. Because it goes far deeper than that. We shouldn’t be looking up to people, even ballplayers who tower over us little fellas. 

However, rather strikingly, the Round Mound of Rebound said nothing about not looking up to baked goods. He was silent on the matter of modeling one’s life after a wholesome, hearty loaf. Roll models, his playing days waistline implies, understood the importance of seeking counsel from a hot tray fresh out of the oven. 

Think the average athlete is complex? You won’t after staring into the grooves of a warm sfogliatelle. Sure, people have layers, and lots of them. But not like croissants. Most human beings are easy to read and easier to handle. How is a person supposed to manage the precarious structure of a guava danish? 

I don’t look up to rolls – I can’t – since they are too often on a large plate, well below me. The only time they are at eye level is during a particularly wild breakfast array, piled up from table to ceiling. But that’s only in the presence of guests, and only ever on weekends. 

Plenty of people revere bakers. Not me, not with their goofy hats and long aprons. Look at a portly baker failing to match each pastry roll for roll, then look at a lip-smacking peach tart. You tell me which one you’d rather be locked in a room with. 

This shouldn’t be a hard choice. That’s unless the food is stale.