The Study of a Selfish Baker

Dear Tamar:

Is it selfish to cook foods that you, as the cook, prefer, over foods that your family might prefer? I share the fruits of my labors, but truth be told: I cook—mostly bake— according to my own cravings. Is that selfish?

-A Selfish Baker

Dear Baker,

Your letter sent me down a gorgeously tapestried etymological rabbit hole. I’ll summarize. Before the 16th century, there were eleven “self” compounds in English. From its inception up to Shakespeare, our language contained almost no references to “self.” There was no “self-control,” no “self-rule,” “self-respect,” “self-love” or “self-care.” There was no self-ishness, because the “self” was only hazily present. By the end of the 17th century, though, more than a third of all the “self” compounds listed in today’s OED had been born. The “self” germinated and came to be over two hundred years, at the end of which, it was well-formed, defined, and variegated.

I learned all this because I found myself wondering about the word “self-ish.” The suffix “ish” means “of or pertaining to.” Of or pertaining to the “self.” There are two things about this that intrigue me. The first is the question of whether creating—here by cooking or baking—can ever be “selfish,” or if creating ipso facto directs itself outward, away from “self.” It’s hard to imagine that, when Henry Moore cautioned against what he called “Ipseity,” or “Egoity” or “Self Love,” in the 1600s, he was picturing you sifting flour for a pear cake instead of brownies. The second is how the word “selfish” suggests a different meaning than we normally assign it. There is a reflexiveness to the word that I hadn’t considered—the way “priggish” means “like a prig,” or “foolish” means “like a fool.” Read this way, “selfish” suggests “like a self.”

I find it intriguing to think about your baking choices with all of this in mind. How could food be cooked without a self? And how would a self attuned to the needs of the world outside itself cook? What decisions would it make? I find myself suspecting that whether you make pear cake or brownies reveals less, and matters less, than who grows and mills and distributes your flour, for example. And how your pears or chocolate get made, at what cost, to whom, and to what. I also imagine that it might be “self-y” or “like a self” to cook or bake exclusively for one’s own family, rather than at least occasionally for those outside one’s immediate circle—the patrons of the nearest Salvation Army Kitchen, churches in need of turkeys and desserts at Thanksgiving, bake sales, neighbors new to town.

Dear cook, whether intentionally or not, you’ve tapped into the inherent contradiction of selfhood—you can’t do much without one (without acting a little “self-ish” or “self-y”); and you can’t do much good if the self is the only master you serve. I find it refreshing to be urged, by you, to remember how many people outside my immediate friends and family I can serve—literally and figuratively. I find it a welcome reminder that the full use of my mind and heart and hands can only be found further outside what I regularly consider my responsibility. Let’s both be both more and less self-y/ish and see what our selves are made of—via baking, of course, for a cause or for a crowd.