Not quite sure of the differences between theism, atheism, agnosticism and Jeff-Bridges-style dudeism, we are trying to place ourselves on the religious spectrum. A dear friend of ours is expecting a child, we are in the running to become godparents and it’s a title we quite fancy. It seems like a way of experiencing some of the joys of parenting without the sleepless nights, school runs, constant worry and expense, not to mention the pelvic floor damage. A godparent’s job appears to consist mostly of walks in the park, ice cream and inappropriate gifts — all things we are fairly good at, so we should be a shoo-in.
But if a job has the word “god” in the title, we suspect that religion may play a part in it. And this got us thinking about the spiritual values we uphold and would wish to impart to the little one. Most of the time we’re just low-rent, sage-burning, mindfulness hippies. Yet we also have a strong regard for the written word, a relish for good one-liners and deep-seated guilt from our Jewish heritage. In December, we lean towards the Christian ritual of spending lots of money on comestibles and gifts. In January, we take a sharp turn east to celebrate Chinese New Year. We got goosebumps when we heard the choir of King’s College Cambridge and the muezzin calls bounce between the hills of Amman. We were dazzled by Chichen Itza in Mexico and the Alabaster mosque in Egypt. Our go-to local place of worship is the big golden Buddha in Battersea Park.
We are “buffetists”, loading our plates with our favourite bits and ready to celebrate with whoever is willing. In that spirit, we offer these non-denominational buns: a cocoa-and-orange dough, with chunks of dates and chocolate chips and a big, soft, bittersweet heart of marzipan — the type that induces reverent silence, celestial joy and holy gratitude. We are baking a tray for our friend who is expecting. Hopefully, it’ll be enough to seal the deal — even with our dubious religious credentials.
To make eight buns
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