Hi Everyone,
As I wrote in my last blog, while Zooming with a friend some 3,450 miles away, I had an epiphany that took me back to childhood and Jane Jetson’s videophone, but a less obvious insight also crept in. As I sat, getting comfortable in front of my self-adjusting camera, I had to take off my apron. When I said something to the effect of “I need to get my apron out of the way,” my friend cried, “Apron? Did you say apron?”
“Yes,” I answered, “I did.”
“Apron? Really?”
“You don’t use an apron?”
“No.”
Well, that ended the apron exchange, and we went on to more important topics—like her work, which is amazing, but not to be divulged here, and her family reunion and my family and how lucky I feel to be living in the amazing city of Oxford in the cosy shadow of the university, et cetera.
Later when I began to tidy the kitchen for the night, I put my bib apron back on. As the tie around the neck remains knotted, I just slip it over my head, tie it round the back, then to the front, and voila! I am ready. If I am honest, it is a bit like having a superpower. Let me explain.
The apron I happened to be wearing was almost 28 years old. It was made by Les Olivades, a long-established family-owned business in the South of France that still carries on the tradition of printing on fabric. This apron bears a Provençal pattern with cherries, pineapples and pears in red, peach, yellow and pink. It is a chef’s apron as opposed to a server’s apron, pinafore or tabard.
I bought this pinny (UK slang for apron) because I imagined making cheery meals while wearing it, which all have come to pass. I can’t imagine baking without an apron. And yes, I do have other aprons at the moment and have had over time, Ulster Weavers, Kitchen Pantry (out of India), and so on. Canvas, denim, cotton…
So where’s the superpower?
My first apron was really a smock. Attending elementary school in France, I had to wear a regulation smock—un tablier d’ècolière. It was blue. As soon as we arrived, after putting our coats and hats away, we had to pull our own smock off its peg and button it up just in case there was a spill or dusty chalk made its way to our desk. Ink might get on our smock but never our clothes. Now, perhaps because I was Américaine, I had a different idea about that smock, that protective gear, that apron.
My schoolroom costume became a cape, so to speak, which gave me—like DC Comics’ Superman or Superwoman—incredible powers: I could speak French, weave strips of alternating coloured paper into a 7 by 7 inch flawless mat, lace evenly spaced ‘Ls’ and ‘Os’ above the line, ‘Ps’ below and dot a perfectly formed letter ‘I’. I could alternately clap hands with a classmate as we sang Sur le pont d’Avignon. In my smock I was fearless, powerful. I was Super School Girl.
From my (now vintage) Provençal apron I still get a sense of that tablier d’ècolière invincibility. Whatever doubts I may have (or had), when I don an apron, I can dive right in, find the bottomless energy, resources and patience required to accomplish something. Without my apron I would be a school girl without her smock, unsure whether or not I could weave, write, speak French or clap alternating beats with bouncy friends.
So I sent my stunned friend 3,450 miles away an apron. Unable to find one made by Les Olivades with pink, peach and red fruits and flowers, I chose what was on offer: a lovely stripy green one that she can knot at the back of her neck, around her waist and over the front pocket, where I left the tag that still reads ‘one size fits most’.
Perhaps my friend will find her superpower, not shy away from the duties she cherishes most: mother, friend, wife, writer, chef. Perhaps this February, you too will don your cape, apron or wings and do whatever might seem impossible, improbable, just out of reach, that Thing which you are Called to do. Or just simply bake a vanilla Bundt, lightly glazed.
Happy Valentine’s Day 2026!
Love,