Homemade or store bought?

Coming home after school my grandmother's house often smelled of good baking: cookies, cakes and pies.

On days she didn't bake, she often bought things from the Cushman baker, who came around with his truck two or three times a week. 

My favorite was his hot cross buns. 

The tiny tea cakes with vanilla, chocolate and strawberry frostings were another favorite. None of his products, lived up to my grandmother's goodies.

Years later, renovating a Boston townhouse with a couple, we had a tradition on Christmas Eve -- order in Chinese food. One year S and I decided to make the Chinese meal ourselves. Recipe books were scoured, ingredients were bought and in the still unfinished kitchen we toiled and toiled.

The meal was fine. But the amount of work and the mess created by the meal, certainly did not surpass the ease of opening little white cartons with metal handles. The restaurant was on the next block, so bringing the meal home did not mean we had to unpark the car. In Boston that meant a lot.

Sunday mornings were special in the house. We might go out for things like bagels or croissant along with the Boston Globe, New York Times and National Enquirer.

One Sunday and S and I decided to make our own croissants. We rolled the dough, rolled in the butter, rolled the dough, rolled in the butter, rolled the dough, rolled in the butter until our arms stiffened. We twisted them into respectable shapes. The kitchen smelled great.

Was it worth it? 

No, the time it took exceeded the time it would have taken to sleep later, drive to the bakery in Brookline and come back hopefully to find a parking place. 

 Years later, when I was living in France, I wanted to make my own butter. I had no butter churn, nor could I see myself sitting there manipulating the plunger. Grateful I lived in the age of the food processor, I bought the cream and let the machine do the work.

The result?

A small amount of butter that cost double what store bought butter would cost. Lots of elbow grease to clean the food processor was needed. Much easier to throw the store butter wrapper in the trash.

The mother of my daughter's ex-boyfriend made the most wonderful spice cookies. She lives in Finland. When visiting, politeness kept me from scarfing down the ones she'd sent to her son in Germany. I did discover, Ikea had some that were also wonderful.

The world's best brownies are made by my ex-roommate and a close second are made by the Brownie Lady, who sells them at the Saturday marché in Argelès. No commercial brownie even comes close.

A woman's group decided to have a chocolate chip making contests. I ended up as judge. The worse was the one made from a mix.

Homemade? 

Bought? 

Both can be good or not depending on a lot of factors, never mind this like time. I have never eaten as good at an Indian restaurant as my former Indian neighbors.

I would love to have my grandmother's sugar cookies cut into bird shapes or her vanilla cupcakes covered in Aunt Leah's hot chocolate sauce. I do have the recipes. Maybe some day.