It seems frivolous now, but once upon a time the nation spent a week debating whether a woman who didn’t want to stay home and bake cookies was fit to be the first lady. Afterward, that non-baker really got out of the house. She ran for president in 2016 and though she had major qualifications—first female partner in her law firm, Senator from New York, Secretary of State—people still couldn’t get over her lack of interest in cookie-baking. They said that she lacked warmth. So they elected a man with no qualifications at all—but a deep love of Oreos.
Nearly thirty years later I’m still wondering why Hillary Clinton disparaged the cookie bakers. Wasn’t feminism supposed to mean that we were no longer defined by narrow gender roles? Women could be astronauts and men could bake bread and take care of the kids, right? The idea that baking cookies wasn’t important work never sat well with me. I got over it by the time she lost the election. Then I wept.
Growing up in the same era as Hillary, I considered myself a feminist from the start. Ever since I sauntered into a small room at City College, New York, circa 1970, with a sign on the door saying “Women’s Liberation Society,” I was in. The great unfairness regarding women’s place in society was something I felt in my bones. Those were heady years. I put on my Converse and marched defiantly down Fifth Avenue behind Gloria Steinem and Flo Kennedy, picketed for the ERA, and dressed only in T-shirts and jeans for a few years. Bras were history.
By the time I started working in the publishing industry in New York in 1972, not only was I wearing a bra, but also I was putting on a tailored business suit, buttoning up my silk blouse complete with pussy bow, and donning sensible shoes to march into the office and become an executive. Except for the occasional wild night at the disco, I was a serious career person. A big fluffy dress, marriage and children were not on the agenda.
By the time I came home from the hospital with my first baby, I was collecting vintage cookie jars and thinking about how to fill them. I wanted to have it all—a high powered career and quality time with my kids.
Then my thirties happened. By the time I came home from the hospital with my first baby, I was collecting vintage cookie jars and thinking about how to fill them. I wanted to have it all—a high powered career and quality time with my kids. As the kids grew older, I came up with a novel solution to the work/life dilemma. I would work from home as a cookbook author, and turn into supermom when the kids came home. If you tried this during COVID, you know it’s not so easy.
In the days before chefs became sexy, my career choice did not earn me lots of respect in our liberal Los Angeles community. A more enlightened feminist writer once informed me that she didn’t like to plan, shop, or cook food. “Why should I think about cooking a lamb chop,” she asked, “when I’m busy writing?” I was shaken. You mean you don’t start your day planning your dinner? It was a revelation—and a smackdown.
Even the rabbi at our liberal temple was judgmental. When he introduced my husband and me to the congregation at my first son’s Bar Mitzvah, he started with my husband. “I respect the father enormously. He is an important journalist for the Los Angeles Times.”
“And the mother?” he said with a smirk. “She writes recipes,” shrugging his shoulders as if to say “Isn’t she cute, with her fake job?” I was never his biggest fan.
Truth be told, climbing any career ladder is not easy. Whipping egg whites and making perfect caramel may be fun, but all the people you have to climb over to make a career happen don’t exactly clear a path. Does Martha Stewart look like someone who graciously invited competitors over for tea? Plus, there was always the weight gain to consider.
Thirty years later, having a job that requires you to stay home and bake cookies is considered cool. Graduates from elite schools are inventing condiments, opening bagel shops, and planting radishes on organic farms to heal the earth. As for artisan baked goods—my Instagram feed fills with so many crusty sourdough loaves and gorgeous macarons each day I could plotz just looking. As for gender, it no longer matters.
Anyone whose work delivers a fleeting moment of happiness these days gets our complete respect. And so, the cookie wars ended.
Los Angeles food writer Helene Siegel is the author of 40 cookbooks, including the “Totally Cookbook” series and “Pure Chocolate.” She runs the Pastry Session blog.
