When our granddaughter called this morning her opening question was, as always, what were we doing? My response elicited a groan of agony from the child. I informed her that I was in the process of preparing Chelsea buns to bake for dessert for this evening's dinner. She agonized that she just loves them and compared to what she's been exposed to in the food department anything sounds good to her. In an attempt to mollify her I mentioned I'd baked a batch of the same last week, and they'd turned out awful. But of course, trying to convince her that her Bubbie can have cooking/baking disasters is quite the challenge to her belief that everything I prepare is mouth-watering.

My husband loves Chelsea buns, and I bake them occasionally. The thing about raised dough is that you must have the patience to prepare it properly, and I'm forever in a hurry. Last week, it's true, happened to be an anomaly; usually most everything I bake does turn out well. But last week I hurried the rising dough along, and began working with it much too soon before it had rested and risen adequately. And the result was as I should have expected.

So I thought I'd give them another go today, exercising restraint, allowing the sweet dough adequate raising time. Our granddaughter just happened to call when I was about to punch down the risen dough to roll it out to a rectangle to be sprinkled with cinnamon, brown sugar, pecans and raisins. Then that rectangle rolled like a jellyroll, cut and fitted into a prepared baking pan.

Only this time around I thought I'd try something different. I would nestle the buns separated into extra-large muffin tins. And so that's just what I did. And they look just fine. The taste-test will occur this evening.

As for the food our granddaughter is eating; since September she has been resident in a fairly upscale student residence at University of Toronto. The residence is a converted hotel which retained all its original chefs and the claim is that the food served in residence is excellent; a cut above the usual. Our granddaughter begs to differ. It's one of the reasons we bought a mini-refrigerator for her room so she can stock things like yoghurt and fruit to supplement the prepared meals.

The fact that she's a committed vegetarian no doubt accounts in large part for her opinion of the food served at the residence. Which is why she has concluded she would prefer next year to look for off-campus residence, a small utility apartment where she will prepare her own food. "Utility" isn't quite in her lexicon actually, it's ours. A small apartment is what she would like but she would also prefer that it reflect a bit of the upscale style she has become accustomed to.

Jack and Jill were very well behaved this morning, permitting me to get on with the baking and other evening meal preparations without behaving in their usual brattish manner. It was only when they heard me chopping vegetables that their wistful inclination in hoping that something might descend to the floor level brought them around to the kitchen.