In the middle of the demonstration kitchen there is a station with a mirror perched above it, angled so that you can watch as the instructor nervously taps her fingers: pointer, middle, index, pinky. We begin with introductions. First, the three women who have driven up from Cohasset. One by one, they provide their name and occupation. All are teachers. The plump one is retired, the tall one is a music teacher, the one in beige simply makes a vague comment about Working with Youth. Then there is Paul. He is short and round and his bald pate is glowing under the overhead light. I am from Korea! He shouts. He gesticulates wildly to the left, as if Seoul were located in the next room. I married a Texan! He continues. He tells us that they met at University! that her father owned a ranch! and that, over the course of two decades, he’d eaten many cows at said ranch. Too many cows, he repeats morosely. Furthermore! he tells us, he is a former Tae Kwon Do instructor. So, you know I ate a lot of fillet mignon. Everyone nods, murmurs, concurring with this logic. But now! I have high blood pressure! Hypertension! High cholesterol! We stand for a minute in companionable silence and then, we begin to cook. Paul is in my group, and we are making no sugar, no egg, no flavor gingerbread men. Paul picks up the cookie cutter, which is shaped like a snowman. What’s this? A tree? We tell him no, a snowman. He scoffs and shakes his head. A tree, he repeats. At the end of the class, we all gather again under the mirror to share our creations. The women have made cupcakes with tahini-avocado frosting. They are inedible. Paul, however, tucks in enthusiastically, piling them next to his tree cookies on a paper plate to bring home to his Dallas bride.