Russia is our ally. Canadians are the enemy. Tariffs will make us richer but we’re cutting staff at national parks. Measles is back. Gaza is the new Riviera. The economy is crashing and it’s tax season when I pay thousands of dollars to the government so it can purchase Tesla Cybertrucks to send to Jupiter. 

The newspeak and doublethink we endure each day can be a bit overwhelming, but I’ve found a way to get through the endless cycle of breaking news: denial.

Denial is a beautiful, hazy way to spend your day. Instead of crying through a CNBC report, denial allows you to drift on a cloud of puff pastry surrounded by cherry trifle and savory scones. 

This specific form of denial is “The Great British Bake Off” and it saved me during March when I was knee-deep in tissues, cough syrup and tariff wars. There’s only so much idiocy one can endure while healing from pneumonia. 

Unlike American reality shows that foster cruelty and conflict, GBBO features a dozen creative bakers who just want to make the best Victoria sponge cake or sticky toffee pudding. The contestants are kind, positive and willing to offer a helping hand.

I love British television because everyone looks real. There are no plastic surgery junkies or steroid-addicted chefs, just regular people doing something they love. When the judges, Paul Hollywood and Dame Prue Leith, make a criticism, it’s done with a British accent so it doesn’t sound so awful. 

When Prue tuts and says, “This bake is a disaster,” she could easily be tucking a blanket around your shoulders and handing you a steaming cup of Earl Grey. 

Instead of watching Elon Musk wield a chainsaw, I tune into GBBO which is filmed on the grounds of an English manor. Bunnies and squirrels scamper through grassy meadows like a Disney movie. There’s even a fanbase dedicated to identifying the different bird songs heard during the show.

The pastel-colored set, with its matching counters, ovens and fridges, distracts me from personnel cuts at federal agencies including the CDC and FAA. GBBO hosts Alison Hammond and Noel Fielding wander through the competition, amusing bakers with their British humor and offering pep talks to stressed cooks.

Each episode has a specific theme. There’s bread week or pastry week or biscuit week, and each chef creates a signature bake, completes a technical challenge and makes a jaw-dropping showstopper. It’s a heartwarming alternative to the 24/7 chaos of the Trump administration.

Who knew there were so many British bakery items? But I have to admit, there are things they make I would never eat, including black pudding and chorizo buns topped with mustard custard. Nope. 

Instead of worrying about the breakdown of our country’s system of checks and balances, I worry about whether my favorite baker can create a pie crust that doesn’t have a soggy bottom. The judges hate soggy bottoms. I’ve also learned to worry about fallen focaccia, overcooked tarts and croissant dough that’s not properly laminated. Even the mistakes feel cozy.

I’m impressed at how quickly chefs can whip up a batch of pistachio macarons, ginger tarts or spanakopita (a spinach and feta pie my husband would NEVER eat) with minimal tears or tantrums. It’s a reminder things can get done without fits of temper, vengeance or manipulation.

Denial is not a permanent solution but it’s a tool when messages from Big Brother and the Ministry of Truth get to be a bit much. Just turn on the TV and float away in a delicate orange buttercream or raspberry whipped cream. It’s some sweet positivity in a decidedly bitter time.