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I can develop an almost missionary zeal when it comes to cinnamon rolls. These typical American breakfast pastries are usually too sweet and sticky to be eaten at all unless you go to Xan. In fact, she studied art and Victor was one of her teachers. But even then she dreamed of her own bakery. This moves me because usually it’s the other way around: usually someone from the middle class or a craftsman dreams of art.
But Xan certainly made the right decision: her cinnamon rolls are works of art, her bakery is thriving, and now she has her own cafe in the Mission District. I was sitting there recently with my Swiss friend when Xan came to our table. As always, she brought me a bag of baked goods “for the Maestro,” as she calls Victor. She then wipes her hands on her apron. “It was really easy,” she says. “Exactly as you promised: no bodyguards, no limousines, no fuss.”
My girlfriend looks at me with wide eyes. I explain to her that a few months ago I took a delegation from the city of Zurich to Xana Bakery and Cafe not only to feed them cinnamon rolls, but also to show them the mural on the outside wall. The fact that the mayor would be there alarmed Xan at first. She wasn’t sure if her small restaurant could accommodate such famous guests. But like I said, it was “really easy.” My friend immediately understands: “That’s how it is with us,” she confirms. “Even the federal president travels by train!” By “us” she means Switzerland, a country she left long before me. But in such moments we know where our heart beats.
“With us, Tina Turner could also safely shop in the village store, where her name was Mrs. Turner,” I add, although I know this only third-hand. We look at each other, two voluntary emigrants, suddenly filled with deep national pride. And then I remember that many years ago I was invited to a literary circle in Ljubljana along with Austrian and German colleagues. Representatives from all three countries and their cultural organizations were present at our event. While we were eating, the Austrian asked me if all the Swiss were as cool as our ambassador.
“Chill?”
“Yes, he talks to us like… like a normal person.”
Contrary to expectations, the evening reading was a full house, all the seats were taken, and the organizers laid out pillows on the floor. And so it happened: while representatives of neighboring countries waited with folded arms on their chests for their seats to become available, our ambassador calmly sat down on one of the red cushions on the floor. I’d like to say that the red socks appeared under his suit while he was sitting cross-legged, but I honestly don’t know for sure. But I still remember how I looked at my colleagues. “This is Switzerland,” I whispered. – Do you notice anything? And they nodded, impressed. And at this moment, as clearly as then, I feel this rare surge of national pride for me.
My girlfriend reaches out for my hand. Her eyes are shining. This is too much for Xan, and she again hides behind the stove. “Don’t forget your cinnamon rolls,” she calls over her shoulder.
Source: Blick
I am David Miller, a highly experienced news reporter and author for 24 Instant News. I specialize in opinion pieces and have written extensively on current events, politics, social issues, and more. My writing has been featured in major publications such as The New York Times, The Guardian, and BBC News. I strive to be fair-minded while also producing thought-provoking content that encourages readers to engage with the topics I discuss.
