I can’t express my amazement at this ironic turn of events. I do confess a bit of a sweet tooth, more perhaps than is good to have, and the smell of a bakery is more than I can resist, when the hot dough and cane sugar meld with cinnamon cut from a tree on some far-flung island (try not to think about whose toes the stick was between; you’d rather not know).

No point dragging out a long story when there is really nothing more to it than selecting a toothsome pastry, carrying it home in a waxen paper bag, and freezing as I was about to take a bite:






For there, before my eyes, a miracle: a danish with the image of muhammad.