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Forbes
14-05-2025
- Business
- Forbes
What Drives Enterprise Excellence?
The secret sauce of enterprise excellence This past month, I found myself in a room filled with some of the most forward-thinking leaders in industry — at the annual executive meeting of a Fortune 500 company in Washington, D.C. The setting couldn't have been more fitting: the National Museum of American History, a place dedicated to ingenuity, resilience, and the constant reinvention of what it means to lead. The backdrop was iconic, but what struck me even more was the content of the conversations. These weren't abstract strategy sessions. They were real, candid dialogues about what it takes to stay ahead in a world defined by accelerating change. As I boarded my flight home, I kept coming back to one question: What makes great companies great? Across the many sessions and side conversations, three qualities consistently rose to the top — and they're worth reflecting on for any organization aiming to lead in today's complex environment. In every corner of the organization, from R&D to finance, from commercial teams to corporate strategy, there was a shared belief: solving new problems in new ways is everyone's job. Innovation wasn't treated as a silo or a function. It was a shared language, infused with urgency and creativity. This mindset — that everyone is a builder, a thinker, a challenger of the status quo — is what gives truly great companies their edge. What stood out just as clearly was the humility with which these leaders approached complexity. There was no pretense of having all the answers. Instead, I heard a genuine openness to ideas — whether they came from inside the company, partners, startups, or even competitors. This was more than lip service. It was a commitment to partnership, to integrating the best thinking from across the ecosystem faster and more effectively than others. In today's environment, the ability to learn fast — and from everyone — is what sets the best apart. In every session, regardless of the topic, the conversation inevitably looped back to the customer. To trust. To performance. To quality. In complex, high-stakes industries, reputation isn't built on branding alone — it's earned every day through reliability, precision, and measurable value delivered. The relentless pursuit of quality isn't just good practice. It's the only sustainable currency that matters. I walked away from this gathering inspired — not by glossy decks or lofty goals, but by the clarity and consistency of purpose that defines enterprise excellence. These lessons aren't just theoretical. They're practical. They're lived. And they're exactly what today's business landscape demands.
Yahoo
12-05-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
6 Julia Child-Inspired Kitchen Gadgets To Buy On Amazon
We may receive a commission on purchases made from links. Whenever we need a quick and easy dressing for our salads, we turn to this go-to vinaigrette that Julia Child swore by. Child was an iconic legend in the culinary world for good reason. She inspired us with her charming, larger-than-life personality and unforgettable recipes, like her famously fluffy chocolate mousse. Not only did she teach us how to bake, cook, and tackle French techniques with ease, Child made us fall in love with the process. And let's not forget how amazing and timeless her kitchen set-up was. The gadgets she used have inspired home cooks and chefs through the ages as well. And who didn't love staring at her beautiful copper cookware on TV or smile when she wielded a whisk like a baseball bat? In fact, Child's actual kitchen — with 1200 original objects and kitchen gadgets from pots to rolling pins — is famously on display at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History in Washington, D.C. Now, you don't have to make a trip to said museum to discover Child's kitchen gadgets; of course, unless you really want to, because the trip is worth it! We've rounded up six must-have gadgets inspired by Child's legendary kitchen to help you bring a little Julia magic into your own home. First up is a tool every baker should have in their kitchen: a French wooden rolling pin. Read more: The Chef's Knife Anthony Bourdain Used In His Home Kitchen Child was exuberant when she clutched her wooden rolling pins. You too can experience this joy like she did while baking. Also a French rolling pin should be your go-to when making pie crust and other pastry doughs. So grab a high-quality French rolling pin, like this Muso Wood one. It's well-reviewed online and costs only $12.99 before shipping, taxes, and tariffs. Just note that you should always clean wooden utensils as soon as possible, and you will need to condition your new French wooden rolling pin with mineral oil. The second Child-inspired kitchen tool we recommend you to buy from Amazon is a long soup spoon from a brand like EnerMagiX. It's no secret that food icon Julia Child loved copper gadgets, so the one we're recommending is made of copper. Copper spoons are durable and versatile. You can use your new spoon to taste your soups, like Child did, then give it a quick rinse, and use it to scoop up some ice cream after dinner. Now, ready for our next recommendation? It's a dicey one! The next new knife you invest in should be a stainless steel mezzaluna, or rocking knife from a brand like Roqila. Note that it is also called a cutter rocker, pizza rocker, or rocker knife. To channel your inner Child, wield your cool new rocking knife in your kitchen to chop up salads, slice pizzas, mince veggies, or dice up some fruits. This gadget makes kitchen prep a breeze. Plus, for the clumsy folks out there, since it requires both hands to operate properly, you're less likely to cut yourself compared to when using traditional knives. Another kitchen tool Child loved wielding was the handy-dandy whisk. You should look up that photo we mentioned where she joyfully swings a large whisk like it's a baseball bat. Every home cook and baker should invest in a good stainless steel whisk from a brand like OXO. This useful gadget will help you mix up perfect salad dressings and chiffon cake batters and allow you to whisk your egg whites into the airiest and fluffiest meringue. A sturdy, stainless steel whisk, like the one we recommended by OXO, is also dishwasher safe. The last thing you want to do is to hand wash a caked up and dirty whisk. There's a reason why Julia Child always used copper pots and pans. French cooking inspired her, and copper cookware conducts heat well and cooks food evenly. Not only that, her copper pots and pans looked aesthetically pleasing on television. So you can't really say that you're channeling your inner Child without investing in a high quality copper frying pan or sturdy copper saucepan from Cuisine Romefort. Just note, however, that copper cookware does not come cheap, as they are usually handmade. The investment is worth it, however, for die-hard fans of Child. Finally, to complete this round-up, we recommend you grabbing a high-quality set of carbon-steel knives from a brand like Wüsthof, as those are the knives that Child preferred to use in her kitchen. Just note that while you won't be able to wash these knives in the dishwasher, you'll be carving steaks and filetting fish perfectly, just as Child did in her kitchen. With these six Julia Child-inspired kitchen gadgets and tools in your kitchen, you'll be well on your way to mastering the art of French cooking, or at the very least, enjoying the process a little more. From the humble French rolling pin to gleaming copper cookware, each item can help you channel a bit of Child's signature confidence and joy, one delicious dish at a time, from her delicious roast chicken recipe to her boozy, fruity crepes. Read the original article on Tasting Table.
Washington Post
16-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Washington Post
Trump wants to limit U.S. history to the shiny parts. It won't work.
Developers reshape reality. They dress up the drab and market it as the unique. Donald Trump spent about half a century hawking condos, casinos and all sorts of middling products that he sold as spectacular, with some success (and plenty of failure, too). Now, he's taking a product with nearly 250 years' worth of blemishes and beauty spots and he's remarketing it in his usual style — as utter perfection, made possible exclusively by him. The product is the history of the United States, which earned its remarkable place in the cavalcade of nations expressly because its troubles and trials forged its strength and stability. But in the Trump catalogue, there are only shiny objects, and so the museums of the Smithsonian — home to Dorothy's ruby slippers but also to bills of sale for human enslaved people — are now in cover-up mode, under 'Restoring Truth and Sanity to American History' orders to remove anything the president might consider 'improper ideology.' The nation's attic, cluttered and messy like the country it reflects, is henceforth to display only 'the remarkable achievements of the United States.' There's a problem with Trump's impulsive orders, even beyond their legal, constitutional, moral and political flaws: They often stem from baseless assertions. Just as Trump, without having set foot in the place during his years in Washington, proposed to ransack the Kennedy Center because its programming was insufficiently middlebrow for his taste, now he's coming after the Smithsonian's presentation of U.S. history without knowing what the museums actually show. So, let's wander through the National Museum of American History, one of my favorite branches of the Smithsonian. It's the vast repository on the National Mall of the artifacts of our common past: former president Abraham Lincoln's top hat, the original Star-Spangled Banner, a baseball signed by Babe Ruth and Hank Aaron, but also the manacles that kept Kunta Kinte chained up in 'Roots' and Ku Klux Klan hoods, posters and sheet music. Had Trump actually visited, he might have seen that his vision of the country (to the extent that he has one) has been on view at the museum for decades. The culture police of the Trump administration pretend they are the first to correct excesses at the nation's great institutions, removing books at the Naval Academy, canceling shows at the Kennedy Center, squelching scholarship at the Wilson Center. But we have been here before: Every generation brings some effort to hide our misdeeds or deny our history. Under former presidents Ronald Reagan and George H.W. Bush, a drive to give corporate powers a louder voice changed how some museums tell the country's story. Today, the American History museum features the General Motors Hall of Transportation, the Mars (as in candy bars) Hall of American Business, a housing exhibit sponsored by the National Association of Realtors and exhibitions made possible by ExxonMobil and Monsanto. The history museum is an unintentional display of the culture wars over how to tell our story. Its offerings range from decades-old shows that celebrate U.S. presidents and train locomotives to newer exhibits that are thoroughly bilingual, brimming with left-wing jargon and liberal takes on the American past. An exhibit previewing the forthcoming National Museum of the American Latino — focusing 'on diverse stories of resistance' — presents Puerto Ricans' story as a tale of 'their colonial relationship with the United States,' without mentioning that Puerto Ricans have voted multiple times to endorse options including statehood or their current commonwealth status. Independence was never the top choice. The museum is also a celebration of an idealized America, one in which it's possible to mount a show about American enterprise that barely mentions slavery. Yet one floor up, an exhibit about American democracy puts the slavery debate center stage, connecting moral questions over human bondage with contemporary struggles over voting rights and the role of women. Text describing a Chicago Transit Authority streetcar from 1959 says nothing about racial division in that city, but a group of middle school kids from Ohio who ran into that car during my visit knew in their bones what the streetcar symbolized: 'Yo, get to the back of the bus!' one boy called out. 'You can't sit here!' another piped in. Rancor about race is so deeply ingrained in the American psyche that we go there even when the powers that be try to muffle reality. What Trump's culture warriors can't accept is that Americans have been fitfully but satisfyingly engaged in debate about the country's character from the very start. Even in its celebratory exhibit on American enterprise, the museum highlights the Founders' discord over how to shape the country, with Alexander Hamilton favoring a focus on manufacturing and Thomas Jefferson pushing for an agrarian society. Parts of the museum treat visitors like thinking adults and parts dismiss them as dimwits who need to be told how great their country is. Now, Trump seeks to homogenize the place. He has always believed that if he can control the messaging, he will shape reality. He believed it as a man who wanted to erect the tallest tower on Fifth Avenue, so he renumbered the floors in Trump Tower, turning the 58th story into the 68th floor. He has sued the authors of books about him, sacked underlings who brought him bad news, sought to strip licenses from those who broadcast chronicles of his misdeeds. Now, at the Smithsonian, he intends to rewrite history. To an extent, he can. Fear that he might do far worse often results in near-instant compliance. This power grab is not the overreach that will deliver the nation from its populist spasm. It will likely take a rough economic passage to nudge the pendulum back toward a more honest and trusting society. But enough Americans instinctively resent being told what to think that the cynical manipulation of the Smithsonian will produce some backlash. Our history, warts and all, teaches us that.
Yahoo
06-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Why Is Trump Mad at the Zoo?
The order came down late in the evening, when the orangutans, lions, and crocodiles would be resting. The next morning, March 28, the animals awoke to a new political reality: The world's most powerful man had taken an acute interest in their place of lodging, the National Zoo. President Donald Trump had directed Vice President J. D. Vance to rid the Smithsonian Institution of all 'improper ideology.' As a ward of the Smithsonian, the zoo was not only covered by this mandate; it was specifically mentioned as one of the facilities to be cleansed of wrongthink. Trump's order leaves little mystery about what he wants changed at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History and its National Museum of African American History and Culture. It calls for the removal of 'divisive,' 'race-centered ideology' from those museums, and says that their exhibits should instead instill pride 'in the hearts of all Americans.' But the order's text is silent on the nature of the zoo's ideological transgressions, and my email to the White House asking what they might be went unanswered. Trump has not previously been counted among the zoo's critics, who tend to lament the life of captivity suffered by its animals, not their potential indoctrination. I reached out to the zoo staff to ask if they knew what the administration wanted changed. When I did not immediately hear back, I decided to visit the zoo, in the mindset of a freshly appointed cultural commissar. One morning this week, I arrived at its Connecticut Avenue entrance. Pollen-coated cars were lined up outside, and blossoms on the zoo's magnolias were turning themselves inside out in the clear morning sun. Just a few hundred yards down its central path, near the Asia Trail, a food truck was already serving cocktails. [From the July 1919 issue: Pessimism and the zoo] On my way over to the zoo, I'd read the institution's most recent strategic plan. In the introduction, former National Zoo Director Steven Monfort says that by going from a global population of 1 billion to 8 billion in only 200 years, 'humans have made things very hard for wildlife.' It occurred to me that Vance might find this characterization a touch too Malthusian; he has often railed against what he perceives as anti-natalism in liberal culture. But the sight of parents carrying Moscow mules and margaritas away from the food truck suggested family-friendliness, at least of a certain kind. At the zoo's newly renovated Bird House, I joined a long line of families clustered around strollers, waiting to be let into the aviaries. In 2023, I'd met the zoo's chief curator for birds, Sara Hallager, while reporting a story about the institution's decision to euthanize a fox that may have killed 25 of its flamingoes. Hallager had told me that after the renovation, the zoo would no longer acquire birds from Africa, Asia, or South America. Its new exhibits would showcase only North American birds. Now I wondered: With this 'America First' approach, had the zoo intended to obey (way) in advance? If so, that might explain why an enormous pink-marble sculpture of an eagle—salvaged from the original Penn Station—had been placed near the Bird House entrance. As I moved deeper into the exhibit, this theory seemed less plausible. Its interpretive panels were not overtly political—I searched high and low for land acknowledgments and found none—but they also didn't seem to have been designed to please Trump. For one thing, they're printed in English and Spanish, a first for the zoo. They also celebrate the ability of migrating birds to move freely among the Amazon rainforest, North America, and the High Arctic. I did find one potentially 'divisive' panel in the turkey enclosure. It drew a distinction between North America's Indigenous people, who hunted turkeys for thousands of years but took care not to wipe them out, and European colonists, who in just two centuries drove the birds to the brink of extinction. This may not be the sort of sentiment that 'instills pride in the heart' of Americans. And yet it's true. [Read: The aftermath of a mass slaughter at the zoo] Everywhere I went, I heard kids buzzing about the zoo's new star attractions, two pandas named Bao Li and Qing Bao that Xi Jinping had sent from China as a gesture of friendship. A source at the Smithsonian Institution who was not authorized to speak to the press told me that before the pandas went on public view, the zoo had been besieged with messages from senators requesting advance meet and greets. I briefly entertained the thought that the zoo had ended up in Trump's crosshairs because some key ally of his had been denied a picture with the bears. Whatever the case, Bao Li himself seemed entirely indifferent to politics. He sat, lolled back against a green hillside, chewing through whole sticks of bamboo like they were Twizzlers at the movies. The zoo features less explicit climate advocacy than you might expect from an institution devoted to animal conservation. Most of it is concentrated in a single room in the Amazonia building. The Trump administration has been relentless about scrubbing government websites of all mentions of climate change, no matter how anodyne, but this was gentle stuff. In the center of a large mural from the 1990s recommending solar power, a kid wearing baggy clothes—now back in fashion—picks up trash in a forest. No fossil-fuel multinationals are named and shamed in the surrounding panels. The staff members in green vests did not appear to be indoctrinating anyone. They just gamely answered questions about the neon-blue tree frogs in a nearby terrarium. The exit from Amazonia dumped me out onto a path that runs along the zoo's southern edge. Traffic noise wafted down from the Duke Ellington Bridge, reminding me that I was not in a rainforest, but in the middle of Washington, D.C.—a city that Trump has derided as a 'filthy and crime-ridden embarrassment to our nation.' Continuing down the path, I arrived at the Kids' Farm exhibit, a shining scene of rural Americana that would not have been out of place on a butter label. Near the big red barn and stables, toddlers were perched on a fence, petting mules. A cow's blotchy black coat shimmered in the bright heat of the afternoon. Like the Bootheel BBQ & Southern Catering food truck parked nearby, which promised to 'feed your Southern soul,' the exhibit seemed designed to flatter, not antagonize, a narrow and nostalgic view of 'real America.' Before leaving the zoo, I popped into the visitor's center. I confirmed that the bookstore inside was aimed at the nonpartisan animal lover, not the activist, and learned that the zoo usually holds a secular-coded celebration of Easter—its focus is nature's post-winter bounty, not the newly risen Christ. The zoo's website calendar does show that last year, and for several years prior, it also recognized International Family Equality Day. Local LGTBQ organizations participated in the event, and some described it as 'Gay Day at the Zoo.' As part of the festivities, guests were able to watch a beaver or seal eat rainbow-dyed ice cake. Last year's event also had a musical performance featuring themes of 'climate justice, inclusion, queer identity, and community.' When I emailed the zoo to ask whether International Family Equality Day would continue this year, I did not receive a reply. I could see how this celebration might inflame a social conservative, but the tame, one-day event did not seem like enough to merit the zoo's inclusion in the executive order. Nor did any of the other things that I'd found—unless the administration is taking a 'broken windows' approach to policing ideology. Then again, I can't claim that my audit was exhaustive. I had intended to visit every exhibit, but I ended up skipping the Reptile House. Not for lack of interest; it's actually one of my favorite places at the zoo—the pythons and unblinking crocodiles provide a real encounter with the animal other. But the line was very long, with little shade. And so I can't tell you for certain that the Reptile House isn't a hotbed of critical race theory, or other MAGA heresies. Vance and his team will have to find out and let us know. Article originally published at The Atlantic
Atlantic
06-04-2025
- Politics
- Atlantic
Why Is Trump Mad at the Zoo?
The order came down late in the evening, when the orangutans, lions, and crocodiles would be resting. The next morning, March 28, the animals awoke to a new political reality: The world's most powerful man had taken an acute interest in their place of lodging, the National Zoo. President Donald Trump had directed Vice President J. D. Vance to rid the Smithsonian Institution of all 'improper ideology.' As a ward of the Smithsonian, the zoo was not only covered by this mandate; it was specifically mentioned as one of the facilities to be cleansed of wrongthink. Trump's order leaves little mystery about what he wants changed at the Smithsonian's National Museum of American History and its National Museum of African American History and Culture. It calls for the removal of 'divisive,' 'race-centered ideology' from those museums, and says that their exhibits should instead instill pride 'in the hearts of all Americans.' But the order's text is silent on the nature of the zoo's ideological transgressions, and my email to the White House asking what they might be went unanswered. Trump has not previously been counted among the zoo's critics, who tend to lament the life of captivity suffered by its animals, not their potential indoctrination. I reached out to the zoo staff to ask if they knew what the administration wanted changed. When I did not immediately hear back, I decided to visit the zoo, in the mindset of a freshly appointed cultural commissar. One morning this week, I arrived at its Connecticut Avenue entrance. Pollen-coated cars were lined up outside, and blossoms on the zoo's magnolias were turning themselves inside out in the clear morning sun. Just a few hundred yards down its central path, near the Asia Trail, a food truck was already serving cocktails. From the July 1919 issue: Pessimism and the zoo On my way over to the zoo, I'd read the institution's most recent strategic plan. In the introduction, former National Zoo Director Steven Monfort says that by going from a global population of 1 billion to 8 billion in only 200 years, 'humans have made things very hard for wildlife.' It occurred to me that Vance might find this characterization a touch too Malthusian; he has often railed against what he perceives as anti-natalism in liberal culture. But the sight of parents carrying Moscow mules and margaritas away from the food truck suggested family-friendliness, at least of a certain kind. At the zoo's newly renovated Bird House, I joined a long line of families clustered around strollers, waiting to be let into the aviaries. In 2023, I'd met the zoo's chief curator for birds, Sara Hallager, while reporting a story about the institution's decision to euthanize a fox that may have killed 25 of its flamingoes. Hallager had told me that after the renovation, the zoo would no longer acquire birds from Africa, Asia, or South America. Its new exhibits would showcase only North American birds. Now I wondered: With this 'America First' approach, had the zoo intended to obey (way) in advance? If so, that might explain why an enormous pink-marble sculpture of an eagle—salvaged from the original Penn Station—had been placed near the Bird House entrance. As I moved deeper into the exhibit, this theory seemed less plausible. Its interpretive panels were not overtly political—I searched high and low for land acknowledgments and found none—but they also didn't seem to have been designed to please Trump. For one thing, they're printed in English and Spanish, a first for the zoo. They also celebrate the ability of migrating birds to move freely among the Amazon rainforest, North America, and the High Arctic. I did find one potentially 'divisive' panel in the turkey enclosure. It drew a distinction between North America's Indigenous people, who hunted turkeys for thousands of years but took care not to wipe them out, and European colonists, who in just two centuries drove the birds to the brink of extinction. This may not be the sort of sentiment that 'instills pride in the heart' of Americans. And yet it's true. Everywhere I went, I heard kids buzzing about the zoo's new star attractions, two pandas named Bao Li and Qing Bao that Xi Jinping had sent from China as a gesture of friendship. A source at the Smithsonian Institution who was not authorized to speak to the press told me that before the pandas went on public view, the zoo had been besieged with messages from senators requesting advance meet and greets. I briefly entertained the thought that the zoo had ended up in Trump's crosshairs because some key ally of his had been denied a picture with the bears. Whatever the case, Bao Li himself seemed entirely indifferent to politics. He sat, lolled back against a green hillside, chewing through whole sticks of bamboo like they were Twizzlers at the movies. The zoo features less explicit climate advocacy than you might expect from an institution devoted to animal conservation. Most of it is concentrated in a single room in the Amazonia building. The Trump administration has been relentless about scrubbing government websites of all mentions of climate change, no matter how anodyne, but this was gentle stuff. In the center of a large mural from the 1990s recommending solar power, a kid wearing baggy clothes—now back in fashion—picks up trash in a forest. No fossil-fuel multinationals are named and shamed in the surrounding panels. The staff members in green vests did not appear to be indoctrinating anyone. They just gamely answered questions about the neon-blue tree frogs in a nearby terrarium. The exit from Amazonia dumped me out onto a path that runs along the zoo's southern edge. Traffic noise wafted down from the Duke Ellington Bridge, reminding me that I was not in a rainforest, but in the middle of Washington, D.C.—a city that Trump has derided as a 'filthy and crime-ridden embarrassment to our nation.' Continuing down the path, I arrived at the Kids' Farm exhibit, a shining scene of rural Americana that would not have been out of place on a butter label. Near the big red barn and stables, toddlers were perched on a fence, petting mules. A cow's blotchy black coat shimmered in the bright heat of the afternoon. Like the Bootheel BBQ & Southern Catering food truck parked nearby, which promised to 'feed your Southern soul,' the exhibit seemed designed to flatter, not antagonize, a narrow and nostalgic view of 'real America.' Before leaving the zoo, I popped into the visitor's center. I confirmed that the bookstore inside was aimed at the nonpartisan animal lover, not the activist, and learned that the zoo usually holds a secular-coded celebration of Easter—its focus is nature's post-winter bounty, not the newly risen Christ. The zoo's website calendar does show that last year, and for several years prior, it also recognized International Family Equality Day. Local LGTBQ organizations participated in the event, and some described it as ' Gay Day at the Zoo.' As part of the festivities, guests were able to watch a beaver or seal eat rainbow-dyed ice cake. Last year's event also had a musical performance featuring themes of 'climate justice, inclusion, queer identity, and community.' When I emailed the zoo to ask whether International Family Equality Day would continue this year, I did not receive a reply. I could see how this celebration might inflame a social conservative, but the tame, one-day event did not seem like enough to merit the zoo's inclusion in the executive order. Nor did any of the other things that I'd found—unless the administration is taking a 'broken windows' approach to policing ideology. Then again, I can't claim that my audit was exhaustive. I had intended to visit every exhibit, but I ended up skipping the Reptile House. Not for lack of interest; it's actually one of my favorite places at the zoo—the pythons and unblinking crocodiles provide a real encounter with the animal other. But the line was very long, with little shade. And so I can't tell you for certain that the Reptile House isn't a hotbed of critical race theory, or other MAGA heresies. Vance and his team will have to find out and let us know.
