
I have a gift. Not talent, gift.
I can create magic in the kitchen. No, there is no need for modesty. It isn't about me. It is OF me. It is about the generations of spectacular home cooks I inherit from. I take pride and am thankful for that gift.
Because without it, I would sink into the depths of unspeakable abyss...

When my life insists on turning tables on me, I know I can still trust my hands. They are small, yet, they are strong.
I take solace in them. In knowing that I can walk into my kitchen, take out the flour, butter, sugar, eggs, turn my oven on, and they won't fail me... even when all else does...

So I bake. I knead. I whisk. I cook. I live in the moment. I forget. I come alive.
This weekend... I smiled...
Croissants, meringues, steamed buns, pickled pork belly, semifreddo, custard, baked pears, savory pull apart bread... yes...all in one weekend.

And, so I will... until I no longer can... Because I owe it to my gift.
For the recipe..