I forgot to buy more bread and one Sunday morning awoke to wonderful baking smells and thought it was my neighbour. When I came back from walking my dogs, I realised there was a lovely lemon cake on the kitchen table, still warm and in its baking pan with a beautiful, cracked top. It tasted heavenly with little crunchy bits inside. And that the table was not its usual laden self with a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter and another of jam.
My ingenious maid must be a descendent of Marie Antionette. And unlike the hapless poor of that time in France, my kitchen is still well stocked enough for her to rustle up enough eggs, flour, sugar, lemons for a fabulous breakfast cake. Definitely no need to riot.
I should forget to buy bread more often.
No comments:
Post a Comment