When I was satisfied that I had everything ready, I turned on the oven. Drop a cold egg into hot butter and it curdles. Open an oven door too soon, and the cake falls. Surprise is the easiest way to ruin perfect baking. Everything had to be in place before I could start so there’d be no missed steps or surprises. I carefully laid out all of my measuring cups and spoons on the counter, then got my mixing bowls ready. So I knew he wouldn’t be hovering over me with his running commentary: “Alicia, you’re sifting the flour too quickly,” or “Don’t beat the eggs to death.” My five-year-old brother, Roberto, was still sleeping, and I could hear Abuelita Rosa snoring happily (and loudly) away in her bedroom. My dad had left half an hour ago to go to work at our family bakery, Say It With Flour. In my pajamas, I tiptoed out of my bedroom and down the shadowy hallway. There was only one cure for that: baking. School was starting again after the two-week winter break, and my nerves knew it. I shut my eyes and tucked deeper into my covers, but it was no use. My eyes opened onto a gleaming moon and stars outside my window, and I had that topsy-turvy feeling of being out of sync with time. For Aunt Carol and Grandma Sue, two resilient women I admire and loveĭon’t miss this other delicious read by Suzanne Nelson!
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