My introduction to baking began as a toddler when I was scooting around on the floor in my mother’s kitchen. She usually wore cherry red shoes that were always dusted with flour. I followed those shoes around the room, and like any savvy small fry, knew where the good crumbs landed when she was baking.
As I grew (read: ridiculously tall child) and could reach the counter, she began to teach me how she baked. There were no real recipes, just a tutorial handed down from her grandmother, to her mother, to her and then to me. Continue reading