Although Molly B’s name is no longer part of this blog, her presence definitely is.
It wafts up the stairs of our house trailing delicious smells from the oven. It rests lightly on a new cutting board, patiently cooling while we stand near, forks at the ready, drooling.
Molly has been home on winter break for a little more than two weeks and in that time she has whipped up one fluffy loaf of pesto bread, five walnut rolls, two babkas — cinnamon and chocolate (the lesser babka), and Italian herb bread.
She’s also made dinner on several occasions, including a big pot of chicken dumpling soup and chorizo potato stew.
We’re going to miss that kid when she heads back to school. It’s been a lovely, mouth-watering, belly-filling winter bake. err, break.
After the babka baking episode, she texted me. “Is it okay if I have people over tonight? I need someone to eat my babkas.”
“Please do,” I said, and my straining waistline thanked her.
The house smelled amazing when I got home from work that day, and Molly called out from upstairs.
“You can taste the babkas if you want. I’m not sure if the chocolate one turned out.”
I sliced off a small piece of the chocolate babka, popped in in my mouth and paused, eyes closed, taste buds dancing.
“That chocolate babka is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” I yelled around an inelegant mouthful of babka. “Good lord!”
I had another slice. Of course I did.
I have no recipes to offer you, nor any baking tips at all, just a series of photos that will have to sustain me through the next cold, dark months until Molly B comes back home to Me.
