I open the side door of our house and a waft of good smells greets me — the yeasty goodness of fresh baked bread, Sunday-dinner richness of balsamic baked chicken, exotic tang of Croatian sausages, sweet goodness of blueberry tarts.
Molly B is in the house and, like Beauty and the Beast’s Be Our Guest, we’re all — utensils, teapots and people — dancing for joy.
In the week she has been home, Molly has whipped up a roasted chicken dinner with mashed potatoes, gravy and roasted asparagus from which she also made batches of broth for later use.
She hosted a homemade pasta party with her friends, rolled her own Cevapi sausage, baked a loaf of whole wheat bread, played around with coconut flour resulting in pineapple tea biscuits and blueberry sandwich cookies.
“Can you taste this?” she asked me Thursday afternoon as I walked in the door from work. “I’m not sure they’re sweet enough.”
“If I must,” I said and happily bit into a warm honey blueberry tart.
“It’s perfect.” I said with my mouth full. “But, should I try one more just to be sure?”
We’re losing her soon, of course. She’ll be heading to Minneapolis in June to work at a bakery. My Fitness Pal supports this move, but My Spoiled Palette would like to see her stick around.
For the next couple of days, though, I’m going to sink my teeth into whatever she offers because even her mistakes (“Mom, that pineapple sauce was gross. I’m throwing it out.” “But, it’s delicious! Wait! I’ll lick the spoon!”) are better than anything this kitchen has seen in a long, long while.
Look out, Minneapolis! You’re in for a real treat!