I’m usually dusted in flour, smacking my lips on sugar while whipping butter into a frenzied state, but this may be altered a bit by the arrival of a new cookbook. My daughter, M1, sent it to me as a surprise, and then she lovingly asked if I would care to join her as we bake our way through it. How could I refuse?

The two of us will be dining each Sunday afternoon, enjoying the fruits of our labor.  We do hope to be consistent with our posts, but neither of us is willing to bet the farm that we actually concocted our masterpieces on the actual day we posted it.

Sounds like fun, doesn’t it?  Join us.  Create some mayhem around the edges of your apron.  If it gets smoky, we’ll open the windows.



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