Desayuno

When I was little I didn’t have a very good sense of holidays and special occasions. Sure, I loved Christmas as much as any kid, but at five years old, as far as I was concerned Christmas was something that had happened three times in the history of the world. It couldn’t be counted on, and it was unrealistic to try to think far enough in advance to see it coming next time. Being told that my birthday was in eight months was like being told that Ghana is to the west: Entirely true, but I’d never make it all the way there, even if I packed a lunch. No, I celebrated smaller and more frequent holidays: Beach day; dad letting me ride on the hood of the car up the driveway day; going to the movies day. And perhaps the most important of them all was baking day. Read more