First they crunch, then the soft dough comes, then I taste cinnamon, apples and maple syrup and then: I just fall into a state of bliss.
In the beginning there was a cake. Day one. I baked it and I saw that it was good. That's how my world began.
James Bond among cakes. Handsome, shapely, interesting. And cunning. Guess what? Chocolate!
"Do you know why I can't stop loving you?" I hear sometimes on Sundays. "Because you smell like vanilla."
A warm pancake in the palm of your hand, the soft scent of cinnamon, sugar drunk with butter. An ordinary weekday evening. I've never felt better.