Childhood Delicacy

I have no culinary skills. I can attempt to follow a recipe, sure, but I have little understanding of how the ingredients are reacting together. Therefore, I have no ability to improvise.

I recently discovered a relic from my childhood. In my desk drawer along with assorted photos, letters and cards, I found a well-worn recipe card. It was my grandmother's recipe for Russian Coffee Cake. The cake, a brown sugary delicacy, I adored as a child.

Yesterday, I attempted to recreate it. Surprisingly, I came close, but it was not quite right. I think I know why. My grandmother, I suppose like most good cooks, tended to augment her recipes. People who understand things and do not simply follow directions. They are capable of improvising and creating new things out of the old. I can relate in my profession but not in cooking. In the kitchen I just try to follow the directions…and hope.

Related tangent:
My cousin, Trish, bakes the best approximation of Grandma's beloved Christmas sugar cookies. Many in the family have the recipe, but most do not know of Grandma's improvisation. I discovered the secret by accident one day not too long before she died: more cream of tartar.

Temptation

Sitting in the clinic today, I'm staring out a glass wall and down into the cafeteria. Inviting smells of coffee roll through the air from the coffee shop also nearby. I can't concentrate on my book. I'm glancing at the clock over and over. Fifteen hours have passed without a drop to drink or a morsel of food. Soon the test (and therefore my fast) will be complete.

I look up at a lady crossing the lobby. She returns an unpleasant look. "Don't look at me like that," she seems to be thinking, seeing the alluring gaze on my face. Oh, I'm looking. That vivacious, curvy sandwich, that hot cup of coffee in your hands. Yeah, I can't stop the stare.