He stopped in the kitchen doorway, and his grin spread from ear to ear.
There she was, up to her
wrists in bread dough, her hair scooped up, her nose dusted with flour.
Born in Ice
There she was, up to her
wrists in bread dough, her hair scooped up, her nose dusted with flour.
Born in Ice
______________
My Happy
Dish: Mrs. Frings' Irish Soda Bread
from Sweet
Paul Staffer, Paul Vitale
"This Irish Soda Bread is a treasured recipe from my dear friend's mother, Mrs. Frings.
I make it every year for St. Patrick's Day! I just know you're going to want to add it to your repertoire as well!"
______________
After she'd poured a cup, Shannon stood awkwardly, wondering what to do next.
"You bake your own bread?"
"I do, yes. It's a soothing process. You'll have toast at least. There's a hunk of yesterday's still in
the drawer."
"A little later. I was thinking I might drive around a bit, see the cliffs or something."
"Oh, sure you'll want to see the sights."
Competently Brianna patted the dough into a ball and
turned it into a large bowl.
Born in Shame
"You bake your own bread?"
"I do, yes. It's a soothing process. You'll have toast at least. There's a hunk of yesterday's still in
the drawer."
"A little later. I was thinking I might drive around a bit, see the cliffs or something."
"Oh, sure you'll want to see the sights."
Competently Brianna patted the dough into a ball and
turned it into a large bowl.
Born in Shame