The stomach is not the only way into a man’s heart.
A thick caramel aroma surrounded Josh, a surprise attack to his olfactory. It sent him sniffing like a crime fighting dog as he sat his briefcase down. “Someone wonderful lives here,” he said.
I stood at the stove wearing my great-grandmothers’s apron, pulling a spatula through melted butter. The milk solids slowly caramelized as the water evaporated. Browning butter is the difference between venial and mortal sin. From forgiveness to eternal damnation. And according to him, these were the “best damn cookies this side of hell.”