Once, when I was young-er and not living miles away from my homeland, I found this piece of paper under a cabinet. I had come to help my brothers for the spring cleaning at my parents’s place. My parents were not there – somewhere in Djibouti or Vientiane. Maybe both?
… and I can’t remember if you put salt or not.
Not being able to bake this fondant au chocolat drives me crazy.
I am sure that you are very busy these days and you’re probably somewhere far. But if you like, if you’re around France anytime in the near future, we could meet. If you come to my place, I could even show you that I can still do cappuccino.
That was clearly my mother’s handwriting. A part of a letter to her mother. That surprised me a lot, they had never been very close. Probably because they were so much alike. I tried hard to remember when was the last time I had seen them in the same room. Or in the same country. Hm.
Unlike the rest of my family, my mother was never fond of cooking or baking. Yet there were few things she definitely could do – the fondant was one of those. Her fondant was an amazing one.