I live in a country where the women are exotic, the food world renowned, the temples spiritual, a traveler's utopia (or hell, should you abandon your senses).
Butterkuchen |
Linzen torte |
Brownie Crisps |
Clafoutis |
another kind of kind of
decadence sipped with mid morning Cappuccino.
For the Chef d'Patisserie did not graduate from any elitist Cordon Bleu in Paris, or Castello di Vicarello in Tuscany or even Edelweiss Cooking School in Austria; but as an accomplished Asian Pianist with a teaching degree from the University of Music and the Performing Arts in Vienna.
Not only can she play the piano with precision but suffocated teaching Beethoven's Fur Elise to the likes of me. She uses the skill of precision, tried and tested, practice until perfect, (much like her dedication to music); to the delight of family and friends the pastries she creates.
Decades of friendship; countless cookies, dozens of brownies, endless tortes later; she still refuses to give her recipes. Our friendship remains intact despite my pleas, enticing her with novel presents and even writing this accolade of addictive pastries; her secret recipe stays secret. If my addiction rears its ugly head, all I have to do is ring her.
All you readers have to do is direct message me, to taste these exquisite delectables; from wherever you are. My naughty way of getting her to give me her recipe. It might just work.