Last night on a whim a bought a Rosca de Reyes from Bakery la Mejor. No sign of baby Jesus yet. I'll update as tiny-things-baked-into-this-sweet-yeast-bread-ring developments emerge.
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Virginia Woolf said, "A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." After five years of shared kitchens, I'm finally back in my own space. One hundred and seventeen square feet of butter-tiled, oak floored hearth on Lexington Street, in San Francisco's Mission district. A Wedgewood stove, eleven Le Creuset pots, a Meyer lemon tree, and the pleasure of breaking my own dishes.
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Eat well always, even when you have nothing.
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