I called it “One Girl” because that’s exactly what it was. Me. Moi. Mixing it, baking it, packing it, delivering it. The “it” being pretty little cookies. I had been so used to working with pretty little things that I couldn’t imagine doing it any differently. Small, because, who needs more? Big desserts are such a commitment. To me, it was so much better to flirt with all kinds of flavors. A chocolate cookie first. A nutty one next. Followed by a bit of fruit. Who says you can’t have it all? Rubbish. I tested, tried, and tasted all kinds of yummy things. Some were my own creations and others family recipes passed down through several generations of Sicilians. I was in nirvana. I spent every moment of every day mixing, folding, rolling, cutting, and baking. I quickly remembered that very unique smell of butter and sugar being creamed together. I delighted in stirring bubbling caramel until my arm grew numb. I became giddy each time I plunged my hands into the velvety dough, took hold of the pin, and began rolling. And I finished each day eager to fill my building’s hallways with the heady aromas of freshly baked cookies all over again.
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