Whenever I talk
to my lifelong friend Lynne, we usually find ourselves reminiscing about our teen
years. Those conversations remind me how
good Lynne’s house always smelled when I’d stop by after school. Her mother was a first-class baker, and she
apparently spent many afternoons making bread, cakes, cookies and cloverleaf rolls.
Maybe Lynne’s
mother, whom I will call Mrs. B, is the reason I was never daunted by yeast