I have always admired (coveted) my mother-in-law’s ability for being able to tell when the asparagus is done by smell. (And my husband can do it with pasta.)
I have hoped beyond hopes that I would also get there. Someday. Somehow.
And today it happened!
Is anyone surprised that it was a baked good that made me run down the stairs with two and a half minutes on the clock and rescue my caramelized apple skillet cake from the running-hot oven before disaster struck?
(Now that I’m thinking about it, I guess I can smell when the bread is done, but that seems like less of a victory, because my neighbours can also smell when my bread is done.)