Pull up a stool. The kettle is on. These are the recipes I’ll actually give out — the rest stay in my head, and that’s where they’re staying.
I started this box when my grandmother pressed her shortbread recipe into my hand at seventeen and told me to guard it with my life. I’ve loosened up since then. A little.
Each of these has fed somebody I love. Some have fed a whole town. If you bake one and it turns out, come by and tell me. If it doesn’t turn out, come by anyway. We’ll figure it out together.
— BeckyKenzie supervises the bakery from a velvet cushion Becky keeps behind the counter. “She’s my best taste tester,” Becky says. Kenzie disputes the word best. She prefers only qualified.
— The bell above the door