Large plastic containers filled with ingredients sit on a section of the kitchen counter – feta cheese, parmesan cheese, ricotta cheese, and a thawed bag of spinach leaves. Next to them are cartons of eggs, freshly ground cinnamon sticks, the grater I used to grind the cinnamon, a massive jar of raw local honey, and, mixed in with sugar and cinnamon, several pounds of pistachios and walnuts that were a royal pain to chop fine, even using a blender. A saucepan containing several packages of butter I’d clarified earlier this morning sits on a warm stove burner to prevent the butter from firming up when we want to be able to drizzle it over pastry. It sits next to a smaller saucepan of homemade simple syrup that he had me cook up from rose water and sugar before I clarified the butter.
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