Nelly finished her tea and took her empty cup and saucer
to the kitchen. For a moment, she wondered why she had left her cookery book
open on the counter-top. Then she remembered that she had decided to spend
the day making baklava. It was a complicated recipe, one she had not tried
before. Layla would be round later to taste it.
Nelly leaned on the counter to read the recipe then,
cookbook in hand, she went to the larder to select ingredients: cardamom,
cinnamon, saffron – she knew the spices so well. She opened the bottle of
rose water, breathing in the heady, intoxicating aroma.
The hours passed making puff pastry, rolling it,
brushing it with melted butter and sprinkling over ground pistachios and
cardamom. When the baklava had turned golden brown in the oven, she poured
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