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CARLOS
I always used my head—with one exception. That particular deviation had to do with the sweet spot to be found between a woman’s legs.
It was one of my great loves, along with horses, winning, and baking.
I scoured the bottom of my copper cookie sheet with a mixture of rock salt and lemon pulp. Since childhood, Nonna taught me special kitchen tricks like this when no one was watching. It all started with me asking her to teach me how she made apple pie.
She whispered in Italian, “First slice the lemon in half. Cup the rind in your palm, now rub. Circles.” Then yelled at me for show, “That’s right, little boys who don’t finish their supper, get to help out in the kitchen.” God forbid my cousins find out Carlos Drago wanted to get his hands dirty in the kitchen.
I laughed at th
