“No one is going to eat your pies,” my mother-in-law hissed. A year later she saw a line outside my restaurant—and her husband was in it too.
— “And what is this nonsense?” My mother-in-law’s voice, Raisa Igorievna’s, landed like a slap, even though it was quiet. She stood on the threshold of my kitchen like an inspector, arms crossed, thin lips pressed tight. I had just pulled a baking sheet out of the oven. The air filled with the aroma of […]
Продолжение...