Anyway now seems as good a time as any to tell the story of how, one year around Christmas, I was in my grandmother’s basement looking at the boxes of old shit everywhere, and my mom went, “Hey, have I ever shown you the family cake board?”
Which, like: fascinating, because it’s not like my family has a history of baking beyond for birthdays or whatever. So I’m imagining it’s just a sheet pan or something, wondering why she’s making a big deal out of this.
This. This was the Family Cake Board. In my extremely Irish-Italian Catholic grandmother’s home.











