A novice chef’s quest to create something edible in a closet-size kitchenby Mara Betsch
I am no domestic goddess. I am a doodler in an Italian family where cooking is an art. My family finds this hysterical, and conversations at holiday meals inevitably end with coffee, dessert, and tales of my culinary catastrophes. Here’s a taste from last year’s festivities.
“Remember the time Mara put baking soda instead of baking powder in the peach cobbler?” my dad asks the table. “It tasted like peach toothpaste.” Laughter erupts.
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