When I was a kid, my grandma used to regularly bake Kamish bread. She didn’t use recipes – she baked from memory, and the thought of her baked goods still fills me with nostalgia for her pink and black tile kitchen, her whistling as she worked, and her wonderful commentary on politics. Boy, would she be pissed at the state of the country today.

I don’t know how to make her cookies, and I don’t even know if my mother knows. But Google helps. So yesterday Becca and Madeline and I put on the very trippy Labyrinth, and we made very messy and misshapen rugelach, a cousin of my grandma’s baking.



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