“You know,” my mother mused aloud as she watched me frowning over a big metal bowl of dough, “most ‘ahjumas‘1 don’t even bother making this from scratch because the packet mix is so good…”
I grit my teeth. “Shut up, mom!”
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A frozen nose, a burnt tongue and a sweet, sugary memory
I grit my teeth. “Shut up, mom!”
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