Aimee Bender

“My soup arrived. Crusted with cheese, golden at the edges. The waiter placed it carefully in front of me, and I broke through the top layer with my spoon and filled it with warm oniony broth, catching bits of soaking bread. The smell took over the table, a warmingness. And because circumstances rarely match, and one afternoon can be a patchwork of both joy and horror, the taste of the soup washed through me. Warm, kind, focused, whole. It was easily, without question, the best soup I had ever had, made by a chef who found true refuge in cooking.”


Aimee Bender, The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake
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The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake by Aimee Bender
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