Not much beats coming home to little kids yelling for ‘Daddy’. But combine it with coming home to the smell of fresh baked bread, and you got an even better welcome.
My wife is the baker. I’m the cook. And I love it when she finds a new recipe and works it. It’s fall and apples are abundantly available. We stopped at an apple barny type place and picked up a bushel of cooking apples (that are just as delish eaten by themselves). Tina decided to hook us up with some apple bread. It is the bomb. I hate using that phrase, but I don’t care. It’s totally the bomb.
She makes great cakes and great breads and cupcakes and brownies and cookies. She fills my body and life with sweetness. She’s cool like that. I love her for herself, but her apple bread don’t hurt none, you know?