There is something comforting in having something sweet on top of a kitchen island.  While I was growing up the only time I experienced this was when I would visit my paternal grandparents.  My grandmother would always have snack cakes prepared and ready for anyone to eat if they were in the vicinity of the kitchen – and like a good Italian family – we were ALWAYS in the kitchen.  Most of the cake would last 2 days tops. Like a good Italian family, we would always sneak into the kitchen and take a little piece of cake until the next one appeared, just like magic.

This past week, I was looking through my old recipe notebook and came across the recipe, written in my 15 year old penmanship, with little flowers all around, which brought to mind how my grandmother would give me her recipe.  I would sit in this big kitchen table she had in the corner of the room and she would dictate what she will be doing.  Add a pinch of this, a tablespoon of that, a little bit of this… my grandmother was not big about keeping measurements - it was all in her head.