divided by four, poppet?
“Twenty-one, Papa,” she whispered, blinking away the sting of salt against her lids. There was something wonderfully pure about numbers and the abstract concepts they created. They were not intrinsically good or evil—they simply . . . were.
Arianna turned the first page, and then the second, and the third, losing herself in the intricacy of the equations. Intriguing. She wasn’t quite sure what they meant, but following the progression of logic had provided a welcome diversion from her own tangled emotions.
Oddly enough, numbers had always been a source of solace. She had come to think of them as friends, playmates for a lonely childhood that helped keep the pinch of poverty at bay. That her father had encouraged the games, and had taken great pleasure at her skills, only added to the allure. The connection—the time together working out mathematical puzzles—was the one thing that could keep him from seeking escape in a bottle. He had tried to stay lucid for their nightly games.
But those precious moments had become rarer and rarer, and as she got older, Arianna had become desperate to keep him from drowning in drink. The games turned into arguments. Bitter ones at times. . . .
Snapping the pasteboard covers shut, she rose and returned the folder to its hiding place. As the candle sputtered and died, throwing the room into darkness, she found her glass and quickly swallowed the last splash of amber spirits.
Don’t stir up painful memories of the past, she chided herself.
To survive, she must focus all her thoughts on the problems of the present.
8
From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano
We Spaniards were quick to make our own variations on the New World preparations of chocolate. Instead of frothing the drink by pouring it back and forth between two cups, as was the Aztec method, we created the molinillo, a type of wooden whisk that is submersed in the hot liquid and spun between the palms. It creates a lovely frothy foam, and I remember how Sandro loved to watch me in the kitchen, his tiny hands mimicking the rhythm of the whirling wood. . . .
Mexican Chocolate Cookies
1 cup all-purpose flour
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon unsweetened Dutch-processed
cocoa powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon brown sugar
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
3 tablespoons sweet butter, slightly softened
3 tablespoons stick margarine
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
generous pinch of ground black pepper
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 egg white
1. Combine the flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl. Mix thoroughly with a whisk. Set aside.
2. Combine the sugars in a small bowl.
3. In a medium mixing bowl, beat butter and margarine until creamy. Add sugar mixture, cinnamon, pepper, and vanilla. Beat on high speed for about one minute. Beat in egg white. Stop the mixer.
4. Add the flour mixture. Beat on low speed just until incorporated.
5. Gather the dough together with your hands and form it into a neat 9-to-10-inch log. Wrap in waxed paper. Fold or twist ends of paper without pinching or flattening the log. Chill at least 45 minutes, or until needed.
6. Place oven racks in the upper and lower third of the oven and preheat to 350ºF. Line cookie sheets with parchment paper or aluminum foil.
7. Use a sharp knife to slice rounds of chilled dough ¼ inch thick. Place 1 inch apart on prepared baking sheets. Bake 12 to 14 minutes. Rotate baking sheets from top to bottom and front to back about halfway through. Use a metal spatula to transfer cookies to a wire rack to cool.
I t must have been the brandy, for despite feeling sure that Morpheus would not be her bedfellow, Arianna was drawn out of a deep sleep by a discreet knock on the door.
Sitting up, she winced as a blade of sunlight cut across her face. No rest for the wicked, she thought wryly, squinting through the diamond-paned windows. She usually rose with the dawn, but the
“Twenty-one, Papa,” she whispered, blinking away the sting of salt against her lids. There was something wonderfully pure about numbers and the abstract concepts they created. They were not intrinsically good or evil—they simply . . . were.
Arianna turned the first page, and then the second, and the third, losing herself in the intricacy of the equations. Intriguing. She wasn’t quite sure what they meant, but following the progression of logic had provided a welcome diversion from her own tangled emotions.
Oddly enough, numbers had always been a source of solace. She had come to think of them as friends, playmates for a lonely childhood that helped keep the pinch of poverty at bay. That her father had encouraged the games, and had taken great pleasure at her skills, only added to the allure. The connection—the time together working out mathematical puzzles—was the one thing that could keep him from seeking escape in a bottle. He had tried to stay lucid for their nightly games.
But those precious moments had become rarer and rarer, and as she got older, Arianna had become desperate to keep him from drowning in drink. The games turned into arguments. Bitter ones at times. . . .
Snapping the pasteboard covers shut, she rose and returned the folder to its hiding place. As the candle sputtered and died, throwing the room into darkness, she found her glass and quickly swallowed the last splash of amber spirits.
Don’t stir up painful memories of the past, she chided herself.
To survive, she must focus all her thoughts on the problems of the present.
8
From the chocolate notebooks of Dona Maria Castellano
We Spaniards were quick to make our own variations on the New World preparations of chocolate. Instead of frothing the drink by pouring it back and forth between two cups, as was the Aztec method, we created the molinillo, a type of wooden whisk that is submersed in the hot liquid and spun between the palms. It creates a lovely frothy foam, and I remember how Sandro loved to watch me in the kitchen, his tiny hands mimicking the rhythm of the whirling wood. . . .
Mexican Chocolate Cookies
1 cup all-purpose flour
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon unsweetened Dutch-processed
cocoa powder
¼ teaspoon baking soda
¼ teaspoon salt
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon brown sugar
½ cup plus 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
3 tablespoons sweet butter, slightly softened
3 tablespoons stick margarine
½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
generous pinch of ground black pepper
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 egg white
1. Combine the flour, cocoa, baking soda, and salt in a medium bowl. Mix thoroughly with a whisk. Set aside.
2. Combine the sugars in a small bowl.
3. In a medium mixing bowl, beat butter and margarine until creamy. Add sugar mixture, cinnamon, pepper, and vanilla. Beat on high speed for about one minute. Beat in egg white. Stop the mixer.
4. Add the flour mixture. Beat on low speed just until incorporated.
5. Gather the dough together with your hands and form it into a neat 9-to-10-inch log. Wrap in waxed paper. Fold or twist ends of paper without pinching or flattening the log. Chill at least 45 minutes, or until needed.
6. Place oven racks in the upper and lower third of the oven and preheat to 350ºF. Line cookie sheets with parchment paper or aluminum foil.
7. Use a sharp knife to slice rounds of chilled dough ¼ inch thick. Place 1 inch apart on prepared baking sheets. Bake 12 to 14 minutes. Rotate baking sheets from top to bottom and front to back about halfway through. Use a metal spatula to transfer cookies to a wire rack to cool.
I t must have been the brandy, for despite feeling sure that Morpheus would not be her bedfellow, Arianna was drawn out of a deep sleep by a discreet knock on the door.
Sitting up, she winced as a blade of sunlight cut across her face. No rest for the wicked, she thought wryly, squinting through the diamond-paned windows. She usually rose with the dawn, but the
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