You know those people who go on long, deep, exhortations about food, and especially food they made themselves?

Some people complain about that. I see those comments under recipes all the time.

“Thanks for not telling us your whole life story before getting to the recipe,” they sneer.

Well, if you’re one of those people, **this entire collection is not for you. ** But if you’ve watched The Journey of 100 Steps a million times like I have, were devastated by The Taste of Things for literally days and are genuinely baffled as to why Peter Reinhart isn’t a Pulitzer or Booker Prize winner, **welcome home. ** I will rhapsodize about the gentle reprobation of a springy dough beneath my hands as much as I god damn well please. I can — and will — explain exactly why the exhalation of lemon in a pastry made me feel like I was 5-years-old again, how I agonized over the choice between a deep, rich caramel, which is like the long, slow kiss of a returning lover, and the subtle, understated elegance of an Crème brûlée, which is the soft, silent, gentle hand of a friend, the comfort of familiarity, for a wholly unapologetic 20 minutes once (deep thanks and affection for the dear friend who endured the agony alongside me with bemused patience). **

This is still the free internet, dammit! (For now…sigh.) There. Will. Be. Food.**