This was my #Father’s, 1-cup measure. It’s now mine. I use it practically everyday. It’s #dinged and dented like he was, and like I now am. From his hands to mine, which is how much of my knowledge found me, this cup aided the making of #breads, #pastas and #desserts for some 65 odd years. When I use it, I’m conjuring my #Dad. I become that eight-year-old kid on a step-stool being handed the cups of flour to dump into the mixing bowl. Which, I should add, I executed expertly.
I still level the cup with my index finger, as he did. I still leave the cup half-filled with flour on the counter for after the first #rise, and I still sit with it, every so often to press out the dents and re-bend the handle to bring balance back to it, as he did with me.
Hey Giuseppe, here’s to giggling about spilled red wine in the dough, and flour on the apron. I miss you.