Tonight upon the request of my brother, I made brownies.
While I worked in the kitchen, all members of my family apart from my cat and dog had gone missing, having wandered to some other area in the maze that is my house. With the kitchen all to myself, with the cleared counter awaiting my ingredients to perch atop it, with the soft patter of rain, and my pending project, I opted to dig our collection of Italian opera from the depths of our music collection and play it. Loudly. Very loudly.
The music played, and my baking groove began to work on me. My moments of baking became a dance performance for an invisible audience, operatic tones and passions illuminated by chocolate and carefree movement.
This particular batch of brownies turned out to be one of my best. Was it the music that mingled with the batter as it baked that made them so delicious? Was it the outpouring of delighted dance that made my mixing so full of virtuosity? Perhaps it was simply the coconut I added at the end. I suppose we’ll never know.
It has struck me, however, that dancing to an opera while baking is a magical way to spend a rainy evening.