It's been eight days since we left behind the empty apartment in Harvard Square but with loads of fond memories of our little chapter in Cambridge, MA.. It's also been eight days since we started "reclaiming" our taste-buds with my mother-in-law's home-cooking in the south of France. 

Slightly wary of becoming a sloth, I offer to help with bits of household chores like ironing and washing the dishes. My right arm is somewhat sore because, just an hour ago, it was my MIL's whisk. It's not the first time I join her in baking but today is more hard work since cookie dough is not as gentle as cake batter. 

Using only a fork, I creamed the butter, followed by white and brown sugar for what seemed like forever. I did it standing up, then with the right knee resting on the chair, and later sitting on it. And when the soreness kicked in, I stood up again. The only way I could work it more efficiently was to turn the mixing bowl anti-clockwise with the left hand while the right hand "whisked" clockwise. Then came a funny revelation.

You insert a toothpick into the center of the cake and it comes out clean, maybe with a bit of crumbs.

And when you gently press the cake with your "peace" fingers, it bounces back up lightly. That's when your fingers turn from "peace" to the "victory" sign.

And finally, look carefully and you'll see that the edges have pulled away from the sides of your pan.