I miss summer days at my Big Ma’s house, when we’d sit in the driveway in an uncle or aunt’s parked car—all four of us cousins, each propping a door open with an extended leg—peeling back the skins of the fresh oranges Granny’d bought from the man who’d ride his bike down the street selling produce. I could feel the bass from the rear speakers throbbing against my back as I’d dig my thumbnail into the navel of the fruit to puncture its peel. I’d listen over the music for the sound of the pith slowly tearing away from the fruit, I couldn’t hear it and then I’d shuck away the inedible skin. If I were back there now, I’d collect those discarded peels from the backseat of the car and turn them into something good, like a glaze or a candied topping to pound cake. And so I am. – Excerpted from Jerrelle Guy's Cookbook, Black Girl BakingOrder Black Girl Baking: Wholesome Recipes Inspired by a Soulful Upbringing
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