I was so delighted to find a good Turkish market — at last! — and one that is not too far away at that. With well-priced cilantro and gorgeous lambchops and… simit, the wonderful Turkish sesame rings. Simit, the love of my Berlin years. Simit, the breakfast addiction. Simit, one of my son’s first words.
So of course I bought three, we ate two immediately, and the next morning I went to toast the third one under the broiler. Only I turned on the broiler too high, and I forgot about the simit, and before I knew it the kitchen smelled of something burning.
It was a tragedy.
Later that day, my husband was found scraping the burnt crust off the simit so he could eat what was still edible.
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