Recently, I found a recipe in my grandmother's old notebook that she wrote with a hand that was almost disappearing. Everything was simple in it: a little flour, eggs, a little honey and a pinch of magic.

I decided to try it - I cooked it slowly, as if it were a ritual. While the dough was rising, I listened to music, remembered my childhood and my grandmother's stories about how each recipe keeps a piece of the soul.

When I first tried the finished dish, I could not believe that happiness is so simple. It is in the warmth of the kitchen, in the aroma that fills the room, in those minutes when you do not need to rush anywhere.

It became my little holiday. And I realized - sometimes happiness can be cooked. And even if it is not perfect, the main thing is that it is prepared with love and attention to yourself.

Do you have your own recipes that make the day brighter and softer? I think such simple things are the most valuable gift.