There’s the strict new diet. And then there’s the last cookie in the jar. Talk about the proverbial rock and a prickly place, but that’s where I find myself on a summery Stellenbosch morning. Behind the house, along the banks of the Eerste River, there’s birdsong and a playful wind, green leaves clapping happy little hands.

Back home in the kitchen, the cookie and I are staring each other down. With me stone deaf to the pious calls from the carrots and cauliflower in the fridge. I only have ears for the cookie calling my name.

Thing is, it’s not sommer any old cookie. It’s a cookie with deep roots in my psyche. A Lemon Cream – mom’s firm favourite, right up to her death a year ago. 

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