Agnieszka Wolsoncroft

by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft Anya with all the pums, ready to learn how to bake the plum cake #plumcake #plums #autumn #baking #lovebaking I was six years old, standing on a Polish beach, watching the Baltic Sea stretch endlessly. My mother stood beside me, quiet. The wind whipped our hair. Salt spray touched my face. "What's on the other side?" I asked. "Sweden," she said. "And beyond that, the whole world." I didn't know what Sweden looked like. Didn't know what "the whole world" meant. But...

by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft I want to tell you about something that happened a couple of weeks ago. Anya and I made cupcakes. Not the first time, but this time it was special. She wore her pink chef's hat – the one that's slightly too big and keeps sliding over her eyes – and took her job very seriously. Measuring flour. Cracking eggs. Filling each tin with exactly the right amount of batter because she'd decided that if even one cupcake was smaller than the others, the whole batch would be...

by Agnieszka Wolsoncroft     Thursday last week marked three years since my Babcia left us.   I was walking through a shopping centre on an ordinary Sunday when I felt it.   A heat wave, sudden and complete, moving through my whole body. Not a hot flush. Not a dizzy spell. Something else entirely—a warmth that felt like arms around me, like someone pressing their cheek to mine the way she always had.   I remember thinking: this is not a good day for shopping. I'll go home.   Twenty minutes...