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The memory hits Iris before the taste does. It only takes that first hint of zesty goodness to bring her back to her childhood, how nana always made the lemon curd toe-curlingly sour; no matter how many times she tried it herself it wasn't quite right (not that she was a wizard in the kitchen to begin with).
"How did you know I like it extra sour?" she manages between the first bite and the next, wanting to savor every bit of the delicious topping.
Linda looks both pleased and bashful, her smile as always warm and easy and playful, "You've got that photo of you and Esther with pancakes on the table. I guess I was inspired."