She sifted the flour carefully, checking for bugs. Only when she was satisfied the flour was perfectly clean did she add it to her food processor. She had tried her mother’s way with two knives—such a pain in the neck! This way was perfection. Next she added the cold margarine cut into cubes. The machine took two minutes to turn it into a perfect mixture of pastry dough beginnings. Now was the time for the secret ingredient. Taking it out of her refrigerator carefully, she was cautious not to shake it and have it overflow once she opened it. It was only a small bottle, and losing a large amount would leave her short. Knowing this, she nevertheless never went for a larger size. She was aware some people actually drank and enjoyed it, and it was always prominently displayed on buffet tables along with Coca-Cola and 7 Up. But after trying it once, she had almost gagged and would have as soon drunk it willingly as dishwashing liquid. Anything left over from the bottle when she finished making the rugelach dough would be poured directly down the sink. Adding some sugar, she buzzed the whole thing a few more minutes, then wrapped the light, fluffy dough in parchment paper and placed it in the refrigerator. When she was done, she threw away whatever remained of the secret ingredient—a little bottle of Sprite.

Now all she had to do was wait. It would take a few hours before she could roll out the dough and sprinkle it with the cinnamon and nuts and cocoa, rolling it up into the delicious crescents that would surely be something Rav Alter would soon realize he couldn’t live without.

Like a general back at headquarters, she calmly and expertly considered every aspect of her upcoming campaign. Long ago, she had dismissed the idea of going to a shadchan. At her age, why involve some middle-aged yenta in her private life? So she could have a good laugh and tell all her neighbors and friends? Ridiculous. Besides, why give Rav Alter the idea he had a choice?