Five or six years ago I spent the weekend with my aunt at her cabin in Eastern Oregon. While there, she offered me a slice of homemade biscotti. A vision of every coffee shop’s hard, stale, flavorless stick of biscotti wrapped in plastic flashed before my eyes. Thankfully, my manners kicked in before my gag reflex and I said in my most upbeat voice, “sure, I’d love a piece.” I cautiously took my first bite, wondering how I was going to get through an entire piece of biscotti. That, my dear friends, is when the angels started singing and every bad experience I’d had with biscotti vanished in a mouth-watering instant.…