I'm looking over a recipe my grandmother gave to me a few months
before she passed away. They weren't things that were kept in a box or
a book, her recipes were things that were kept in her head. She was a
talented cook who would whip up things in a blinking an eye, I'm not
really sure how she did it. Full feasts for groups of 22, all done by
her. I was too young to help and maybe even too young to watch but I
remember the kitchen always being clean, her house always smelling
nice and there always being something good to eat.
So when I knew her time was coming, it was important to me to try and
capture at least a portion of her legacy. I say there one night next
to her bed, pen in hand as we talked about memories and she told me
her food stories of how she created things.
She had these oatmeal cookies that were chewy and sweet and perfect.
They never went stale in the cupboard and were perfectly yum. As I
look at the recipe now, thinking about making it, I notice her
A dash of this a handful of that. A "sparkle of oil" in the pan and
place it all in a "not too hot" oven until they are lightly brown.
She is leaving it up to me to make it mine. They will never taste like
her cookies but between my idea of a "not too hot" oven and how much I
believe a handful of raisins are... These cookies will taste like
mine. And only mine.
Thinking about you grandma, though I didn't know you that long, you
still taught me a lot. xxoo