of grandmothers, magic, and bittersweet memories

it’s been nine years to the day since my grandmother passed away and while there were many, many things that were very dear to me about her, her love of cooking for her family is probably among my favorites.

there is nothing on this earth or in the universe beyond that would convince me that my grandmother was anything short of magic.

she probably wouldn’t be too amused by the notion (as devout in her christian faith as she was) but i don’t think that makes it any less true.

i grew up learning how to cook and bake at her hip, watched her make and participated in making all of her recipes, but to this day, all the best ones will not be replicated.

we have her handwritten recipes (complete with additions and notes and little fixes) and multiple people have attempted to recreate them (some of them to point of tears).

none of us have been successful.

our brownies are gluey and flat, our cookies are crunchy, and our fried chicken won’t crackle.

it’s as maddening as it is hilarious in a “neener, neener!” kind of way.

so, magic.

it’s the only explanation i’m willing to accept.

i miss my grandmother more than i can even begin to put into words. there is a hole in my heart where she sat that still hurts and grieves, but through her recipes and my failures, sometimes, it hurts a little less.

i love you, grammy.

thank you for still making me laugh.

xx steph

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