After my paternal grandmother died, my father found a couple of notes she’d written. She wanted to make sure that I (the eldest granddaughter) got a few things, like her china, and a curious little rolling pin. I was in my early 20’s when she passed, which makes the notes all the more remarkable. She never mentioned them to anyone, and wrote them when I was barely 6! Continue reading
I’m not the sort of mom who has a variety of neatly cut up, ready to go fruits and veggies in tidily stacked and labelled containers in the fridge. Ever. I’m the mom who feeds my kids fruits and veggies at home, but who wants convenience when we’re getting ready to hit the road. Continue reading
I didn’t grow up cooking. While I have memories of my mother and her mother canning and cooking together, and my paternal grandmother’s kitchen being a constant source of culinary goodness, I have no memory of helping. Or being taught any of the techniques or recipes I witnessed.
I want to say that things have changed for my kids. That they’ve been my kitchen helpers daily since they could hold a wooden spoon. But that’s not true. At all. Having never learned to cook at the side of a patient teacher, it’s been a struggle for me to find the patience to teach my own kids. Continue reading
My Edible Journey 