Ever since I was little, I’ve known that food has special powers. Maybe not the actual food, no matter how delicious. No, it's not that. It's the memories it provides us. Food is a way of bonding, the kitchen being the gathering place for many families, especially if you grew up in the South like I did. And nowhere can you find that more than in a grandmother's house. In fact, some of my favorite childhood memories are those that involve food, especially when it comes to my grandmothers. While I did countless other things with them while growing up, both of their kitchens were always places where many of my formative memories were made.
Grandmothers are marvelous and mysterious people. I remember always being fascinated by both of mine when I was growing up. They were always able to make delicious food out of the simplest things, whether it was cheese toast, peanut butter sandwiches, waffles, or cookies. It felt like they were kitchen fairies, able to touch any type of food and turn it into something mouthwatering. My dad’s mom, who my cousins and I called Meme, was especially good at this. Ever since I was little, I knew she was a master at baking. Looking back, she never made anything particularly over-the-top or outlandish; chocolate swirl cookies, lemon bars, and pies were all regular inhabitants of her oven. But it was never about the sophistication of what she would bake; it was about the love she put into her dishes. She was able to show my cousins and me how much she cared for us by making us delicious food, even if it was the simple things children adore. It was her pride and joy, and I’ll always cherish the memories of going to her house and being so excited to eat some of her cheesy toast.
My holiday tradition with my Meme, along with my sister, was always making our very own gingerbread houses, and I impatiently waited for the first few weeks of December to roll around so we would pick a date to make our house. While they didn’t always turn out beautifully, it was a highlight of the season to put so much effort into something, and to bond with my grandmother and sister over the joy of getting the icing to stick to the gingerbread, or the frustration of the pieces of candy falling off the sides of the house. In almost two months, it will be exactly a year since she passed away. While she may not be with us anymore, I’ll always cherish the memories of being in the kitchen with her, and I’ll always credit her for helping me fall in love with baking. Every so often, my sister and I will bring up the memories and laugh. It’s a bittersweet reminder of the love she had for all of us.
While my other grandma, my Granny Patsy, is just as good of a cook, I’ve always thought of her as being more of an adventurous person with food. She’s helped me to branch out and explore many different kinds of food, and she is always trying new recipes and dishes in the kitchen or when at a restaurant. Some of my earliest memories are with her out in her front yard. When I was around 3 or 4, she bought me a child’s plastic picnic set, and I adored its gaudy brightness. Almost every time I would visit her house and the weather was nice, we would have to pack up some grapes, crackers and cheese, and sandwiches, and go out. Even though we would usually just go out on her front yard and sit and play, it always felt like we were taking a hike to the other side of the world.
Although baking and cooking weren’t the only things I did when at my grandparents', those memories are the most vivid whenever I think back on my early childhood with them. Grandmothers are the ones who inspire a fascination and love for the kitchen, and the secrets it holds. Through passing down their love of food and baking, they’ve each passed down generations of memories and recipes that have helped shape me into the person I am today: someone with a sense of adventure in what she eats, and someone who's always willing to whip up a batch of cookies.
