I would really love for my one recipe to be a touching story, like Bobbie’s beloved holiday tradition or Jessica’s badass grandmother or Riddhi’s love letter to her hometown, but it’s not. Instead, it results in totally unglamorous Ziploc gallon freezer bags of dumplings.
When my grandfather passed, I was able to grab one of his giant containers of home-made breadcrumbs. Being a child of the depression, there were always huge containers of re-purposed food around his house. I spent my after school hours waiting for my parents to get home at my grandparents house, making things like those breadcrumbs..
Christmas Eve, just past sundown.
I’m eleven and surrounded by the comfort of relatives — my maternal grandparents, representing the start of the family tree, and downward branches spanning through my mom, her siblings, a…
Frequently, the meals I had as a child were stews that came out of my mother’s large red Dansk Kobenstyle dutch oven. She was never a fussy cook. We never had a food processor and we never had a rice cooker. The only kitchen appliances with cords we owned were a stand mixer and an immersion…
