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Ingredients: For a grandchild, Grandma’s pantry was a wealth of spicy aromas, her bottom cupboard drawer a treasure chest of imagination, and her stovetop a source of decadent sweets. From that kitchen she served up smiles, along with extra helpings of creamed corn and cornflake chicken.
The food that most immediately recalls Grandma’s cooking, though, is without a doubt, her fudge. There may be disputes about whether it was best with or without walnuts, but no one will deny its ability to bring family to that brown Formica farmhouse table and set grandchildren to wondering why fudge took so very long to cool. Of course, the confection itself was only part of the fudge experience. Its essence came through the way she communicated as she cooked. "You are special," she whispered wordlessly with tastes of soft-ball fudge she dolled out as she tested their temperature. “Thank you for today,” she murmured by sharing the old wooden spoon still full of hot, gooey chocolate. “Your life matters,” she said with hours of favor box filling before Carla’s wedding. “I’ll love you always,” she told Grandpa with her eyes as he stirred the ice-bath cooled pot wrapped in one of her embroidered kitchen towels.
Similarly, in the way she cared as she blended and basted and baked, Grandma showed her sincere love of people. She enjoyed extra bodies in the kitchen, and always had a snack or task to make cooking dinner as enjoyable as sitting down to it. For little ones, there was a toy drawer of Etch-a-sketches, My Little Ponies, ancient baby bottles and a mysterious wig. For bigger ones, the role of official mixer or, even better, taste-tester.
Once the food was ready, Grandma ensured that everyone eating from her table was full and content. “I don’t want to have any leftovers,” she claimed. “Nate, here’s a few more potatoes,” she said more than once a meal. And following those belly-stuffing dinners, she taught every grandchild the art of night-lunch. Most evenings, it was vanilla ice cream topped either with rhubarb sauce or Hershey’s syrup and sunflower seeds.
She made each of us feel special in a million ways -- remembering our favorites, helping us learn how to set the table correctly, and teaching us that what matters is not how fancy the food, but how loving the hands that prepared it.
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This recipe for Johnson Grandchildren’s Reflections on Grandma's Kitchen is from