A few years ago I was on a flight and came across an article about an Irish grandmother who loved to cook. She spoke of her mother as her inspiration; growing up, the grandmother would walk home just to eat her mother's cooking for lunch, it was that good. Years later, the grandmother started a cooking school. Illustrating how we have truly lost a connection with our food, one of her stories involved a student who had made a mistake in a recipe and was about to throw out the creation when the grandmother stopped her, informing the student she had just created butter. This Irish chef is also a huge believer in the power of gardens and involving children in the process of cooking, which I love!
Since reading the article, I've been stirred to be a good cook for my own family. Not for the glory of it, rather to fill bellies with wholesome food and share in the joy and true sacrament of a meal spent together. My own relatives have always cooked for their families, and I want to continue that tradition in an intentional way - making each meal with love.
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