"This is my version of time travel"

My grandmother and I are compiling a cookbook of family recipes in memory of my Mom. The plan is to get it together, printed, and spiral bound in time to give copies out to my uncles, etc., this Christmas. I'm hoping it will be something that my niece will treasure, helping her to know her grandmother even though she's gone. I've had the project on the back burner for a month or so now, but this article in today's Post has re-inspired me.

It's funny that this is one of the first things I came up with to do in memory of Mom, because she didn't consider herself to be much of a cook. She loved eating out and always fussed about her turkey being too dry or her chocolate chess pie being too grainy. She hated cooking on her own, but was just so incredibly happy when her family was in the kitchen with her, listening to music or talking or laughing or whatever. I'm the same way -- I HATE cooking alone, but love having friends over to cook and eat with me. Meals -- both their preparation and their consumption -- are such a social thing in the American South, I think (and in Persian families as well, as I've learned from talking to Medina). Cooking on my own will always be a chore because of that.