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MAKING SOMETHING
OUT OF NOTHING
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we had been trying for many months to get just right. As she
swirled the mixture around and rubbed it between her thumb
and index fingers, holding it up to my nose for a sniff, I could
tell that everything about it was perfect.
The smell took me right back to the warm kitchen of Miss
Jessie, our grandmother.
MIKO, GO GET ME THAT POT! ordered Miss Jessie from the central
command post of her kitchen table. No, not that one. The one
with the black handle, to the left! she corrected, peering up
at me while never missing a beat at her chopping board as she
cut onions and celery into fine, even pieces. Titi, aint you done
peeling them potatoes yet? Miss Jessie raised her voice, this
time at my sister. Cmon now, we cant keep waiting on you.
You know I got to get my turkey in the oven, and then make my
pies, too.
Making that potato salad was like a military operation.
Any stray grandchild who wandered into her kitchen was put
to work, fetching, peeling, and mixing to help her produce the
most delicious meals, made with love, experience, and an unerring sense of what worked. This was where the magic happened. Our paternal grandmothers house in Poughkeepsie,
New York, was the center of our lives, and her kitchen table
was where Titi and I absorbed our greatest life lessons. It was
the place where we were fed the incredible food and wisdom
that would nourish and sustain us well into adulthood.
One of those lessons was how to make the best product
possible, whether it was potato salad, sweet potato pie, or
yellow cake batter. Miss Jessie never compromised. Her in-
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