There’s an old home movie of my mother and grandmother standing in the kitchen of my childhood home, both holding glasses of wine. My dad is filming and says, “What’s on the menu tonight, ladies?” They look at each other, raise their chins and wine glasses, straighten their posture. My mom, browning ground beef, grabs a wooden spoon in her free hand, stabs the pot’s bottom and in a Julia Child voice, says, “La Boeuf Du Squished!” She’s laughing, my grandmother too, who sways her wine glass, chimes in, “Oui, oui!” I watch that moment now and see a joy from which I felt inexplicably exiled. I want to celebrate the laughter in our kitchen that night–my mother with her mother– pretending to be fancy ladies making a gourmet meal inside a 1950s ranch house in suburban Ohio.
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Can I learn cooking with your mother and grandmother? They are hilarious and magical beings.