Sparkle

Last week I spent recharging my battery with Grandma Joyce.  The intent of my visit was to be at her every beck and call, help her recharge her battery.  I cooked pasta two nights in a row just because she loves pasta. I made one of her all time favorite dishes -- stew -- to praises.  I baked scones.  Successfully. Cooking for the woman who is largely responsible for my culinary skill was not so much intimidating.  Simply, I wanted to make her proud. I kept picking her brains for her trade secrets -- how much of this, how long for that.  After eating my eggplant parmesan, which the recipe is entirely different from hers and my mom's, she gave me the best food compliment I have ever received.  She said my food sparkles.

You know what internet, my Grandma Joyce sparkles.

I have been incredibly lucky to be raised by two women, my mom and my grandma.  She's nearly eighty-six years old and is the sharpest, wittiest and hippest women I have had the pleasure of hanging around (and I have her genes).  I am lucky to have two moms.  Yesterday, Grandma received less than stellar news.  There is an asshole strain of cancer growing inside of her.  Yes, a shitty, mean, uninvited asshole.

I am collecting every ounce of positive, hopeful, loving energy and sending it her way. If you are reading this, send some love and light her way, because she has lots of sparkling left to do.

One of our sparkly breakfasts.

Another, blueberry scones.

I will make those scones again this week for guide school here at the Lodge.  The Great Samoan Hunter asked if I would play chef for the next seven days since his real chef doesn't start until April 1.  Here's to hoping these guides think my food sparkles, as well.