Grandma’s Kitchen Memories

One of my fondest memories growing up is being in the kitchen with my grandmother. The kitchen was and still is the heart of her home. It’s where everyone congregated, the nucleus of the family. There’s a built in bar table at one end of the kitchen, where many cups of coffee con leche have been consumed. There’s a gas burning stove at the other end, which according to my grandmother is the only way to cook. It’s cozy and familiar, one of my favorite places.

Being in her kitchen as an adult, I can still recall the smells and tastes of my childhood. I remember the hustle and bustle of the kitchen, pans clanking and boisterous conversation. I remember the way ordinary things became ceremoniously special in that kitchen. I remember the cupboard where my cup was stored, a fancy miniature coffee cup that I always felt so special drinking out of.

I spent most summers with my grandmother and she taught me how to sew and crochet during those months. My favorite summer memories were the hours spent in her kitchen making tortillas, as we sipped coffee con leche together. More coffee for her and leche for me. She’d give me my own rolling pin and I’d try my best to transform the dough into perfect little circles, like she did so effortlessly. Mine usually looked like lopsided octagons, but you would have thought they were award winning pieces of art by the way my grandmother praised my tortilla rolling skills.

When I finally got a kitchen of my own, my grandmother gave me a rolling pin with her tortilla recipe. My grandma rarely measures in cups or spoons, so the recipe is more of “a pinch of this” and “a handful of this” guide. Somehow, I think she knows that this gift is much more than just a recipe for tortillas. It is a lifetime of memories that I look forward to giving to my child.

Do you have any special childhood memories in the kitchen?