A few weeks ago one of my favorite bloggers – Jennifer Brown Banks – wrote a piece about cooking: http://penandprosper.blogspot.com/2018/06/turn-up-heat-on-your-writing-with.html
She compared the creativity of cooking to the art of writing. Both require skill and imagination. Something I had never really thought of. But I’m glad Jennifer brought it to my attention because it got me thinking.
I am not the greatest cook. At the same time that doesn’t stop me from trying. I’ve been known to cook a mean sausage and a meaner chicken. Give me some pancake batter, a cup of buttermilk, a dash of lemon pepper and a heaping of olive oil, I can do wonders with a chicken leg.
If I do say so myself.
Sometimes I nail the perfect burger or do right with the burger bun. And hotdogs? Don’t get me started. I’ll challenge the best of them.
But as you can see, cooking isn’t exactly my blue ribbon thing. That award belonged to my grandmother.
Grandma wasn’t much of a writer but what she lacked in the writing category she gained in cooking. She could take the simplest dish and create a bestseller.
A pound of hamburger, a chopped onion and a dash of sauce would equal the most mouthwatering meatloaf you ever had.
Yes, I said meatloaf. Anytime I hear the word loaf I run and hide, but Grandma did it.
My favorite time of year was my birthday. It was the only time I was allowed to dictate our dinner menu. The choice was easy: Homemade bread, green beans fresh from the garden boiled all day in bacon and barbeque steak.
I can still remember the smell of the bread and the sound of the boiling beans. The sound and the smell easily outweighed my waiting birthday presents.
Grandma would have been the first to admit she was far from perfect. Like any of us writers, there were moments when things didn’t work out and Grandma was no different. Sometimes things needed a tinkering or two and like a stubborn writer, Grandma found her way.
But of all the dishes Grandma made, the one that became her bestseller was her homemade chili. We’ll never know if it was the spice, the hamburger or the beans. Whatever it was she took the secret to her grave.
Believe me, we all tried to repeat her magic but failed.
Looking back, maybe Grandma’s creativity and determination transformed into my words. Maybe her imagination and sarcasm found their way into my veins and into my imagination.
If that’s true, I’ll take it. It means that every word I write carries with it a little bit of her.
Happy Friday Everyone!!!