M. Suzanne Terry

(From Season 7 of Grace and Frankie, episode 14 – “The Paprikash,” as viewed on my teeny tiny netbook)

I love this whole show, but this episode (this scene in particular) is easily one of my top five favorites. Grace calls her brother Jeffrey because she keeps trying to make her mother’s chicken paprikash recipe (which turns out to be her dad’s recipe) and it never quite turned out the way she wanted it to. But what Jeffrey wants to talk about is the dad he never knew because he died when he was four, which is a painful memory Grace would rather not revisit.

But Frankie has an idea.

Frankie: “I think there’s a way for both of you to get what you want. Grace wants the recipe and Jeffrey wants to know about his dad. So every ingredient you give Grace, she’ll give you a detail about your father.”

Grace: “Frankie, that is the most insane idea that you’ve…”

Jeffrey: “One quartered chicken.”

Grace: “He slept in the hospital when you had pneumonia.”

And they went from there, alternating memories of their dad with the food they both remembered from their childhoods.

I ugly-cried so hard.

This is what the food I grew up with and all my favorite dishes I’ve made since mean to me. It’s not just a pleasant taste or smell (although most of them are delicious). It’s inherently linked to the memories I have, sitting around the table or on the couch, in the kitchen or at a suitable distance so as not to irritate the cook.

It’s the soup Mom made when she came to Denton to take care of me when I was too sick to stand for several weeks.

It’s the kind eyes of the farmer at the market who snuck more Crowder peas into my bag while I was trying to pull it together after bursting into tears as I told him how my MeMaw always grew them in her garden.

It’s learning that I do like cherries after all and figuring out how to give recipes my own flair.

It’s being a little dissatisfied with most of the chocolate cake and steak I eat anywhere but the farm because no one makes them like Mom and Dad (respectively).

[Seriously – Mom’s chocolate icing – it’s like ganache and buttercream had a baby that got all their best genes. It’s fudgy and decadent and amazing.]

I may have run out of steam a little here at the end (it’s been a hard month). And there are hundreds more stories to tell, but you get the gist. When I think about what home means to me, there’s always food and drink involved in some way. Every place I’ve ever lived has its own menu with memories embedded firmly within it.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the stories and the food, and I hope you get a chance to eat wonderful things with people you love very soon.

We have food at home: 31 days of exploring the tastes I grew up with