Monday, March 1, 2010

My Grandmother

I must have been about 6 years old when my maternal grandmother died. The most vivid memory that I have is of visiting her house with my mother and sister very shortly after we learned of her passing. In the kitchen, on a platter, was the last batch of rice knishes that my grandmother had baked. My mother approached the counter as if gold was sitting on top of it. With tears in her eyes she gave each of us a rice knish, and took a third for herself. We ate them very slowly and without saying a word. No words were needed. The message to me was very clear: Homemade food equals love.

Terry S.


  1. ...and we leave our essence in the food we prepare.

  2. You're so right, Tracy. Please feel free to submit a food memory story of your own.

  3. oh my god - you brought me to tears. My Bubby was famous for her rice knishes. Not only did no one else anywhere in my small world make them, sell them, or had even heard of them - yest they were the only kind of knishes she made, "knish" to us meant rice knishes until I got old enough to venture further from home. All of my cousins still wonder how she made them and are kicking ourselves for not learning from her. Just the thought of Bubby's rice knishes will send us on our personal memory lane. I'm 64, and mye Bubby was born in 1886 in Ukraine.