Dear Lyla,
You come from a long line of foodies. On both sides of your family tree there is a deep appreciation for meals and treats that are tasty. As I have told you many times, feeding another person is one of the most basic functions you can perform for another; it is both nourishment for the body and the soul. At a young age my mother encouraged your Aunt Patti and I to join her in the kitchen to learn how to make the most rustic of foods taste scrumptious. You know by now that Daddy’s mom, Grandma Carolyn, was not the greatest of cooks; for a decent meal Daddy would look forward to visiting Great Grandma Evelyn’s farm. To this day your Daddy says no one makes scrambled eggs like his grandma. It is true that poor Grandma Carolyn is the target of much teasing about her cooking and many non-family members have said that the stories seem to be an exaggeration of the truth; they have never tasted her food. Your Bumpa was one who doubted the accuracy of our stories about Grandma Carolyn’s culinary skills. Bumpa loved food and would be the last person to intentionally subject himself to a poorly executed dish if he could avoid it; he was incredibly polite and would never insult a chef but refusing to eat the food even if it made him sick so he was not about to take any chances. As a result of having heard countless gastronomic horror stories coming from Grandma Carolyn’s kitchen; every time Bumpa would visit Springfield he would offer to take us all out for dinner. This ruse was effective for a few years until one Christmas Grandma Carolyn was bound and determined that she was going to make a meal for us; it caused some friction between Daddy and me because at that time Bumpa was sick and his stomach was sensitive. To spare Grandma Carolyn’s feelings and Bumpa’s stomach it was decided that we would stop at a restaurant to eat before we got to Grandma Carolyn’s house. When we arrived, the house smelled delicious and the table looked beautiful; there was brisket, caramelized carrots, cold salad and steamed green beans with sea salt. Daddy and I were dumbfounded; it appeared that your Grandma Carolyn could really cook if she concentrated and set her mind to it. To this day I will never forget the look on Bumpa’s face; he was furious at Daddy and me. Throughout the four hour car ride back to Columbia, Bumpa admonished the two of us severely; how dare we let him believe that Grandma Carolyn was a bad cook, how dare we allow him to insult someone in that way by refusing to eat at her table. Daddy and I were well into our late twenties but we both felt as if we were young children after that tongue lashing. Bumpa was not someone who forgave or forgot easily and for the rest of our holiday he made sure that we knew he was displeased with our behavior. Daddy and I felt horrible; not only for making Bumpa feel like a fool but for disrespecting Grandma Carolyn by misrepresenting her cooking talents. For weeks Daddy and I tormented ourselves, apologized to Bumpa profusely and called Grandma Carolyn on more than one occasion to thank her for the meal and to rave about how wonderful it was. You must understand little one that we were utterly perplexed, every experience prior to this was irrefutable proof that Grandma Carolyn couldn’t boil water (in fact there is a really interesting story from your Great Aunt Debbie about learning to boil water, but I will let her tell that story). A few weeks later Daddy received a phone call from your Uncle Aaron: he called to tell us that he could no longer keep the secret, Grandma Carolyn had bought all of the food from Boston Market and had put it in her own serving dishes to make it appear as if she had prepared it. Daddy and I laughed until we cried; partly because we were relieved that our reality of the universe had not shifted as drastically as we thought, Grandma still couldn’t cook. I immediately called Bumpa to relate the story to him for two reasons; because I did not want him to think we would really lie about Grandma’s talents and I knew he would find it hysterically funny. Bumpa laughed long and heartily at Grandma’s deception and at the end pardoned Daddy and me from any perceived crime that had been committed. I believe on that day Bumpa’s respect for your Grandma Carolyn rose ten-fold; she understood her own deficiencies and was clever enough to compensate for them. Well played Grandma Carolyn, well played. How wonderful little one that you come from a family that appreciates cunning and mirth as much as they do food; your cup runneth over.
Letters To Lyla 