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<< This crusty specimen is the Better Homes and Gardens cookbook my grandfather gave my mother when she got married. She started from scratch here, and ultimately became an accomplished (if eccentric) cook. She succeeded, she believed, because nobody told her it was difficult to make a cheese soufflé. She wouldn't let me near this book, though. She said, over time, it had become more memoire than cookbook, stuffed full of her own notes, her thoughts and observations. You know - the meaning of life and hollandaise sauce. She wanted me to have it and read it eventually, but not until After She Was Gone. She reckoned I'd be really surprised when I finally cracked it open. I was. It looked like it hadn't been opened in thirty years. It smelled like it, too. There was a recipe for borscht scribbled on the back of a envelope, and a draper's bill from 1961. No margin notes. No essays. No deep thoughts. I think she really meant to write all that stuff down for me. Eventually. And I bet you don't need me smacking you upside the head with the moral of that story.
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