Grandma always made the best food. It was rich, German cooking that filled you up after a single serving, but was so good that you had to go back for more. Cäse noodles? Case closed: yum.
The best was dessert. Mom never ever ever made desert. She was too concerned with our teeth. Grandma had different aims, however. She never cared about teeth, just about stomachs.
Chocolate cake--it feels decadent just saying it. And grandma made it just for us. We ate the meal with our eyes glued to the concealing tupperware lid. Under the white polyvinyl waited our cake. Dessert? Don't mind if I do!
And it tasted . . . bad. How?
Grandma realized. "Oh, I must have grabbed the wrong spice! I meant to grab cinnamon, but I got the paprika instead!"
Spicy chocolate cake, anyone? It doesn't sound decadent anymore.
Grandpa looked at his grandkids' funny faces and watery eyes, and then at Grandma.
He cut out a huge slice and slid it onto his plate.
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I'm sorry.
ReplyDeleteAlso, that's exactly something that my grandparents would do, according to the stories I've heard. Love's like that, I guess.
This was (probably) one of the most loving things I've ever seen, and I didn't even get it at first.
ReplyDeleteAww.
ReplyDelete"beldfish"
That is the saddest, sweetest story I have ever heard. Old people who were in love and still are in love, after so many years of arguments and baby diapers and teenagers' quarrels and children leaving home and all the rest, are amazing. I hope I get to be one of those types of old people some day. Sorry about your loss.
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