Growing up, I was always around my grandma Meredith. She was the one who originally inspired my love for cooking and my dream of becoming a chef. Yet, one day I received a text that would turn my whole life around: “Grandma is seriously ill”, the text read. “We need your help in assisting with her care.”
Without a second of hesitation, I agreed to travel back home. Thankfully, my boss at the restaurant let me take unpaid leave for the next several months so I could come home to help out with grandma. After driving across several states, I finally got back to our family home in West Virginia. Yet, what I saw was really hard for me to bear. The Meredith I saw then was not the lively, joyful Meredith I had seen while I was growing up.
“Tony!” she called to me from her bed, “It’s so good to see you!”
“Grandma,” I sighed, “I’m not Tony. That’s dad, your son. I’m Hank.”
This was the start of a months-long journey of helping out around the house—cooking, cleaning, and, most of all, keeping grandma in good health and good spirits.
Every day, I cooked delicious food to keep everyone’s spirits high. But, secretly, I hoped that cooking some dishes that we had made together in my. Childhood would somehow help get grandma’s memory of me back, if just for a moment.
Stews (炖菜), chops (排骨), roasts— I served all of these to grandma and my parents around the clock. When I wasn’t taking grandma out for a walk in her wheel chair or changing her bed sheets, I was cooking. I had cooked for celebrities while at the restaurant in New York City, but never had I poured my heart out into my meals than I did then for grandma. However, it didn’t work at all.
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Then I decided to make something simple.
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After taking a few bites, grandma finally called out my name-my actual name.
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