Chocolate Sauce

It was one of those still summer evenings when the air hangs thickly, too heavy for movement, sticking closer than you'd like. It had been a hot day, and though the sun had set, the earth wasn't ready to give in to the coolness just yet. In the dusk, fireflies began to twinkle from their hidden hollows, gathering courage to take flight as the backdrop of night came on. A glistening frog leapt into the pond, sending ripples of consequence across the glassy surface, while peepers and cicadas gave voice in the evening air.

How-To: Applesauce or My Heritage

At the age of fourteen, I loudly declared that I hated to cook. My mom had been teaching me a few things about the art of cooking and I had made the family meatloaf recipe one too many times. Cooking meant work and that was something that my self-absorbed, teenage brain wasn't going to welcome with open arms.

Six years later, the summer Brad asked me to marry him, I realized that if I didn't learn to cook these family recipes, then I wasn't going to be eating them. My mom had spoiled me: pies with homemade crust, dill pickles in canning jars, strawberry jam, and yes, the family meatloaf. Mom goes all out for the family, even down to making salad and homemade crescent rolls to take on a family trip out west. If I didn't learn from her, then these family recipes would be gone forever.