Carolyn Lamond.
My grandmother called me "dough belly" when I was a child. Whenever she
was in the kitchen cutting up biscuits or rolling out pie dough, I would
sneak raw dough scraps. It was salty, fatty, and delicious. I still eat
scraps whenever I'm rolling out dough—something my husband doesn't
completely understand but never passes judgment on since he enjoys
tasting whatever it may be once it has reached its fully cooked form.
The kitchen growing up was always the hottest, busiest, most crowded,
and yet most comforting room in the house. I want to thank my
grandmothers, uncle, mother, and sisters for showing me what good food
is and teaching me that food always tastes better when it's homemade.
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