the heart of h.o.h.

Today I ran around texting, emailing, and surveying my family about their one ideal, inspiring food. I got a lot of funny looks at the word “inspiring,” but it took all of five seconds before each person was animatedly and unhesitatingly describing his or her favorite foods, with their hands and arms waving passionately at every. single. adjective. They talked about the fresh, *arms lift here* crisp *hands wave here* strawberries, and really *eyes close* savory burgers. And with every syllable, their words slowed down, until they were talking about the beeessst lasagna they’ve eeeeeeeeever haaaaad. Let’s be real. It is an inspiring topic.

It is that feeling, the ever-elusive warmth elicited by the memory of standing on a footstool with a spatula in your tiny hands and bowl in front of you that is twice as wide as you are. And you don’t know why or how you need to stir the batter, but gosh-darn if you’re not going to be the best stirrer that kitchen’s ever seen. And when those cookies come out of the oven, you realize… it was that moment on the footstool that made those cookies delicious. It was the smile that mom threw your way and the little bit of batter that the dog licked up off of the floor. It was the light streaming through the windows and the glorious afternoon. Because one bite of a cookie brings all of this back to you. That, my wonderful friends, is the heart of homemade.