Good things happen at this Nashville coffee shop. One of my favorite good things that has happened there? Getting to know Dani. We had been acquaintances already, but spending time together that day and (over cups of the best coffee in town) discovering the many things we had in common was such a joy. I think we both left there knowing a happy, mutual friendship had been born. I'm thrilled to introduce you to her to today. She cooks, she writes, she teaches yoga, she throws frequent dance parties. She, in short, makes you feel like life is just a bundle of potential fun waiting to happen around every corner. So, without further ado - Dani's treasure.....
My treasured possession is a piece I inherited from my
grandma, Evelyn Thomason. My mom’s mom was a hard working lady that did
whatever it took to create a home for her family. Running a gas station,
cleaning houses or working a grocery store bakery, she put all of herself into her
jobs. But it’s the first job title I remember my grandma for the most, diner
owner.
My earliest memories of visiting my grandparents come from
the inside of a live-in trailer connected to the diner they ran in their rural
Kansas town. Regulars filled their booths for steak, burgers and grandma’s
pies. Her fame in the kitchen continued back home with her from-scratch noodles
for chicken soup, German chocolate cake, and biscuits and gravy.
When she passed, I was lucky enough to inherit some of her
Guardian cookware. These are the kind of old-school kitchen staples that last
lifetimes. I’m not completely clear when she got this set, but from what I’ve
researched I think they are from the 1950s.
As a baker myself, these pieces are very special to my
heart. Even though I was too young when she was able to pass down actual
skills, just watching her create no-frill, home-made, delicious foods has
always stuck with me. I regularly use this particular piece for anything from
melting chocolate to making caramel, sauces and small batch soups.
Sometimes I look down at my own hands while chopping an
onion or a carrot and I see my grandma’s hands. Short, slender fingers, skin so
thin you can see bone and vein, all meeting at the smallest of small wrists (shared
also with my mom and two sisters). These are the hands that fed a husband,
three kids, seven grandkids and a small country town. I’m so thankful that her
love for cooking lives on
in me.
