SEtalk: What My Grandmother's Kitchen Taught Me

This is my grandmother's wooden spoon. It's over sixty years old. It's burned, it's cracked, and it's my most precious thing. Let me tell you why. Five years ago, I moved abroad to study. The food was fine, but I missed home. So I called my grandmother and asked for her recipes. "How much salt, Grandma?" "Oh, just enough." "How long do I cook it?" "Until it smells right!" Ugh, I was so frustrated! That summer, I flew home and cooked with her every day. And slowly, I understood. Her recipes weren't written in numbers. They were written in her hands, her nose, her memory. I think culture works the same way. We think culture is festivals and famous buildings. But most of it lives in small, everyday things. A song your mum sings while cleaning. A word only your family uses. The way your grandmother says, "Eat more!" My grandmother passed away last winter. But every time I cook her soup, my kitchen smells exactly like hers. And for a moment, she's with me again. So here's my small request. This week, call the oldest person in your family. Ask them to teach you one recipe. Don't write it down. Cook it together! Because when we lose these things, we lose a part of who we are. Thank you.