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Thats what we all called my grandmothers pasta fazuul: bean water.
The memory still sends my cousins, sister, and I cackling in a group text.
My grandmother was not the Excellent Grandma Cook that most people love to say they had.
…
It wasnt all bad food that she liked, of course.
One of her favorite dishes to make waslatkes.
Its just that…she made them terribly.
Only by her hand, they were oil-laden and soggy and made the stomach churn.
As I grew older, I was tasked with helping her, something I came to love to do.
But it wasnt because what she was serving us was always delicious.
It was because I loved being near her and learning what she knew.
Every bite filled me with simultaneous nostalgia and indigestion.
I gasped on the floor after the meal, deliciously defeated by the overindulgence.
The timing is not coincidental.
The last time I saw my grandmother alive was the week after Thanksgiving 2018.
Spending those weeks with her was precious, and not just for my own healing.
I made her dinner most nights of the week, whatever she wanted, all of her favorites.
It was important to me that she felt supported and satisfied, even if she barely had an appetite.
I left on a Wednesday; by Friday she was in the hospital.
She died on January 26th, 2019.
I knew it was time to make the pasta e fagioli.
It was so much better than I remembered.
I hoped she would be honored and a little bit bemused.
I want a Dunkin coffee, sickeningly light and sweet.
She worked so hard to verify we had a sense of stability and normalcy throughout our tumultuous childhood.
…
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