When a disaster trifecta like a 9.0 earthquake, tsunami and pending nuclear meltdown strikes a place thousands of miles away, it’s easy to feel depressed and generally pretty helpless. With the situation in Japan right now, what can you possibly do, other than donate money to the Red Cross and other charities? Eat bacon caramel popcorn, that’s what.

I’m dropping off bags of my wildly addictive sweet, porky popcorn at Black Cat Bakery & Cafe for the nationwide Bake Sale for Japan this Saturday (Apr. 2), and you should go buy it. Why? Because all proceeds from these community bake sales go to Peace Winds Japan, which is working hard to help those who need it.

This sweet effort was spearheaded by San Francisco chef Samin Nosrat, who raised $23,000 for relief after the devastating earthquake ravaged Haiti last year. But the call has gone far and wide for Japan: Locally, there are seven locations hosting bake sales on Saturday, including the Black Cat, Akasha, BLD, Angeli Caffe and Forage. And it’s not just home cooks and bloggers making your treats–professional bakers and chefs are getting into the act, including Tavern’s Breanne Varela, who’s organizing the local bake sales, Zoe Nathan from Huckleberry and Roxanna Jullapat from Ammo. Check out the full list of locations and participants here.

I *think* there’s still time to donate goods, and I’m sure they still need volunteers to work the tables–just contact Breanna at labakesale (at) gmail [dot] com. But if you simply want to show support via your mouth, take lots of cash, make your way around the city and stock up on the sweets.

You’ll feel better. Trust.

PS: The popcorn went FAST at the last bake sale. Go early!

Trends come and go, but our love of burgers will never fade. We–Americans, my friends, me–are simply obsessed with them. And why not? Whether it’s a simple homemade version, one from a divey diner, or some glammed-up gourmet patty, a burger is truly the perfect food. And we can’t shut up about it.

Friend and fellow food writer Elina Shatkin took on the dubious task of eating 30 burgers (31, actually) in 30 days, a daring feat few could handle, for Squid Ink. She tasted burgers of every ilk, from Compton to Calbi to Lazy Ox, and somehow didn’t have a heart attack. A Hamburger Today, the burger-focused blog from Serious Eats, recently documented every single “public, secret and super-duper secret” item from the In-N-Out menu (caution: don’t read while hungry).

Every magazine, cityguide and blog has some kind of annual best burger list—Alan Richman recently picked Umami Burger as Burger of the Year in GQ, LAist recently weighed in with its Top 10 for LA, and Citysearch still offers its warped voting system to find the city’s favorite. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the years in online media, the word “burger” will always get a click.

So, yes, I love burgers–cooking them, eating them, good and bad. And of course I love to talk about them, as I will be on KCRW’s “Good Food” with Evan Kleiman this weekend.

I certainly haven’t explored the landscape quite like Elina, but I do have a few personal favorites. I find myself time and again grabbing a burger at The Bowery in Hollywood, partly because I love going there, but also because it’s simply a good burger. I’ve had my way at The Counter, getting overwhelmed by topping choices and creating some unwieldy, hard-to-eat beast. I was floored by how good the burger is at Westside Tavern a few months ago, and I liked the one I tried (the prime Steakhouse burger) at BLT’s new Go Burger. I do like the Father’s Office burger and most of the copycats; Comme Ca’s is a thing of beauty; Umami is fantastic; and In-N-Out brought me back to fast food. I even like the veggie burger at Houston’s, of all places. Go figure.

And while I appreciate all of the creativity out there right now–almost every chef offers some sort of burger with tons of flavors, toppings and different meats–I’m usually drawn to the simplest version: a juicy patty, preferably beef but maybe turkey or pork, medium rare if the former; a good, not overwhelming condiment; cheese; some tomato and/or lettuce; pickles and a good slice of bacon are always nice.

“Good Food” producer, Harriet Ells, and I discussed a burger roundup months ago, and one place she really wanted me to try was Five Guys, the East Coast fast food joint that’s taking California by storm. But the only problem: The closest location is in Cerritos. Cerritos! It was easier for me to try Five Guys in Ohio over the holidays than to drive down there.

But one afternoon, when the Google traffic map was all green on my route, I saw a small window to go grab a burger and see what the fuss is about.

From what I’m told, Five Guys is the In-N-Out for East Coasters. Launched in Virginia in 1986, the place has a following for its never-frozen beef patties, Boardwalk-style fries, and, I think, maybe, just a little, the short-hand orders yelled out by staff…it adds a little something.

There were only two Five Guys locations in Southern California–both Cerritos and Carson opened in 2008–up until the fall of last year. In just a few months, 13 have opened from Valencia to San Diego, with 20 more in the pipeline for 2011. And there are currently 23 in the state. It is most definitely here.

So at the Cerritos location, which is in a mall as most are (there are few free-standing Five Guys), having no idea what to order, I got what I believed to be the standard: A cheeseburger “all the way,” meaning topped with mayo, lettuce, pickles, tomatoes, grilled onions, grilled mushrooms, ketchup and mustard. Boy was that a mistake.

Not because it wasn’t delicious–it was–but a standard Five Guys burger is automatically a two-patty beast; much bigger than a Double Double. I could barely make a dent in it (please note this, Trainer Patrick). The griddled patty was probably smooshed down a little while cooking, so the edges are little crispy. Melted American cheese oozes between the two patties. The sesame-seed bun stays intact so it isn’t too, too messy. These are all hallmarks of a good burger. (Just order the “little” burger if you want to actually finish it.)

The fries are hand-cut, perfectly golden, and call for a few good sloshes of malt vinegar, which is thoughtfully provided on the condiment table. Again, the portion was huge; it pained me to throw away most of them.

Overall, I like Five Guys. Would I normally drive 30 minutes for a good burger? No. A great burger, yes. And I would never go out of my way for a fast food burger. Will it ever replace In-N-Out for me? Absolutely not. But I will definitely keep Five Guys in the burger roster, especially with one opening much closer–there’s one slated to open in the Fox Hills Westfield Mall in Culver City in early April, according to a rep.

Mardi Gras…already? I swear it was just Thanksgiving, which already feels like it’s just around the corner. Such is life in the food-beverage-lifestyle media vortex.

There are a lot of articles today about where to find your beads, gumbo and jambalaya in L.A. — that’s the best we can do being so far from Nola — but when I think about Mardi Gras, I naturally think about booze, and not Hurricanes or beer. I want a Sazerac.

Who doesn’t feel a little genteel and sophisticated sipping a Sazerac…until you put a few away (I don’t recommend). The lusty concoction is typically made with rye whiskey, sugar, bitters and a hint of absinthe and lemon. It’s a simple elixir, a drinker’s drink, but one too many can knock you.

According to this history lesson, those who refer to it as the “oldest known American cocktail,” based on the word’s true definition (spirit, sugar, water, bitters), are probably wrong. The story goes that the Sazerac was created by Antoine Amadie Peychaud in New Orleans around 1830, but it wasn’t the first brandy (how it was originally made) and bitters cocktail ever made. Even if it’s not historically correct, it’s a great tale; and probably the reason it’s now the official cocktail of the Big Easy. I’ll drink to that.

It’s no secret that I love whiskey, and the Sazerac has become one of my benchmarks to test a bartender’s prowess. Why? The trick is getting the absinthe right: Rinsing a glass with the spirit is *not* the same as mixing it with the whiskey, and it’s amazing how many bartenders don’t know that. I’ve unfortunately had too many bad ones.

But I’ve had perfect a perfect Sazerac at Comme Ca, Cole’s and Copa d’Oro among others, and recently at Thirsty Crow in Silver Lake. It’s almost standard now, at least at places doing the classic cocktail thing.

The Varnish’s Eric Alperin shared his recipe with my Tasting Table readers back in 2009, and for anyone who wants laissez les bon temps rouler at home today, here it is again. Of course, you can sip a Sazerac any time of year. I do.

Cole’s Sazerac
White sugar cube
3 to 4 dashes Peychaud’s Bitters
Ice
2 ounces brandy or rye (Cole’s uses Old Overholt rye; Redemtption Rye and Rittenhouse are also good)
Splash of Herbsaint or absinthe
One 1-by-2-inch piece lemon, for garnish

1. Rinse a lowball glass with the Herbsaint or absinthe and dump out the excess.

2. In a mixing glass, muddle the sugar cube and bitters. Fill the glass with ice and add the brandy or rye. Stir well for 20 seconds and strain into the prepared lowball glass. Twist the lemon peel over and drop it into the drink.

“It’s, uh, typically not necessary to pout.”

I haven’t seen Portlandia yet, but dying to since I lived in Portland for a few years. Back then, the food scene wasn’t what it is now, and our version of “celebrity chef” was nowhere near the definition today. But you don’t have to know the Pacific NW to appreciate this video. It’s just … fucking genius.

Thanks to Katherine Spiers for posting this on her blog with the perfect title: “Truthlandia.” Indeed.

Over at Squid Ink, I give a little preview for Ray’s and Stark Bar, the Patina Group’s new restaurant and boite at LACMA. Kris Morningstar (District) helms the kitchen for both, Michel Dozois (Neve Ice) heads the bar program, Paul Sanguinetti’s in charge of wines, Ron Carey (Sona) is GM. Total A-team. I sampled some dishes (pizzas, burger Benedict, pastas, salads), and I dig the direction. Take note: Headcheese fritters (the only thing I could think to call them). Like I said last year, don’t be frightened, headcheese is delicious!

You know lunch is a no-brainer here since it’s at the museum, and kind of front and center in the main courtyard. But I think it’s worthy of its own trip, even for dinner (which begins tonight; lunch starts March 5). And then there’s the bar–where can you get drinks like this Scotch/Cynar/Carpano concoction on that stretch of Wilshire? Plus, you get the Urban Lights as your backdrop. That alone is pretty spectacular, especially at night.

Ray’s & Stark Bar, 5905 Wilshire Blvd., Miracle Mile; 323-857-6180

Thank you all for adding your stories for the Paso Robles Grand Tasting Tour ticket giveaway! They were fun to read… j’adore a good wine story. Next time: haikus. Names were randomly selected and … congrats to Maddy Mud (aka Doug), Ryan and LT! You all will be going to the Vibiana downtown tonight. Have fun and be sure to write back with your favorite sips.

In a town where people consider the drive from Santa Monica to Pasadena a day trip (you know who you are), the four-hour excursion to Paso Robles wine country must seem like an eternity. So it’s nice when the Central Coast winemakers make their way down to L.A. for events like the Grand Tasting Tour, which takes place at the Vibiana downtown on Wednesday. Want to go? Read on.

First, a little about me and Paso: I adore it. A few years ago I was asked to be a judge for the  California Mid-State Fair’s wine competition, which I did two or three times. While the judging lasted about a day and a half, I’d usually stick around for a few extra to taste and absorb what the region is all about. I completely fell in love with it.

There are hundreds of wineries on both sides of the 101 (often referred to as the “Westside” and “Eastside”), but the region still feels untouched and unexplored. It’s more rural and rustic compared to, say, Napa, and even more so than Santa Barbara wine country. And it’s gorgeous: golden hillsides dotted with lone oak trees, vineyards in every direction, starry skies, cows. The people are friendly. It’s just lovely.

A lot of stellar wines come out of Paso. You’ll find some great Cabs, Merlot and even some decent Pinot, but it’s known more for big Zins and Rhone varietals like Syrah, Mourvèdre (hot now), Grenache, Viognier, Roussane, Marsanne and even a little Picpoul. (I’m a big fan of the Rhone-style blends.) I can’t remember all of the tasting rooms I’ve visited, and I certainly can’t remember all of the wines—especially at the judging table when we’re sipping and swirling so many at a time (some not so good, some great)—but I have my favorites from over the years.

I often stop at the tasting rooms for L’Aventure, Tablas Creek, Linne Calodo, Adelaida, Peachy Canyon, Eberle and Justin, to name a few. I like hitting a few unknowns, like Kiamie, which my brother introduced me to a couple of Christmases ago. I recently met the winemaker for Tolo Cellars in Yosemite, so now that’s on my list. I ask for recommendations from everyone: the winemakers, bartenders, servers, hotel staff. It’s a good community; they all promote each other.

When I can’t get to Paso, I try to hit these tastings when they roll through town because it’s a great way to sample wines from the region and to get a sense of what’s new and notable. Luckily, they aren’t just for trade and media anymore; they’re open to the public! So, since it’s awards season (Oscars tonight!), I’d like to give three lucky readers two passes to the Paso Robles Grand Tasting. It takes place this Wednesday (March 2) at the Vibiana downtown.

You’ll sip and sample more than 100 Paso wines, including some of my favorites mentioned above. Let’s make it fun and interactive: To win, tell me one of your favorite wine memories, whether it’s Paso Robles wines or not.

Here’s mine: On one visit to Paso, the former and I stayed at the farmhouse at Dunning Vineyards. It felt like such a secret:  It was super quiet and secluded, on a dead-end road off of 246 with a vineyard right outside of our door. There was a fully equipped kitchen, so we made a couple of steaks, drank our local wines, played a few rounds of Scrabble. We talked about how this could be our home if we moved to the country. It was wonderful, except for one thing: The big old tomcat that howled on our porch the entire time we were there. All day, all night. He was one howl shy of getting an empty bottle thrown at him. Maybe I’m not so country after all…

Anyway, now tell me yours: Just drop your story in the comments, and make sure you put your email where it tells you, so I can get in touch. Whatever it is–a date, the first time you sipped vino, a wine road trip, real or imagined–please keep it short. Funny always helps. Deadline to enter is by 5 p.m. Tuesday (March 1).

Cheers!

The Paso Robles Grand Tasting Tour takes place Wednesday (3/2) from 6:30 to 8:30 p.m. and is open to the public. Tickets are $60, which you can pick up here. Check out the website for details on some of the other tastings and dinners around this week, too.

If there was ever a great reason to drive to Glendora — almost sounds like an oxymoron — it would be for this berry beast: The Donut Man’s strawberry doughnut. Trust me (and Jonathan Gold and many, many others), it’s worth the mileage.

Owner Jim Nakano has been making the now famous doughnut since around 1974, and it’s put the little Route 66 bakery on the map. The colossal treat — it easily feeds two — is a work of art, a true thing of beauty. What’s not to love about a fluffy glazed doughnut split open like a bun and stuffed with whole fresh fruit that’s been tossed in strawberry glaze? I mean, it’s real fruit and *almost* healthy, right? Ha. Hardly. But it is delicious.

You can try to eat it like a sandwich, but I haven’t figured out how to do it gracefully. Just use the forks they give you; you’ll need them.

It seems early for the doughnuts to be available (usually a summer treat), but according to TDM’s Facebook page, they are back! I haven’t had one this year yet (photo is from last year), but lucky for me, it’s only about a 20 minute drive should the mood strike. I might even battle rush-hour traffic if I had a real hankering. Just look at that thing … the payoff is huge.

The Donut Man, 915 E. Route 66, Glendora; 626-335-9111

Let’s get one thing straight: I will not be giving tips, recipes or talk about what I’m eating for Valentine’s Day. This faux holiday can suck it (and that has nothing to do with my single status, I just don’t buy into it), and quite frankly, I’ve done my share of silly roundups and prix fixe menu blasts about it over the years. I think we need a break from the pink-hued haze that’s settling over the day, so I’m going to write about goat cheese, something I truly love.

Goat cheese is like cilantro: People either love it or hate it. I fall into the first camp because, really, there isn’t a cheese I don’t like (at least I haven’t found it yet). I can’t exactly recall the first time I tasted chèvre, but I imagine it was sometime in the 90′s, when I was just out of college and working in restaurants and cafes around the country. It was probably encrusted with herbs and breadcrumbs, warmed, and served with a salad; even if that dish is as ubiquitous today as it was then, I still adore it. And it was only in the last 10 years that I discovered a full spectrum of fresh and aged goat cheeses from California–I went through a massive Humboldt Fog phase–and around the globe.

So I was pretty excited when I came across this new locally produced goat cheese from Ontario’s Drake Family Farms. You can find a few flavors at most SoCal Whole Foods, and just recently, chefs at restaurants like Gjelina, Napa Valley Grille, and Mendocino Farms started using it (if a sandwich queen like Judy Han loves it, you know it’s good).

Why is this goat cheese better than others? First, the cheese itself is wonderfully creamy with just enough tang. It’s not super earthy or “goat-y,” as most non-goat-cheese-lovers usually proclaim about goat cheese. But it’s also the farmer, Dan Drake. The man is crazy about his goats, which, I think, results in a great-tasting cheese.

Full disclosure: My chef friend Lance Biggers told me about Drake Family Farms a few weeks ago; he’s working with Dan to help get the word out the cheese. It wasn’t too widely available yet, but between that time and now, it’s become even more accessible around L.A. It’s a good thing, too. After talking with Dan, it sounds like the cheese is on the line–it’s either make the business work or close down the operation. That would be a huge loss since it’s the only artisan farmstead cheese in Southern California, meaning all of the milk comes from goats raised on the farm, and the cheese is made in small batches mostly by hand.

It’s  just something you can’t help but support.

“See, I have this problem,” Dan tells me. “I’m addicted to goats. I’m just a goat-loving person trying to make something to support my goat habit. I need my day job so I can get my fix.”

He’s not kidding. Having grown up on a large family farm in Utah (around since 1880), Dan got his first goat for a 4-H project at age 12. He became completely enamored of the animal, and soon after, the family started raising goats and added a goat dairy to the farm. They’ve been making cheese and selling it around the Salt Lake City area since the 1980′s.

For Dan, making the cheese in California was serendipity. After attending UC Davis veterinary school, he moved to Riverside to work with dairy cows around Corona and Chino; goats, too, since he’s kind of an expert. But the stars aligned for him last year when his clients at the Summerhill Goat Dairy were moving from their Ontario farm and dairy to a new facility. “It was all set up to raise goats,” Dan says. “I couldn’t resist.”

So he brought down a herd of goats from Utah, learned to make the cheese from his parents, and started producing the fresh cheese last September. He makes eight flavors, which are sold at  farmers’ markets mostly in Orange and Riverside counties. He hasn’t had as much luck with the L.A.-area markets (“You have to wait for someone to die and they will you the spot,” Dan jokes).

That point might be moot now, since Whole Foods picked up the cheese. That alone is a testament to the quality and flavor, and it really is one of the best fresh cheeses I’ve tasted. The secret, Dan says, is healthy, happy goats.

Well, it’s actually a lot more than that. It starts with the breed, of course, and how the goats are raised, fed and milked. Dan feeds his 140-plus animals a simple diet of alfalfa hay, Bermuda grass hay and rolled barley; no soybeans or corn, which is often genetically modified. “I’m a vet, so I’m a hypochondriac when it comes to the health of my goats,” he adds.

When it comes to the milk, it’s a science–literally. Milk from each goat is tested to see which is best for making cheese. Think of it like a winemaker testing and tasting grapes from different parts of the vineyard to know which will go into reserve bottles and which will be used for blends. Some goats just produce better tasting milk than others.

Then it’s how you milk the goats, a painstaking process that includes washing each goat and testing a squirt of milk before hooking up the machines.  “It takes a lot of work to do it this way,” says Dan. “But it’s the right way.” Mostly it prevents the spread of disease, but it also helps the milk taste…cleaner.

And that’s what you get with Drake Family Farms: super fresh, clean-tasting, creamy goat cheese. The eight flavors are plain; apricot-honey, which has just enough sweetness that all you need is a good cracker or slice of bread; basil; herbs de Provence; garlic and onion; French herbs; lemon pepper; and jalapeno, which definitely has some kick and would make an excellent cheeseburger. The 4-ounce containers retail for about $6 at Whole Foods (they only carry plain, apricot-honey and French herb).

You can also find the goat cheese at Joan’s on Third, The Cheese Store of Silverlake, The Cheese Cave (Claremont), and Orange County Farmers’  Markets in Laguna Hills, Costa Mesa, Tustin and Irvine.

Eventually Dan wants to offer farm tours so people can see the love and care that goes into the product.  “It’s the exact opposite of what the media says about how animals are treated,” he says. “There are a lot of farms that aren’t treating their animals well, but I want to show how agriculture can be done properly.”

And his passion shines through, one bite of delicious goat cheese at a time.

It’s an understatement to say that Sang Yoon is a perfectionist. The details that go into every one of his projects–both Father’s Offices, but especially the Culver City one, and now Lukshon, which opens tonight–is unrivaled. But it’s all done so well, so subtly, you barely notice. It’s seemingly seamless. Yes, I’m a fan.

It takes a lot of time and dedication to make it that way, of course. Simple isn’t easy. When I was stalking the FO2 opening in 2008, and Sang gave me a tour of the space (I ran into him at the Let’s Be Frank hot dog stand across the street; I think he was feeling generous that day), he geeked out about the woods chosen for the bar, the kitchen and custom-made equipment, his fancy state-of-the-art wine-on-tap and water filtration systems. Things that would make any budding restaurateur without a bankroll vomit with envy.

With Lukshon, it’s exactly the same, if not more so. There are too many cool elements to the place: Ana Henton’s design (I went crazy for the platinum ‘beaded’ tiles in the ladies room, and the flower patterns on the gorgeous teak and walnut walls), the stunning open kitchen, the choice of ingredients used, the even more high-tech wine tap system, and the spirits offered. Sang knows exactly, specifically what he wants and takes great pains to get it.

Some call him a “burger nazi,” that it’s his ego–after all, this is the guy who won’t let you order a burger well-done or without arugula, or bring ketchup to the table at FO–but they’re wrong. Well, no; they’re right. Every chef has an ego. But what you have to remember about Sang is this: He is an excellent restaurateur and chef, one who is so much more than that burger. If he wants everything a certain way, he probably has a very good reason for it. And for you haters, by the looks of his success, there are a lot more people who “get it” than don’t.

You got a taste of this when he opened FO2, where menu items like bone marrow are almost as popular as the burger. Sang has a fine dining pedigree, having been chef de cuisine at Michael’s back in the day, and cutting his chops with Joël Robuchon in Europe. Turning that skill set loose on a bar menu, as with the FOs, means we get quality ingredients, balanced flavors, and some refinement on the plate–even if that plate is a mini shopping cart holding perfectly crisp sweet potato fries.

The first time I realized who Sang was as a chef was at a guest dinner he did at the now-defunct Bin 8945 a couple years ago. I can’t remember the menu, but I was blown away. I remember thinking that he wasn’t just a great chef, he was a chef’s chef. I wasn’t in L.A. when he was at Michael’s, so I, like many, only knew of the burger and beer he served in that funky little Santa Monica bar. But even that burger isn’t just a burger, with its layer of flavors from applwood bacon compote, sharp blue cheese, sweet caramelized onions, and the consistently medium-rare beef patties. Having been replicated so much, it’s almost passé now.

At a preview dinner for Lukshon the other night, I had the same revelation: This isn’t just another Asian-inspired restaurant. What I liked most was the use of flavors and ingredients that you don’t see every day, things hijacked from Pacific Rim countries I’ve never been to (Indonesia, Thailand, China, etc.). Sang’s schooling us by using them in dishes we’re familiar with–beef tartare, chicken wings, noodles and curry.  Talk about having to train a staff: There will be plenty of questions about rau ram, kecap manis, rempah, do ban jian and the like.

Just about everything was delicious, and each dish completely stood on its own. The drumettes (“chicken pops”) had a bit of sweetness but covered in spicy Sichuan salt. Our table demolished the garlic pork belly; green curry mussels (honestly one of the creamiest, deeply flavored curries I’ve tasted; we wanted to lick the bowl); incredibly tender lamb chops; duck popiah (left); squid stuffed with spicy Chinese sausage (my favorite); and Spanish mackerel with crisp, cool vegetables and herbs (pictured up top), among other things. Can’t wait to go back.

He’s also upped his fanatical ante with the beers, wines and spirits. We were tasting some crazy whiskies from India that were as smooth and peaty as any single-malt from Scotland. I had a cocktail made with Isle of Skye 8-year blended with galangal and lapsang souchong black tea (went down way too easily). The wines, whether from the tap system (even more offered here) or bottle, were meant for this food. Think: Great, crisp, high-acid, fruit-forward whites like Riesling and Grüner Veltliner from Austria and the Central Coast. Unique finds at every turn.

I think this will be the hardest res to get in town for awhile, but there is a communal table for walk-ins in the bar area and other bar seating. I’ll fight you for a seat. Good luck to us all!

Here are some shots from preview night (thanks Jeff Miller for letting me use your camera when my battery died!)

When things get rough, some take to the ovens. At least I do. I turn to the stove for solace, but not always for sustenance. I made these lovely bouchons last night, late, simply because I felt the need to do something with myself after learning that my grandma had passed away. I haven’t eaten one yet.

Being so far away from everyone in my family–my mom, whose mother it was, her siblings, my brothers and cousins–the only way I could mourn the news I got that morning was to bake. And watch old movies, the kind of films I imagine Dorothy probably loved.

My grandmother’s death was more sad than shocking. We all knew it was coming–she wasn’t well for the last few years and took a turn for the worse right after Christmas. I haven’t been home as much as I should have been, something everyone probably thinks when someone passes away, but I did get to visit with her over the holidays last month. I’m so grateful for that.

I planned to be in Ohio for two weeks, so I decided to road-trip it to Maryland to visit friends, to break up being in Ohio for two weeks. My grandma’s house was en route, so I stopped for the night to see her and my mom, who was caring for her. It was nice to visit before the house was filled with everyone for the holiday. It was just us.

Dorothy was in fine spirits, happy to see me. She was laughing and moving around as best she could. She kept telling me how pretty I looked, which you never tire of hearing from your grandma, no matter how old you are. She wasn’t physically comfortable, but she got herself to the dining room table and asked if I wanted to play Scrabble.

This was her game. She’s played everyone in the family, anyone who wanted to play. She’s a master of the two-letter word. Over the years she’s passed the time alone by doing jigsaw puzzles, the morning crossword, and playing games of Scrabble with herself–right hand vs. left hand (she has stacks of scorecards with the board). I still wonder which hand was the better player.

“You haven’t wanted to do that for months,” my mother said. And you could tell; the game was on a shelf of the extra bedroom, covered in dust. We played one rousing round (she won, of course) and asked if we felt like playing another. We did (I won). It felt special, just a nice way to pass a quiet, cold winter night in Ohio.

I guess I got my Scrabble gene from my grandma, and we’re the only two in the family with the curls. She gave us lots of laughter and vice versa. We always gathered at her house, all the kids and grandkids, for birthdays, holidays, graduations. We played in the grass until night fell. We played Yahtzee, for some reason the only kid-friendly game she had in the house. She gave us the ultimate bathtub song that every child, grandchild and (almost) great-grandchild in the family now knows.

I didn’t really learn to cook from her, but I do have fond food memories from her kitchen and a few recipes. The “sea foam” frosting she made for birthday cakes. Glazing ham with Coca-Cola or 7Up. Rich scalloped potatoes. Big pots of meatballs and sauce. Kiffles, these sour-cream crescent rolls only few in the family have mastered. Christmas cookies. I remember her and my grandfather making pork sausage way back when, casings and all, and frying it with peppers and onions. Pots of sliced stewed beef to put on fresh Italian rolls. (We’re actually not Italian, but cook like we are.) At every gathering there was a plate of vegetables, some sort of dip, and canned pitted black olives that I’d slip on the tips of my 10 tiny fingers and then eat them one by one. I’m sure the memories will flood over the next few weeks, but this is what immediately sprung to mind yesterday and today.

I grabbed an old Betty Crocker cookbook from my mother’s before I left in December, it’s a first edition (1950) with a torn cover, really beaten up. I just liked how it looked. When I got home, I noticed a recipe for banana walnut bread scribbled on the first page–it’s my grandmother’s handwriting. The book must have been hers. I wonder if she would’ve remembered it…where it came from… who gave it to her… if she ever used it.

She probably has no idea what bouchons are, these cork-like brownies from a Thomas Keller mix (I still had it from last year’s Bev Hills Bouchon opening). Dorothy wasn’t a fancy lady, but I bet she would’ve loved them–if only because I made them.