Some of my strongest food memories don’t start in a kitchen. They start in a freezer. My grandma used to make chili sauce in large batches that simmered for hours and ended up in old margarine tubs stacked neatly in the freezer. Those tubs were the perfect size: just
Growing up, the dressing was vinegar and oil. I don’t remember anything else. Today I made what we always called a Greek salad. Tomatoes cut into wedges. Cucumber. Red onion. Green pepper. I drizzled red wine vinegar and olive oil over the vegetables, added a few Kalamata olives, and
My Grandma Gregory had two refrigerators. The second refrigerator — the one with the feta — wasn’t in the kitchen. It sat in a narrow space between the kitchen and the garage. When you came in from outside, you passed the refrigerator before entering the house. That’s where the feta