![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvykcQW-s_Id-1Bkwmez9q2H2M8RW3FdTG60PSNNX-VXikzBrGPXbP059gkTvig768iCnELjw4ruq2oBJIkPlqSWytJuP7L7O3lqQXLhKM3i-37pYKGiTcBtCd9BM0YVQoFTg7oNZkHJbN/s400/cooking.jpg)
This woman looks exactly like my Granny, from the hair to her glasses to her attire.
Given the setting of this photo, I couldn't help but recall that the one place I could always find Granny when I came for visits was the kitchen.
She wasn't a great cook and I don't think she enjoyed it very much but in spite of her mediocre culinary skills her saving grace was her oven-roasted potatoes. I don't know what she did to those little suckers -- maybe it was the touch of rosemary or the kind of salt she used -- but my sister and I begged for them at each meal. Literally begged. And then when they appeared on the dining room table in a serving dish we salivated like puppies. Just when Mom took her eye off of us, we'd throw our hand in the dish and grab a few. Classy kids, huh?
While we certainly embarrassed Mom, Granny loved it.
Now that I've taken up cooking, I know full well how much I'd love it if someone literally couldn't keep their hands off my finished product. I would be flattered to no end!
(via johanna wallin)
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