The first Thanksgiving after Val passed felt heavy before it even began. Her kitchen, once the warm and noisy center of our family, felt almost too still. I stood in …
Hi there! I’m Mark Renshaw, and this all started as a quiet tribute to my grandmother, Val, whose kitchen was the heart of our family long before I ever knew what “good food” meant.
Her cooking was simple, but never ordinary. Every dish had its own rhythm, the way she hummed as she stirred gravy, the handwritten notes she scribbled on her recipe cards that somehow said more about life than cooking.
