She didn’t have a thermometer.
She didn’t measure to the gram.
She didn’t need five tabs open and a timer for every step.
She just… cooked.
With her hands.
With her eyes.
With her gut.
She tasted. She trusted.
She used what was there.
And somehow, it always worked.
Because Grandma knew things we’ve forgotten.
She knew that butter was better than fear.
That guests don’t remember if the chicken was dry,
only if you smiled when you served it.
That dinner wasn’t performance. It was care.
She didn’t cook for likes.
She cooked for love.
We’ve traded instinct for information.
Speed for soul.
Precision for presence.
Maybe it’s time to remember.
The best meals don’t come from apps.
They come from showing up.
Messy, confident, and human.
Just like Grandma did.