There I sat in a stranger's driveway around the corner from the home my father built and where I grew up, sifting through handwritten recipes along with clippings from newspaper food sections and product booklets of culinary past. It was a bit like digging through a history book. It wasn't my story or that of anyone in my family, but it might as well have been. Hand written recipes dotted with the sweet memories of the culinary moments of a woman's life in the kitchen where she carefully crafted tasty treats for her family stirred something in me.
