Grandmothers, Mentors, and Memory
In Saigon, rain hammered tin roofs while a teacher explained star anise patience. “Let it whisper, not shout,” she said, as broth bloomed. Authenticity is restraint, not spectacle. Whose voice guides your cooking? Share a mentor’s line we can pass forward to other readers.
Grandmothers, Mentors, and Memory
Many regional cooks measure with memory: a palm of salt, two ancestor-knuckles of ginger, enough water to make dough “listen.” Start a kitchen notebook with sensory cues, not just grams. Post a photo of your notes and tag us—let’s build a community archive of living measures.