My mother only learned to cook after she married my father. A hard-working farm girl, she married into a family that relished home-cooked gourmet suppers every night. She was determined to make an impression and set out to one day to make caramel pie. Unfortunately, by then, she had a baby to mind to, and forgot to keep the water level above the can of condensed milk simmering in the pan on the stove. The can exploded and neighbors called the police. No one was hurt, but my mother had embedded shrapnel and caramel in my grandparent’s kitchen ceiling, and the impression my mother made on the family is now fondly known as “grenade pie.”
By Kate Young
