, a writer shares the story of a single dish that's meaningful to them and their loved ones.
She cracked a high-pitch laugh and handed me a 1-gallon Ziploc bag and a family-size bag of Lay’s potato chips. “Here, crush them up real good,” she said. “It’s fun!” Mom-Mom was a quirky, loud woman who loved to tell stories and entertain, and whose days revolved around feeding the ones she loved most. She was always cooking, and always involved us grandkids in the process—from fetching fresh ingredients from the farmers market down the street to dicing vegetables, stirring, and flipping food on her electric cooktop.
So, when she pulled out that index card with the potato chip cookie recipe she’d typed up herself on her typewriter, I thought it was just another kooky Mom-Mom creation. Eager to please her, I did as she asked and grabbed the Ziploc full of chips and got to work crushing them between my small hands. Beside us, my sister Lindsay steered the hand mixer over softened sticks of butter and sugar, to which I added a big heap of the hand-crushed Lay’s potato chips.
Last year, I got to taste potato chip cookies again for the first time in years. It was late April 2020, still the early days of the coronavirus pandemic, when we were all so desperate for comfort. A week earlier, Mom-Mom had died from natural causes in the assisted living center where she lived. Per the state’s social distancing guidelines, only 10 family members were allowed to attend her funeral.
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