"No matter where I serve my guests; they always like my kitchen best."

It's true. We did love Grandma Hilva's kitchen. Let's be honest; it was hard to resist being in there, even if it was cramped at times. The mouth-watering aromas that seemed to grab you by your nose and pull you along were too great a temptation to ignore. But when I close my eyes, even better than the smells, are the memories of seeing Grandma working in her kitchen. Standing at the stove, stirring a pot. Or reaching up to get a serving dish or something from the pantry. Wiping her hands on her apron or placing food on the dining room table. And of course how she always had time to give you a hug, no matter what she was making. These are the precious memories I know I'll never forget. Especially when those familiar aromas fill my own kitchen as I prepare one of her recipes. One whiff of freshly baked rolls, or a pot roast, and I'm right back in her kitchen, cooking along side her.