Phyllis Henriksen, mother, 1928-present

Food has a way of bringing everyone together.  Or maybe, it’s the other way around – wherever there’s food, you’ll find the family.

  When I think about all my trips to South Milwaukee to visit my grandparents, the first thing that comes to mind is the kitchen.  There’s my grandma, working her magic behind the stove, while the rest of us take up shop at the table.  It becomes the headquarters for the weekend, serving two purposes: first, we’re near my grandma who is cooking, and second, we’re near the food.

She’s a pro at whipping up meals for a small army.  Like ribs that feed 12 along with her homemade applesauce from her own apple tree and her fresh yeast rolls.  Dessert?  Well, there’s a reason my son calls her the “Dessert Grandma” – we’re talking Butterscotch pies, Special K bars, and Black Bottom Cupcakes. My grandma’s kitchen is like a treasure trove of treats hiding in tin pans covered by plastic baggies and ice cream pails filled with Chocolate Chip cookies. During downtime, we munch on homemade snack mix, and in the morning dive into leftover Long Johns, also homemade.  It’s a weekend packed with delicious food and good company.