Grandmas are liars. There, I said it.
Look inside their recipes boxes or the careful cursive recipes on scraps of paper stuck inside other cookbooks and you’ll know their dark hearts. Lists of ingredients, no amounts, sometimes no instructions.
These lies aren’t intentionally meant to deceive. Or to maintain an illusion, like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy. These lies are lesser crimes, crimes of omission. But lies nevertheless. Like with my Grandma’s Fried Rice.
