My mom’s mom was a twin.
In the picture she’s at center, and now, she’s not alive. But, one of the absolute greatest things about leaving the b/west coast was regaining proximity to my mother’s family, and (one of!) its greatest spirit guides, my grandmothers sister Hedda.
Hedda cooks big, artful, not always precious things. Most of the many family meals I’ve enjoyed this year have been in her tone, choruses of nutrient and pleasure heavy dishes that combine mid century modern-housewife know how and recipes with the knowledge from her decades long career as a clinical dietitian.
So, I looked forward all week to joining Hedda at her daughter’s house to celebrate fathers day. And I was more pleased, upon arrival, to enjoy the collaborative efforts of the kitchen, which today, appropriately, embraced a more-masculine vibe. 
My uncle Gene and cousin Jake took charge of these chickens. They sat them on to cans of lemon seltzer and ginger ale, stuffed them with rubs, and threw bacon all over one’s shoulders.
We ate outside. Grilled bell peppers, zucchini, and squash. A raw kale salad with lemon, pine nuts, raisins, and parmesan. Two perfect chickens.
Salad with carrots, cucumber, tomatoes, and a blood orange vinaigrette. Grilled onions, pasta with fresh pesto. 
Hedda and Gene shared the last word. Her chocolate panna cotta cake was a new recipe, on which she spent 5 hours some time in the middle of the night, before hitting the gym for three hours this morning! It’s ganache border was a little much, but the frozen pudding/airy brownie situation was bittersweet, cold, and velvety, a thankfully unheavy-handed end to the meal and a huge hit. The crowd also went wild, on purpose or not, for and after generous shots of candy-anise sambuca from Gene.
