One of my favorite stories to hear my dad or my grammy tell, usually after dinner when we’re all gathered around the table, is about the way my grandad approached cooking.

On a Saturday morning he would get his recipe out, go wash his truck, and then drive around town and pick up necessary ingredients. When he finished shopping and arrived home, he’d go into the kitchen, light his pipe, and brew a pot of coffee. Then he’d cook, keeping the kitchen clean as he went along.

The day would end with lots of friends and family gathered at Grammy and Grandad’s house to feast on whatever Grandad had made. His two most famous offerings were crab cakes and cioppino, and I so wish I would have been old enough to appreciate those to the fullest.