Blame it on my grandmother. A countrywoman with limited formal education, she nevertheless knew how to take a five-year-old into her confidence and turn a simple treat into a clandestine culinary adventure.
She waited until my toddler brothers had fallen asleep in one of the farmhouse bedrooms. Then she put her finger to her lips in a shushing motion and took my hand. We tiptoed through the kitchen, where she handily grabbed a couple of spoons, and we made our way to the dim storage room at the back of the house.
