What foods would you like to make?
i love comfort food, its the only food I want to make. If I could cook anything—anything at all—it wouldn’t be a five-star dish from a celebrity chef, or something exotic from the other side of the world. It would be something much simpler, much more personal: my aunt’s liver and onions.
It’s funny how certain meals anchor themselves so deeply in memory. The last time I had her liver and onions was in 2009. I didn’t know it would be the last time. No one ever does. That plate was more than just food—it was comfort, history, love on a fork. The kind of dish that feels like a conversation you didn’t know you needed.
The thing is, I never got the recipe.
I was 12 the last time I saw her. At that age, you don’t really think about recipes. You just kind of assume that the people you love will always be around, along with their delicious cooking. I remember her cooking like it was magic: onions sizzling, the kitchen too warm, her telling half-stories over the noise of the stove. She always had this calm way of making chaos feel safe.
And let me be clear—this wasn’t some fancy take on the dish. It was good old-fashioned Southern liver and onions in brown gravy, with a scoop of mashed potatoes on the side. Real stick-to-your-ribs food. And funny enough, it wasn’t even the best thing she made. She could cook. Like, really cook. But this dish, I remember with my whole heart.
Now, years later, I’ve tried to recreate it. Spoiler: I’ve made some spectacularly bad liver. Too dry, too chewy, onions either raw or burnt beyond recognition. The smoke alarm and I are on a first-name basis. It’s a mess. But I keep trying, because I miss it. I miss her.
And the thing is—I’ll know it by the taste.
That’s how I’ll know I’ve found it. No recipe needed. Just memory, and a whole lot of trial and error.
Maybe one day I’ll get close. Maybe not. But I’ll keep cooking toward it, one imperfect bite at a time.
Soak it in milk.