The other thing I want to tell you about my grandmother is how un- interested she was in cooking and how powerless she felt finally about all that chastity. She wanted life, but the food on her table was always the same. She told of Sundays past, the laughing season, she, a wife of promise, lost. As the magistrate’s bride in a small coastal town, she took a turn away from the feast, to end up hungry and alone. At the end, she found her way to glory: she said water was too sweet, chocolate too spicy, it brought tears to her eyes, nothing was right, not salt, not bread, nothing helped, so she stopped food. She stopped.
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