Some places never leave you — even long after the doors close and the stove cools. For me, that place is my Grams’ kitchen. Especially in the summertime.
It wasn’t fancy. No marble countertops, no stainless-steel appliances. But it had everything that mattered: love, comfort, and a kind of warmth that wrapped around you the moment you walked in. That kitchen was the heart of my summer — and even now, the memories feel like sunshine.
Here’s what I miss the most:
🌞 1. Just Being There All Summer Break
When school let out, I basically moved in with Grams. Her kitchen became my playground, my sanctuary, my everything. I’d wake up to the scent of breakfast, spend afternoons by her side, and fall asleep to the comforting hum of the house that held so much of my heart.
There were no busy schedules — just slow mornings, open windows, and the soft rhythm of her moving around the kitchen while I sat nearby, watching, helping, or just soaking it all in. Being there wasn’t just a visit… it felt like home.
🍽 2. My “Poundcakes and Syrupy” Breakfasts
When I was little, I used to call her pancakes “poundcakes and syrupy” — and honestly, the name still makes me smile. Grams made them just how I liked: fluffy in the middle with those golden, crispy edges, drenched in syrup like a little kid’s dream come true.
Breakfast at her house was sacred. Some days it was cheesy grits or buttery toast, but nothing beat those pancakes. She never forgot what I loved, and I never had to ask. She just knew — and that’s a kind of love you don’t grow out of.
🍨 3. Her Homemade Ice Cream
Now this? This was summer magic in a bowl.
Grams didn’t make homemade ice cream often, but when she did, the whole day felt special. I can still hear the soft churn of the ice cream maker out on the porch. I’d watch the mix swirl slowly until it thickened, counting down the minutes until that first icy scoop hit my spoon.
No toppings. No cones. Just her ice cream, a bowl, and a spot on the porch.
💛 More Than the Food
The truth is, what I miss most about Grams’ kitchen isn’t just the food — it’s the feeling.
That little space made me feel safe, seen, and deeply loved. It’s the kind of comfort I carry with me, the kind I hope you feel here on this blog. Through every story I share, every memory I write down, and one day — every dessert I bake — I’m chasing that same warmth.
And maybe, just maybe, one of these stories will bring back a little piece of your own.
What do you miss most about your favorite kitchen growing up?
Let’s reminisce together in the comments or over on Instagram @dotspetitebakery 💕
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