chicken

My grandmother's hands moved with practiced grace, plucking feathers in her Chennai kitchen decades ago. When she arrived in Toronto, that skill felt worthless. Yet every festival, relatives gathered around her table, tasting home through her cooking. One day, my daughter asked to learn. As I taught her the family recipe, something shifted. She struggled initially, burning the first batch. But persistence paid off. Now, watching her serve this dish at community events, I see our Tamil heritage alive in her confident hands. The terrified girl became passionate. Our tradition found its reward not in perfection, but in connection—passing our story forward, one meal at a time.