Growing up, I remember going to my grandparents’ house every chance I got. They lived on a dairy farm in Oxford, North Carolina, and when I was growing up, and still to this day, nothing is better than being on that farm. It seemed that every year around the same time my grandparents would build a huge fire and cook Brunswick Stew all day long.
I remember my grandfather standing over the fire, and adding ingredients one by one. He didn’t have a cookbook with him out in the yard, but he did have years of experience and could tell you exactly what needed to go into his stew at any given moment. And he never made a small batch; Granddaddy’s stew would feed the whole family for months. Even though he passed away years ago, I still wish that I could go back and savor those moments one more time.