My Grandmother always cooked tasty food. But one day, she put a burnt pie in front of my Grandpa.
Not just a little burnt, but black as coal.
I waited to see what my Grandpa would say.
But he just ate the pie n asked how my day was.
Then i heard my Grand Mother apologize to him for his dinner.
I’ll never forget his response.
“Darling, I love every bite you make—even the ones that fought the oven a little too hard.”
That moment taught me:
True love isn’t about perfection. It’s about savoring the effort behind the flaws.
(What’s your favorite memory of love served on a plate? 🥧❤️)
P.S. Grandpa later admitted he dunked it in milk to survive. 😂
