Irish Coddle
My husband’s enduring memory of my grandmother is of their first meeting at her small apartment. The decor hadn’t changed since I was a child and it was filled with knick knacks and photographs; it looked like it had been transported to Canada from Dublin where she grew up. We were sat around the small, square kitchen table and my grandma was reaching into a broken deep freezer (which served as a storage cupboard) as she chatted away.