Carolyn Lamond.

My grandmother called me "dough belly" when I was a child. Whenever she was in the kitchen cutting up biscuits or rolling out pie dough, I would sneak raw dough scraps. It was salty, fatty, and delicious. I still eat scraps whenever I'm rolling out dough—something my husband doesn't completely understand but never passes judgment on since he enjoys tasting whatever it may be once it has reached its fully cooked form. The kitchen growing up was always the hottest, busiest, most crowded, and yet most comforting room in the house. I want to thank my grandmothers, uncle, mother, and sisters for showing me what good food is and teaching me that food always tastes better when it's homemade.