08/20/2026
My momma was a baker. Her momma—our Mamaw—was a baker and treat maker, too and Nanny (Dad's mom) also a kitchen queen!
Those women could go to a restaurant, eat a dessert, come home and recreate the whole dang thing without a recipe. No notes. No measurements. No Google.
Just some kind of magical woman intuition that apparently skipped right over me. 😂 Because when it comes to baking, I need a recipe. Spelled. Out.
1/2 cup of this.
3 cups of that.
1 tablespoon of love.
2 teaspoons of joy.
You know the kind.
But candy? Candy is different for me.
Most of my candy started with a basic recipe from the back of a box, a cookbook or a magazine because, you see, I've been making candy since BEFORE THE INTERNET.
Good grief. I felt 147 years old just typing that.
Over the years, I've taken those recipes and modified them, tweaked them, changed ingredients, adjusted temperatures, added a little of this, took away a little of that—and sometimes threw the whole thing out and started over—to create the confections I make today.
My peanut brittle is probably the perfect example. It is a slow process. It's finicky. And it is absolutely a labor of love.
Now, I've never been much of a "brand name" kinda gal. My purse doesn't need LV or Coach printed all over it to serve me well. Give me lots of interior pockets and a GOOD, LONG shoulder strap and I'm happy.
And I mean GOOD AND LONG. Tall girl problems. 😂
Brand names just don't impress me much—unless I'm supporting a local artisan or maker. Because I know the work that goes into handmade. I've done it for years.
I think you're either born with that desire to create or you're not. Some people have absolutely zero desire to make things with their hands. And then there are those of us who see a pile of fabric scraps, a bag of sugar, a piece of wood or some random thing lying on the side of the road and think...
"Well, I could make something out of that."
Those are my people. 😂
I had a point here. I really did.
Oh yeah. BRANDS.
When it comes to my ingredients, the brand absolutely matters.
I hear people say, "I just buy whatever is cheapest," or "I buy whatever is on sale."
And that's perfectly fine for some things.
But I can tell you this: if I make my peanut brittle with store-brand butter instead of Plugra Butter, my customers are going to notice.
It changes the taste.
It changes the texture.
It changes the finished candy.
Quality ingredients matter.
And maybe that's something I learned long before I ever realized I was learning it.
This week was my momma's birthday week.
Between missing her, not feeling great physically, and apparently having absolutely no control over my tear ducts lately, I've been a bit of a sappy ball of emotions.
And I've found myself thinking a lot about these women who came before me.
My momma.
My Mamaw.
The women who raised my sisters and me on real food, made from scratch with good ingredients, capable hands and a whole lot of love.
Maybe I didn't inherit their ability to taste a piece of cake and magically recreate it when I got home.
I still need the recipe.
But I think I inherited something else.
The need to make things with my hands.
The belief that ingredients matter.
A love of feeding people.
The patience to keep tweaking something until it's just right.
And the understanding that when you make something for someone, a little piece of your love goes into it, too.
Turns out maybe they taught me how to make candy after all. ❤️
Love your people.
Ask them how they make the thing everyone loves. Write down the recipe or better yet, have them write it down. Their handwriting will mean so much to you later in life when you can no longer pick up the phone and call them. Stand beside them in the kitchen. Listen to the stories you've heard 47 times already. Take the picture. Make the phone call. Stay a little longer.
Because our people are only here for a short time.
If we're lucky, little pieces of them find their way into the things we do long after they're gone.
Sometimes even into a batch of peanut brittle. ❤️
