My grandmother, 'bless her soul,' was a woman of many talents, but cooking wasn't one of them. She could wrangle a rowdy stallion on the farm like it was no one's business and snare the last blueberry pie off the supermarket shelf before anyone else eying it could lay a pinky finger on it, but she was a disaster in the kitchen.

I remember one day coming home from school to the smell of something burning. When I walked into the kitchen, trying to sniff out the acrid smell, I came across my grandmother. Her entire kitchen was covered in flour, recipe pages strewn about, eggshells lying on the counter, and milk spilled on the floor. It was quite the sight.

When I saw the mess, I asked, "Nana, what on earth are you making?' To which she replied with a smile, "Well, a pecan pie, of course.' When I stared back at her incredulously, she shrugged off my expression and said, 'You'll see,' 'It'll be the best thing you ever did eat.' I can, in fact, confirm it was not...