For this first time this past December, I hosted a Hanukkah dinner at our house for a few close friends. While I'm not observant, I can acknowledge and appreciate the culture that that side of my family brings to the table (quite literally, because so much of any culture centers around its food.) But more than anything it was an excuse to break out my grandma's recipe box, making latkes, brisket, matzo ball soup, and a cocoa torte for dessert (I'll be sharing that recipe next). Every time I open the box of her recipes the mere smell of it transports me back to her house. Maybe that's why I don't open it more often: I get too darn emotional every time I do. And yet, I hope that smell never goes away. I always have a hard time writing about her recipes, mainly because they are so meaningful to me and I want to do them justice, but, unlike the latkes and the cheesecake, this one doesn't really have a story. It's not something we ever cooked together, and actually, I don't think I've ever

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