This book. This belonged to my great-nana.

After my parents separated when I was 3, my mom and I moved in with her. She lived in a well-loved and well-worn home in Wallkill, NY. The kitchen was huge. I loved exploring all the special spots and taking stock of what she had. Cabinets. Countertops. Drawers. Jars. Taking things out and putting them back in

I remember after dinner, only on some nights and probably not the ones when we would dunk Oreos or Vienna Fingers in milk, I would go over to the spot in the kitchen that housed her cookbooks. I would pour over the pages in this one. Usually just this one.

I was young enough to not understand what I was reading. I remember being mesmerized by the photos and title descriptions of these beautiful treats. They were things I had never seen before. They were pure MAGIC.

And that FEELING, that MEMORY, is DEEP in my BONES. I can still feel it as I write this.

I hadn't touched this book since we left her house when I was 11 but on Saint Patrick's Day I found myself revisiting an old habit. After dinner I went to my mom's kitchen shelf and opened up this heirloom.

The instant I looked at the pictures, ALL of Happy Belly made sense to me. I know this doesn't carry the same weight for you, but for me it's a moment of major crystallization.

For those years as a kid, I had been subconsciously absorbing what magic looked like and felt like all through a baked good. Now that I'm in a place of reflection, I'm seeing things a bit deeper. The wonderment and awe I felt is infused into every aspect of this business and our creations 😭🤯 I always wanted to pass that on because it was the happiest time of my life. When our family functioned at it's best.

Three women, separated by four generations, cooking and baking and eating and talking and creating a life with each other so good that none of us wanted to leave it behind.

So fucking joyful. So fucking heavy. So I share. The origin.