“Gratienne no longer cooks, but if that were the case and if I were a director, I would ask her for her recipe for floating islands! It's really this recipe that springs from my childhood memories, when, for her, cooking was part of our family rituals. And then, maybe there was less desire on her part: the dessert for our family meals became a mint-chocolate or vanilla-chocolate Viennetta. This year, on the occasion of Christmas, my sister had hoped to make this family Viennetta herself! It's off to a late start. Maybe we will manage to do it for Gratienne's 86th birthday, which we will celebrate together in March! To bear witness to our special bond with my grandmother and to keep track of our family history, I created the blog www.lamaisondegratienne.fr.”

“My grandmother is Liliane. And when I discovered the Grandmas Project I thought it was for her. At least, a great opportunity for me to talk about her and the happiness she brings to the whole family through her cooking. Then we had to choose the recipe and it was a difficult choice because it is a golden cooker! I could have talked about spätzles, dumplings, roasted potatoes (still unknown to this day), logs, pies and I forget so much! And then my choice fell on spritzes. But what is this funny animal? Well, simply a cookie! So why this choice? Even she was surprised when I told her about it. My answer is simple: they are delicious! Sometimes coconut, sometimes almond and they are also extremely rare because she only makes them once a year, at Christmas. That makes them even more valuable. Finally, it is because she is not alone in doing them. Indeed it was my grandpa, Emile, who helped him by turning the crank of the machine, by putting on some elbow grease as they say! And then grandpa left us, so last Christmas my dad helped her. That means they have a story for me, and a great story, so I thought they were perfect for me to allow me to talk about her, about both of them by the way, about pleasure, happiness and shared moments and to tell them how much I love and thank them.”

"My Grandmother comes from a very small village in Macedonia called 'Marvinci'. She is the youngest of nine siblings in a farming family and is one of my favourite people in the world. I grew up listening to her stories of how her and favourite older brother, Borris, would get up to mischief as children. She would tell how they'd fill their pockets with dry meat and run out into the fields to eat it because as the youngest, they only got pigs fat on bread and potato stews. She made me laugh all the time, after her stories she always has a chuckle as if she is absorbing everything that's happened to her and turning it into a positive. My Grandmother was always cooking something when I was a kid. Always trying to feed me- I was always too skinny to her- typical ethnic Grandma. Whilst my parents were at work, I'd be at my Grandparents house gardening with them, playing cards and then in the kitchen picking at the vegetables Baba would be slicing for the meal. One of my favourite meals to date is 'Sarma'. It's a pickled cabbage leaf filled with rice and meat that is seasoned with vegeta, red paprika, salt and pepper. I've never attempted to make it myself because I don't think I could meet my own expectations. Baba cooks it to perfection every time, but always cooks a little extra rice and meat because the biggest kid would always be close by ready to 'taste-test' as I like to call it. In a nutshell, this woman is my hero. Understanding, accepting of everyone & kind-hearted."

"The picture attached to the story belongs to a time before World War II (around 1934- 1935): Before my grandmother experienced war as an adult, before losing her firstborn boy to typhus and malaria when he was just only 13 years old. She was 102 years old when she died.She was my role model (and still is), motivation, and storyteller. She continues to give me hope, make me smile, and remind me not to have regrets and follow my heart's desires. One day, we spoke of the food scarcity during the war, how people would repair their clothes rather than get new ones, and how families would create simple recipes to make ends meet. That day, she told me that she operated on a family chicken. You can imagine my shock. The family chicken (named Fancy) had stopped laying eggs and could not bob her head and would make weird sounds. Fancy could not eat anything and was losing weight. When my grandmother examined Fancy, she realized something stuck in her throat. She decided to operate on Fancy because getting daily eggs were essential for her family. She cut Fancy's throat with a sharp knife, removed the little twig, and sewed it with a sterilized needle. Miraculously, Fancy survived."

“My paternal grandmother, Sonia Fidler (whom I called “Babouchka”) was born in 1888 in Balti (a city in the Russian Empire, now Moldavian). In the 1920s, she came to settle in France, in Nice, after a visit to Warsaw. Widowed as early as 1937, at the age of 51, she worked hard to feed her two children, who were still young. She ran a ready-to-wear store for ladies in Nice, on the Promenade des Anglais, where this lovely photo of her was taken in the 1950s. Curiously, I never saw her cook: she had help with that, because she was away all day, but one day, long after she disappeared, I discovered a recipe for herrings marinated in white vinegar, a little sweet, and my mother (her daughter-in-law, so) said to me: “Ah, but they're Sonia's herrings! ” — and I've enjoyed them all the more since then! It's an easy recipe, which I called “My grandmother's herrings”, of course. Since I love them, I make them often, and every time I serve them, everyone thinks of her, even my children who never knew her. This delicious recipe that I got from my Babouchka is now in a book that I co-wrote with Daniel Rozensztroch, entitled: HERRING, A LOVE STORY (ed. Pointed Leaf Press, NY).”

"Mamie had changed her first name, changed her country, changed her life. She liked big restaurants, going out at night, working at night. She was the first in the family to wear pants, to get a license. Christiane said she was her role model. When she asked him if her loneliness was weighing on her, she said that it was the price of her freedom. She loved her nieces and nephews, our aunts Michelle, Brigitte, Sandrine, and our aunts Michelle, Brigitte and Sandrine, who she loved like her daughters, but also friends we barely knew. How many times were we surprised to learn that so-and-so had come for lunch, that another had lived in her house, or when we discovered photos of children framed in her living room and asked ourselves who it was. The explanation was simple. Grandma had her life. Before she was our grandmother, she was an independent woman, with character and who decided everything in her life, until she chose when she left."

"Mami had been a teacher of household arts and in fact cooking as a dressage was always kept to the limit. The expression “putting the small dishes into the big ones” made perfect sense at his table. An inveterate collector of recipes, books, binders, cut up here and there, I think that her gluttony and her passion for the wooden spoon also found their place in reading recipes. Equipped with an incredible battery, she whirled around in this kitchen without fear of tackling disheveled recipes such as vol-au-vent or puff pasta. She was dazzling to know how to do it. In the pantheon of my tasty Proust madeleines is his gourmet strawberry ice cream. Not a sorbet, oh no! A real ice cream, one where the portion of crème fraîche remains secret but certainly constitutive. It was added icing sugar, a dash of lemon juice and especially small mixed strawberries with an incomparable taste. Always served in the same small ramekins with old-fashioned decorations, it was a delight without a name."

"Mamie Jeanne has incredible strength. At the age of almost 86, she is always positive, active, and available for all. She lives in the beautiful land of Saint Lothain in the Jura, and excels in the art of cooking the good things that this region offers her. His cuisine is family friendly and generous, made for sharing a simple and enjoyable moment. As the family keeps getting bigger, the table keeps getting longer. One Easter Sunday, she told me that when we were all gathered around her table, she felt good like a hen with her chicks under her wing. We would have lots of recipes to tell: rabbit terrine, small stuffed quails, Wednesday waffles, grape pie, pigeons in sauce, or even chocolate ice cream... But after deliberation with my cousins (there are 13 of us!) , everyone is unanimous on the recipe that we want to share with you: the mousseline cake. Mix 6 egg yolks with 200 gr. of sugar and work until the mixture whitens and “makes the tape”. Add 1 tbsp of flour, 1 bag of baking powder and 125 g of starch. Work again and add a dash of orange blossom water. Finish by adding the 6 previously beaten egg whites. Pour into a greased and floured pan and cook for 45 minutes on thermostat 5. Unmold and eat cold. You can also cover it with melted chocolate, or top it with jam."

“Our grandmother calls herself “Granny”; she doesn't like Anglicisms. Coming from a family of 7 children, her experience has forged her voluntary spirit and the values she will have transmitted to us. Her kitchen is her battlefield to nourish hearts and ease conflicts. With her no “fuss”, the dishes are served from the pot to the plate. The recipe is simple but respects the original flavors. With a smile on her face, at the age of 90 she was quick to prepare our favorite dish for us. The big moment is when Mémé sets the stew on fire. It's quite a show! Grandma always introduces him with one - “Wait, wait... You'll see” and off she went looking for something to ignite a paper to be used as a torch. His rabbit stew is unanimous and when I was a child we fought with my brothers to “lick the dish”. Here are the secrets: - Cut a rabbit into pieces. Place them in a cast iron casserole with a little bit of oil. Roast them over high heat on all sides and turn each piece several times. - Lower the heat a little. Add 4 to 5 minced shallots, the cooking of which will color with the meat juice. - Add 3 minced garlic cloves. Stir and then sift flour over the meat. Stir again and then pour in 1/3 of red wine. - Cover, increase the heat for 3 minutes and then heat. - Add 1 thyme branch, 2 bay leaves, parsley, 1 clove, salt and pepper. Mix with 2 glasses of water” - Sabrina

“I am very close to my grandmother... Mamyvonne. She is bright, funny, loving, and optimistic. She was the one who said to me: 'If you expect big things, they don't happen often. But small joys yes, and that's what makes life enjoyable. I have struggled to see the positive but there is no benefit in dwelling on what hurts. That is my advice. That's what life is all about. The little joys of now. Meeting people, maintaining a friendship on a daily basis... Great happiness is once or twice while the little ones are every day. ' At a young age, she played theater in her village. And I became an actress. The recipe I want to share is the chicken liver cake she made every year for Easter. She wrote me the recipe by hand and I keep it treasured. I did it once by myself. Now, I am a vegetarian but it is a recipe that reminds me of my grandmother.” - Marie-Emilie Gâteau de foie for 6 people: 1L of milk, 8 eggs, 7-8 rusks, 450g of denervated and ground chicken livers, salted and ground chicken, salt, pepper, parsley. --- Bring the milk to a boil, add the crumbled crackers while stirring to make a thick panade. Add egg yolks, one at a time while stirring. Add salt and pepper. Add the livers then the egg whites beaten until stiff. Lift the mixture without breaking the egg whites too much and put it in a cake dish. Cook in the oven in a water bath for about 20 min. Serve with parsley and homemade tomato sauce."

"Our grandmother, Mémé Moniq, gave cooking classes for children at the Maison Familiale (a socio-cultural center located in Aulnoye-Aymeries, in the North of France). As a child, she taught us how to cook by giving us her various tips (for example: always mix the dough with one hand so that you can pick up the phone if necessary). When we were 7 and 9 years old respectively, we took up her recipes (cooking classes) and published them as a detailed step-by-step on the site La Cuisine de Mémé Moniq (kitchen-meme-moniq.com). The project then fell into disuse. But one day, when we were about fifteen years old, annoyed to see the photos of pseudo-homemade dishes, we decided to publish photos of everything we cook under the nickname @mememoniq on social networks (Instagram, Facebook, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest...) on social networks (Instagram, Facebook, Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest...) and to share the recipes that Internet users ask us for. For Granny Moniq, chicken-au-pot is a traditional dish: she prepared it for family meals. When making this recipe with her, it was also a family meal: we were celebrating her husband's 90th birthday and Yseult's 21st birthday. Why Granny Moniq and not “Monique”? Our grandmother also practiced painting on silk. When she signed her creations, she used the alias “Moniq”. "

"Lucie, my maternal grandmother, was the most adorable granny. But before being a granny, she had been a stunningly beautiful young girl, the youngest of 6 children in a family uprooted from the Ottoman Empire. Married to my grandfather Joseph at the age of 21, they lived a golden youth in Cairo before being forced into exile in 1957, like most Jews in Egypt. She enveloped us in her love as a Jewish grandmother and called us, her three little girls, Rohi (my soul) or Katkuta (chick), pinching our cheeks a little too hard for our taste. She never lost her accent and always rolled the R's, unlike my grandfather who thought it was necessary to “grease” to better integrate. Each of our visits was an opportunity for her to prepare our favorite dishes for us: bamya, meatballs with tomato sauce, sambousseks, baklawa, roghayebas, menenas, savory or sweet rosquettes... What is certain is that we did not lose weight by going to visit them. When I was little, to find what to make cheese filas or other oriental dishes, I had to go to the Armenian grocery store at the Cadet metro station, in the 9th arrondissement. It was an expedition from which we came back armed with treasures that could not be found elsewhere. Now, I'm mad at myself for not having taken a good look when she was making the rosquettes or the meatballs... All the recipes written by her hand contain few instructions and a lot of “you see how it comes”. Well it never comes like her for me!"

“Vida-Victoria, my father's mom, was born in Istanbul. His cuisine was the Judeo-Spanish cuisine of the Jews settled in the former Ottoman Empire. It was difficult to get the recipe for his dishes because the dosages were vague and approximate: a bit of this, a little bit of that. As a young girl, I had the opportunity to go see her with my future husband. She made us a lemon artichoke salad, garato, pieces of marinated mackerel and armi, a dish of tomatoes simmered with onions and a little bit of rice. All the accuracy of this dish comes from that 'a little'. And that day, in the complicity of a unique moment since we were just us, my grandmother explained to me how to make an armi. She explained to me that to succeed you had to know how to spend a little time there. She told me about tomatoes to be cut, about onions that had to be left to color in oil with garlic, and about the time that should therefore be left for all this for tomatoes and onions to cook, melt, and stew gently, slowly, imbuing each other with their scents. Then just add a small handful of rice. 'How much rice grandma? - Just a little, the palm of your hand, a small cup, because sami is a tomato compote with a little bit of rice and especially not tomato rice. 'It takes some time my daughter but that's how it will be good. ' My grandma's sarmi is the only recipe she gave me in person. She left us two weeks later.”

“My grandmother is Gisèle or Mamie Gigi for her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As a child, I spent my vacation with her, discovering the love of cooking. Every day, the kitchen was invaded by scents, each more delicious than the next, and among them, one recognizable among all... that of its blanquette de veau. I made an audio recording of his recipe. Here it is restored as it is... 'You buy pieces from the butcher. You clean them well, degrease them well. You put a little bit of oil and a little bit of butter at the bottom of your casserole, but not too much. You cook your meat in it for no more than 10 minutes. Then you put boiling water over it. You put celery, carrot, onion, onion, clove, and water to cover everything. Also a leek. You can add white wine but it's not useful. Before I used to wear it now I don't wear it anymore. When it's cooked... I don't know, maybe an hour. It depends... if it's a pressure cooker, it takes 50 minutes I think. Then you stop everything and drain the meat that you put in your dish with the carrot and onion. And after your broth you do it with a fairly large piece of butter, you put in two grams of flour. I don't remember it anymore. Maybe 100 g of flour. You stir well and at the same time you take your boiling broth. You put it in the pan. You're stirring well. When you're done you put on a little bit of cream and that's it.' "

“More than a recipe, it's the taste of cooking and good things that Nanou gave me. As a child, entering his large kitchen while preparing meals gave me the impression that I was in a place where magical things were going to happen. My grandmother seemed very serious at the time. This cuisine was her domain, where she reigned unconditionally. My sister and I could only intervene with her permission and under her watchful but attentive gaze. She did not miss any market where she went to her “friends”, producers in the village or in the area. Her vegetable garden provided her with the fruits and vegetables she needed for her strawberry jams, for her rhubarb pies, or her sorrel sauce. I can still remember picking tomatoes there with her. It was especially necessary to do it just before the meal to serve them, still lukewarm by the heat of the sun, with just a little bit of olive oil. Preparing meals seemed like it could take him hours filling the house with good smells. It was then necessary to gather the whole family scattered in this big house. I still remember the andouillettes in Chablis sauce, beef tongues with pickles, stuffed quails, cherry clafoutis, bugnes that Nanou lovingly prepared for us every vacation. Today, when I come to see my grandparents, I take a seat in this kitchen to make them discover my culinary universe in turn.”

“Here it is Jeannette, she ran a hairdressing salon in Marseille with her sister (my grandmother) who died very young and whom she therefore replaced in this role. She was an independent, stylish, funny, cheerful, and always smiling woman. She was married to Jeannot who worked as a taxi driver and both reflected the image of happiness for me. Later, when she became a widow and I went to study in Marseille, I went to her house to eat “little beef” and “pizza”, then we drank Italian-style coffee and she told me about my grandparents by showing me photos, sometimes she would come to my house and I would cook something for her. She was not an exceptional cook but she did very well with eggplant parmiggiana, roast beef and chicken liver crostini for the aperitif, the recipe of which I kept. I regret not having filmed Jeannette at home before her Alzheimer's, before she forgot the photos, faces and recipes. I called my daughter Jeanne in the hope that she would inherit, along with the first name, this good character and this propensity for happiness.”

"Grandma and grandpa raised us. We spent every summer in their house. Fifteen of us altogether, we ate all their food and swallowed all their culture. Then we grew up and we left. Became American. In 2011, grandpa died. We came back, lived in the house, helped grandma and helped each other. And then we left again. In 2012, the house was empty. Grandma called us to talk, laughed with us, asked us to come and visit. I think that she was lonely. On the day I actually came, grandma was upset that she hadn't planned for my visit. Then she remembered that a friend had brought her a big bag of crab a few days before. Grandma asked me if I wanted to learn to make it. Then the two of us made this film. Buhay alamang - The life of a shrimp. 'Just like us, honey. They want to make babies. They want to have husbands.' Grandma taught me that family is the greatest joy in life."

“Transmission. Like thousands of other families expelled from Egypt in 1956, my grandmother Becky got on this boat that left Alexandria for a one-way trip... Deprived of all her belongings, EXCEPT her memories and recipes written in her spiral notebook, now yellowed by time. Do you know what Habba Sawda, or putty, is, or how to make sure you put the right amount of flour into the preparation of sambuceks and menenas when the recipe only says “add flour: while it takes”? Well I know! However, I am French born in France, but I undoubtedly prefer to eat a good dish of foul with falafel or molokheya rather than a boeuf bourguignon... In my grandmother's recipe book, the recipes are often called as follows: “Rita's chocolate cake”, “Théa's white cake”, “Renée's orange cake”, or even “Céline's rosquettes”. Almost the whole family is named there... Not a party or a birthday happened in our family without opening their yellowed notebook, without evoking the memory of my grandmother, and of a sweet life that I did not know in Alexandria. I carry my grandmother Becky inside me.”

“Mamie Lucienne, our grandma all of us, was born in Algeria before moving to Paris with her husband and children. She was a foster mother and never stopped raising children (including hers: her children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren). It is known for its famous sole mixed in a milk bottle but also for all its simmered dishes. Not a wedding was celebrated without its famous white pancakes and honey cigars. Dosages are lucky, she is a magician at mixing and resurrecting dishes, but her tables are always full of love, children's laughter and flavor. Long live Mamie Lucienne known as 'The Little Mermaid'”

"My grandmother Ines is the sister-in-law of Jonas’s grandmother Nano. She was born in Alexandria. I could tell you the year but she’d never forgive me but she's north of eighty. She later moved to Cairo and married my grandfather Isaac. In 1956 due to the Suez War she had to leave in a hurry along with the rest of the family and come to the UK. The culinary landscape of Britain was a world away from the exotic tastes of Egypt. Spaghetti was only available in tins of tomato sauce and if you couldn’t spell something then you certainly didn’t eat it. The middle-eastern delicacies that she made would have been greeted with under bemusement by the locals at least until they tried them but for us her cooking was a link to the family’s past. Her need to feed could provoke incredulity. Portion control was laughed at. Many a time I would be quizzed as to why I had lost my appetite after I’d struggled through only my third plate of food. Sadly she no longer cooks any more but her food lives on in the memory of my family. Who knows what Marcel Proust, the famous French navel-gazing hypochrondriac, could have written if he had tasted my grandmother’s bourekas instead of his precious madeleines..."

“Juin light donuts comes back and in my memory that of the acacia flower donuts prepared by my grandmother. I see the fine rain of icing sugar like a veil placed on each of them. Patience was the key word to be able to enjoy the warm doughnut. With my eyes closed, in religious silence, I crunched on the fine pastry and the sweet flowers. Unique sensation never found again.”

"Let me introduce Eliane on the right called 'Mémé' and Jacqueline on the left called 'Mimi'. Mémé made every Easter a Polish cake that we call 'Babka' even if she isn't Polish but only for love and honor of my grand father Ceslaw Labendzki. She's still drawing on my arms with her fingers when I ask her. Mimi makes the best 'Lapin à la cuillère' ever cooked with fantasy and creativity as the painter she is. She can be eccentric and dance flamenco perfectly. I love both of them so much and they are my inspiration for so many things. I am so grateful to share moments, laugh and tears, stories of the familly and love with them. That is part of what is the most precious in my life. With them I am still a child but also a women. They are so powerful, generous and open minded."

"My Grandma died last year (she was 97!) and I miss her very much. I backed your project for her really, I'm so sorry she can't take part. Her name was Peg Wade and she lived in Sydney. She taught me how to cook lots of amazing cakes and puddings. Maybe I will get my mother to do a shoot instead, on behalf of my baby son."

"Like most (if not all) Jewish grandmothers, Oma’s way of caring for her family is to feed it. Growing up, I would go to her house every week for lunch, where she and Bella prepared meals with enough food to last us for weeks. I would go into the kitchen while she and and her best friend Bella baked, fried, and stewed the dishes, following an unspoken methodology -- a handful here, a dash there --that seemed to them as natural as breathing. Of course, the real recipes came from decades of recreating -- from memory -- the tastes of their childhood. Having lost both of their families in the Holocaust, Oma and Bella had to teach themselves, often from scratch, how to make the dishes their mothers and grandmothers made for them in Katowice, Poland (Oma) and Vilnius, Lithuania (Bella)."

"My Grandmother was born in 1930 in Juchipila, Zacatecas, Mexico. She was married by age 20 and moved to California where she raised six children. Her and my Grandfather opened a restaurant in Northern California, "La Zacatecan" where she perfected her recipes but was known for her Huevos Rancheros. This recipe is a family favorite which she loved to make for the Familia on Sunday mornings. With an endless line of hungry kids, grandkids, friends and neighbors showing up for her famous breakfast, she always served a consistent tasting meal while never following a written recipe! As she grew older, her eyesight worsened. One weekend, I took advantage of her condition and secretly videotaped her making breakfast. This is what I ascertained from the video and her eyeballing the measurements. I still watch the video every so often just to take me back to when I was younger and was able to hang with her. She passed in 2009 and the family thought the recipe had gone with her. I recently invited my Father (her Son) over for Father’s Day breakfast where I surprised him with her Huevos Rancheros. He was beside himself as soon as he walked in the door and could smell the familiar dish. I showed him the video as well and It was the best Father’s Day he & I have ever had."

"She was a sad faced lady that hid a wonderful sense of humor. When she set herself loose of the restrictions of early 20th century southern Portuguese society she could laugh out loud and share her life stories. She was born in 1895 and died in 1990 and reached hers and her husband’s 60 year wedding anniversary. Amazing! She would invite me, her grandson aged 9 at the time, to the kitchen and tell me with a secret whisper that we would be cooking “Raivas”. This was a family recipe handed down by her grandmother that lived in the early 19th century. She would ask the maid to light-up the wood oven while the recipe was being prepared. She would show me, an attentive listener, that the 125g of home-made butter should be at room temperature, should be well mixed with the same amount of granulated sugar until grains could not be spotted. Immediately add a free range medium size fresh egg and stir with a wooden spoon until completely mixed. Finally the flower, 250g. Just finish needing with her hands to an almost hard dough. To prepare the cookies she would roll small cylinders one inch long and one inch thick. Just after setting the small cylinders on a greased cooking pan, she would let me use a fork to press down and give each cookie its characteristic grooved design and flat shape. She would say…. “Just do a double recipe amount. A single recipe will not last long.” A few minutes later out of the oven would pop golden brown cookies that made the delight of everyone. Enjoy!"

"Born in 1926, my grandma is a pre independence child. She was married off early in life at the age of 14 years. Hence most of her cooking skills and knowledge is from her mother that she learnt by observation. Many of the recipes that she makes has come down from her ancestors. Her husband worked for the British navy and hence had some British cooking and dining influence too. She had won several cooking competitions. Since then she has been an inspiration to many in terms of cooking. She also ensures that people eat healthy.. she's extremely cheerful happy and healthy most importantly at the ripe age of 90."

"Marian made sure her grandchildren knew how to pick fruit when ripe, not before. Here's she standing by an apple tree, but her true loves were strawberries, blueberries, and raspberries. We'd be sent into the garden with pint boxes and buckets, and from our haul she'd make jam, pies, and syrups. She never seemed happier than when her loved ones were all smiling, high on sugar, fingers stained from fruit-picking."