A PLACE TO call home

Fish fingers and macaroni cheese. That’ss it. If you asked my granddaughter to draw you a picture of Nana’s cooking, that’s what you’d see. Maybe there’d be a chocolate pudding discernible in a corner of the artwork if Nana was being fancy and had the time. But dinner at my place? You don’t even need to ask.

This is not because that’ss all I can cook. Indeed, Ariana has seen me whip up spicy enchiladas with smashed avocado (her mother’s