My grandmother Jackie and her brothers used to roast potatoes in a clean trashcan of fire outside their home until the skin was charcoaled black. Then they’d peel back the blistered skin to reveal a hot, creamy white inside. They’d savor that potato with a bit of salt. “It was such a treat,” my grandmother’s told me. (I’ve heard the story a million times.) My grandmother was the oldest kid of four, 2 younger brothers and 1 younger sister, just like me.During their "block-party" potato roasting, there were some neighborhood boys who would come around and stomp on her brother’s hot potato, smashing it into an inedible mess. This brother was a kind and gentle soul, a boy who wasn’t ever looking for any trouble so he never fought back. They’d also pester and tease him all the way home after school until he arrived at his doorstep.Fed up with the bullying, one day my grandmother raced home from school faster than her brother. She waited for the mean boys to follow her brother home again and poised herself quietly on top of the roof. When they arrived at the doorway, she hopped down from the roof with a baseball bat and drove them away from her home, yelling to leave her brother alone and never come back.She was 11. I love this story as much as I love my grandmother because it shows how fierce and fiery she’s always been.When I was little I’d ask her to make me toast with butter, and she always told me that white bread is made of nothing but garbage. Then she’d slather some butter on a seed-filled, whole-wheat, hearty piece of bread and insisting that I eat the crusts too because that’s where all the nutrients were. I hated grandma’s toast growing up, but now, I find myself buying the same kind of seed-filled bread.She hates all fast food joints, especially hamburgers made with american cheese and never ever eats the stuff. She hides little chocolate candies throughout her home in candy jars saying they're for the grandkids but, well, we all know better. ;)Grandma grew up in a very humble home, sometimes relying on preserved vegetables and other canned goods for a meal. She didn’t like it. She’s made it point to feed differently than her upbringing; to always serve fresh vegetables, to eat wholesome + healthy and insists everyone around her do the same.Typing this out makes me realize we have a lot more in common than I thought.She has good taste and ever since my grandpa passed, I’ve found myself cooking for her often. She loves my food, and always says, “Robyn, you’re so talented, I just don’t know how you do it. You cook better than any restaurant.”This chocolate cake is for her. It’s one I’ve made a million times at not just her request but my entire family’s request as well. It’s a cake that brings out this girlish smile in my grandmother and for a split second, as she beams from all of the “happy birthday to you” attention, I can see that little mischievous girl who was brave enough to defended her brother.Happy birthday gram, I love you.And love to you friends. xo