Food Memories: to be(lieve) or not to be(lieve)

I am the youngest of four daughters. We are close in age, 6 years and one day from top to bottom. Having all grown up in the same house, with the same parents and the same pets, one would think our memories would coincide more often than not.

This is not the case. The number of times that my sisters’ memories diverge from mine and from each other’s is notable. Sure, as we reminisce there are memories that converge. For example, we can all recount our weekly or bi-weekly weekend treks into Brooklyn to visit our mother’s parents. As we drove up to…