Across the Pacific Northwest is where his ashes were spread, where these memories were made, and where these recipes became the goodness that they are. My grandpa was a simple man, who listened to Boston in the kitchen while insisting that no one assisted. I grew up watching him cook from across the kitchen counter, in a high bar stool. Years later in the pantry of my home I found the start of a cookbook, that I didn’t even know he started. I was immediately pulled to finish it, not only for him but for me as well. In what has been a difficult journey, I take a new journey through these recipes of the Pacific Northwest and feel connected to my grandpa once again. For what doesn’t cut through you with a knife, cut through a peanut butter pie and enjoy of slice of his favorite delectable treat.