My grandfather was a tremendous cook. From pies to roast turkeys, a meal wasn't complete unless there were floured handprints on the cherry cabinets.

It was an idea that began in the first few months of 2016 — or more precisely, if I'm being entirely honest, it came to me on New Year's Eve of 2015.

The holidays are a hectic time. If you live in New York, they can be dizzying, and even maddening. Each year though, I vow to savor them.

It all started with a tin of French onion dip. It arrived to my apartment during a Fieldhouse Kitchen tailgating party.

What an unexpected affair. Has it really been five years? Five years of unlikely triumphs, unpredicted hurdles, and endless surprises.

I remember the first time a guy ever cooked for me.I remember the music, the hors d’oeuvres (yes, he actually put out snacks before the meal).