Terry's Meals on Sticks

Over the years, MS rearranged Terry’s relationship with mobility, touch, and coordination. Buttons became stubborn. Forks became rebellious. A knife might as well have been a fencing sword. But Terry’s love for food? Oh, that never wavered. If anything, it grew stronger - like a tiny, joyful rebellion.

And honestly, he was adorable about it.
He loved food commercials with the kind of devotion some people reserve for sports or soap operas. He didn’t just watch them; he collected them. Recorded them like they were rare species soon to be extinct. Then, the moment I had a little break from work, he’d call me over with that spark in his eye. We’d sit together, watching these ads of burgers that looked too perfect and sandwiches stacked taller than any sensible sandwich should be. He would pause the screen, point, and say, “Okay, Pepper… but imagine if this had more flavor… and that didn’t look so dry.”

Then I’d smile and say, “Shall we make a better version?”

Because that was our rhythm.
He dreamed it.
I cooked it.
And together, we made something only we could make.

I wasn’t just Pepper in those moments. I was Chef Pepper, Michelin-starred in exactly one household, serving one customer who believed I was unbeatable. And if you ask me, that was the best restaurant gig anyone could hope for.

The trick was simple: tailor everything to his hands, not the other way around. So knives and forks retired early, and charcuterie sticks came out to play. Meat on sticks. Pasta on sticks. Dessert on sticks. If I could engineer it onto a stick, I did. And Terry loved it. He savored every bite slowly, intentionally, like each moment was worth noticing.

We made quite a team:Terry with ideas, me with execution. Our home became a tiny test kitchen for things you could never find on any menu. Dishes made with humor, improvisation, and a kind of partnership that still makes me smile.

I miss making his favorite meals on sticks.
Not in a heavy way.
Just in a quiet way, like remembering a warm season that passed but still lingers in the air.

Food was our language.
Our shared joke.
Our daily joy.

And in its own small way, it fed us both.