Of course, it's all about the brownies. Whenever Grandma has sent me a batch and I share them with other people, there is the inevitable, "These are incredible. Tell your grandmother she's a great cook." The polite response is, obviously, "Thanks. I'll tell her," but it's tempting to just reply, "I know." We all realize that her cooking prowess extends beyond those sumptuous chocolate squares; still, just as every great movie star has his or her signature film, nobody can think of May and not think of the brownies.

What is it about May's brownies? I mean, lots of people bake brownies, but they don't get the same sort of loyal following. The sad truth is, these days most people's concept of "baking" brownies is adding eggs and milk to a mix. Sure, it takes a little longer to make May's brownies, and the Droste's cocoa is expensive and sometimes difficult to find. It all pays off, though, when they come out of the oven and you taste them.

If there's one thing I've learned from my grandmother's cooking philosophy, it's that if you want something done well, do it right. Shortcuts produce mediocrity. And once you discover the difference between May's brownies and the ones from the mix, or chicken soup from scratch as opposed to from the can, or French toast made with stale challah instead of white bread, there's no going back.

And don't think that cooking talent is irrelevant if you're not a professional chef. Food is important in Judaism: we eat matzo at Passover, apples and honey at Rosh Hashanah, and latkes at Chanukah (and deprive ourselves of food on Yom Kippur). It's definitely important in our family: Gatherings of friends and relatives always seem to center around eating.

There is something about certain dishes - cooked what you consider the "right" way - that just feel "home." Then it should be no surprise that so many people, both those who rightfully call her Aunt May and the many more who can't but comfortably do anyway, once considered the High Street house, and now consider the apartment, to be a home away from home. Where they will be warmly welcomed and treated to a lovingly cooked, somehow familiar-tasting meal.

In honor of May's 80th birthday, we created the original Aunt May's Brownies cookbook and distributed copies at her party. The goal was to share some recipes with family and friends for whenever they wanted a taste of home, no matter where they might be. Now, here in the 21st century, as May turns 90, we are truly able to accomplish that with Aunt May's Brownies, The Website.

Enjoy!

-Rachel
September 14, 1997
Updated, July 14, 2007

How appropriate that we get to celebrate Mark's Bar Mitzvah and May's 80th birthday on Thanksgiving weekend - and mark the occasion with an extended friend and family gathering. If you look through the recipes in this book you'll probably find almost all of your holiday dinner favorites. If you're like me, you'll probably have a great many memories to go with them. That's the best part. If any particular recipe is missing, just let May know and we'll get it to you somehow (that's how three-ring binders are supposed to work)!

And the thanks go to:
• Lynn, for covertly copying May's recipes last summer, for her many additions, and for being a professional editor.
• Harriet, for gathering and typing all the recipes and turning our casual idea into the real thing.
• Our family and friends for their suggestions and additions, especially to Ruth, Shirley, Murray and Hilda for completing the Karpen circle.
• Rachel, for capturing our feelings about food and its relation to family
• And, of course, May, who we hope is surprised by this endeavor, even though we kept calling her all month asking for recipes we couldn't find but knew we just had to have!

Having surprised May with parties for her 30th anniversary and 75th birthday, and postponing this celebration two months, we had to come up with something special. We hope you agree.

We are lucky. We are thankful. We are very happy to have you with us - either in person or in spirit - on this gala occasion. Bon Appetit!

-Marcia