Babcia's doctor appointment was on Wednesday. Mom took her. I offered to come but Mom said, "Let us handle this, Jake. I'll call you after."
She called at 3 PM. Babcia is... okay. The doctor said her weight loss is concerning but not alarming. Her appetite has decreased, which is normal at eighty-eight. Her arthritis is getting worse. Her blood pressure is stable. Her mind is sharp — "sharper than most thirty-year-olds," the doctor said, and Babcia said, "That's not hard," which apparently made the doctor laugh.
No major diagnosis. No scary words. Just age, doing what age does: slowly, relentlessly, without malice but without mercy.
Mom sounded relieved on the phone but I could hear the undercurrent: this is how it starts. Not with a crash but with a gradual dimming. A little less appetite. A little more fatigue. A few pounds lost. Six blocks becoming "too far." It adds up.
I went to Babcia's on Thursday after work. I didn't call ahead — I just showed up with a pot of mushroom soup (my version, not hers, with extra dill because she always says more dill). She opened the door and said, "What are you doing here on a Thursday?" Bringing you soup, Babcia. "I don't need soup." Everyone needs soup. "Fine. Come in."
We ate soup at her kitchen table. She ate a full bowl, which made me feel better. We talked about the brewery — she asked about the mushroom stout and I explained it and she said, "Mushrooms in beer? That's strange." It is strange, Babcia. That's why it might be good.
She patted my hand when I left. She's not a hand-patter. That was new. I think she knows I'm worried. I think she knows we're all worried. I think she's known longer than any of us.
Packers season starts this week. Football is a good distraction from worry. Dad and I are watching Sunday at his house. I'm making the buffalo chicken dip. Life goes on. It always goes on.
Instagram: 650 followers. I posted the mushroom soup photo with a caption about bringing soup to your grandmother. 300 likes. The comments are all hearts.
Sunday is coming, and Dad’s couch is waiting, and the Packers are finally back — and after a week of doctor’s appointments and worry and soup and hand-pats, I need something loud and cheesy and completely uncomplicated. Buffalo chicken dip is that thing. It’s the dish I bring when I don’t want to feel anxious anymore, when I want to sit next to my dad and yell at a TV and just be a person who doesn’t have to think about dimming lights or lost appetite or the slow arithmetic of age. It’s not a cure. But it’s something warm to reach for, and sometimes that’s enough.
Buffalo Chicken Dip
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 10
Ingredients
- 2 cups cooked chicken, shredded (rotisserie works great)
- 8 oz cream cheese, softened
- 1/2 cup buffalo hot sauce (such as Frank’s RedHot)
- 1/2 cup ranch dressing
- 1 cup shredded cheddar cheese, divided
- 1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese
- 2 green onions, sliced (optional, for garnish)
- Tortilla chips, celery sticks, or crackers, for serving
Instructions
- Preheat oven. Heat your oven to 375°F. Lightly grease a 9-inch baking dish or a cast iron skillet.
- Mix the base. In a large bowl, beat the softened cream cheese until smooth. Stir in the buffalo sauce and ranch dressing until fully combined.
- Add the chicken and cheese. Fold in the shredded chicken and 3/4 cup of the cheddar cheese. Mix until everything is evenly incorporated.
- Transfer and top. Spread the mixture evenly into your prepared baking dish. Sprinkle the remaining cheddar and the mozzarella evenly over the top.
- Bake. Bake uncovered for 20–25 minutes, until the dip is hot and bubbly and the cheese on top is melted and beginning to brown at the edges.
- Garnish and serve. Remove from the oven and let rest for 5 minutes. Top with sliced green onions if desired. Serve hot with tortilla chips, celery sticks, or your favorite dippers.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 230 | Protein: 14g | Fat: 17g | Carbs: 3g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 540mg
About the cook who shared this
Jake Kowalski
Week 76 of Jake’s 30-year story
· Milwaukee, Wisconsin
Jake is a twenty-nine-year-old brewery worker, newlywed, and proud Polish-American from Milwaukee's Bay View neighborhood. He didn't start cooking until his grandmother Babcia Helen passed away and left behind a stack of grease-stained recipe cards. Now he makes pierogi from scratch, smokes meats on a balcony smoker his landlord pretends not to notice, and writes for guys who want to cook good food but don't know a roux from a rub.