Favorite of the Week

In our kitchen growing up, CorningWare was as essential as salt and pepper—always there, always reliable. The Cornflower Blue casserole dish, with its delicate trio of flowers, lived on the counter like a trusted old friend. My mom used it for everything—from baking chicken pie on weeknights to warming apple crisp on Sunday afternoons. That dish went from the oven to the table, then to the fridge, and back again, like it was built for a life of motion. And it was.

Tucked beside it in the cupboard was a Spice of Life roaster, its vegetables and herbs printed cheerfully across the sides like a tiny garden frozen in time. My grandmother swore it made meatloaf taste better, and who were we to argue? The thing survived stovetop heat, accidental drops, and decades of family dinners.

Those dishes didn’t just hold food—they held moments. Arguments over green beans, laughter over second helpings, the quiet clink of forks after a long day. CorningWare was part of the rhythm of home, quietly dependable and surprisingly beautiful. Even now, seeing that familiar blue flower makes it feel like dinner’s almost ready.