Kitchen ghosts...

 We look forward to this day all year, my daughter and I. It's a day spent almost entirely in the kitchen, as we create the feast for Thanksgiving. We make a celebration of it, with mimosa's to sip on and good music playing in the background.  Thanks to Chris the larder is always so well stocked that we never lack a thing that we need, and this enhances our pleasure. 

We find that we are not alone in efforts. There are ghosts in the kitchen. I feel them when I roll out pie crust from the recipe my sweet friend Betty gave me 25 years ago, and when I bake bread using a starter I've had almost 30 years, a gift from my friend Nickie. 

They are there when I bake Pecan Pie, my mothers recipe, and one of the first desserts she ever entrusted me to bake when I was a kid. I forgot to add the melted butter until the pies were in the oven. I didn't want to admit to my error, so pulled them out and stirred it in quick. No one was the wiser. Perhaps she was peering over my shoulder today when I did remember to include all the ingredients before I began baking. 

Rachel brought new ghosts to the kitchen when she married. Today she made recipes from her husbands mother and grandmother, bringing some flavor from his family to share with ours. 

We have treasured recipe cards written in many different hands. Recipes we have unfailingly trotted out each year, savoring the tradition of inherited flavors. 

When I put my brother in law Nevada's dressing together, I can hear his voice, right down to the southern accent, saying, "Chop up an onion, and an whole lot of celery..." I never know just how much is an whole lot, so I keep chopping until I think he would be satisfied. 

There are ghosts in the kitchen, past generations crowding in as we, with deep gratitude, keep their memories alive in the most enjoyable that way we know how.