Holiday Food Memory—by Ysabelle

Kitchen Lockdown

When I was younger, my mother would cook all parts of the holiday meals. One particular time I remember my mother was preparing a meal for Thanksgiving for our family and two of her friends. This was about 6 years ago and she was cooking in Maryland which had a bigger kitchen as opposed to the small room we had before in our apartment in New York City. As always, I was helping her out with simple things. This one particular night she had wanted to try an acorn squash soup recipe. My mother had set these on the counter and I remember that it was something I had never really noticed before. It was a short squash that was a deep green with some lighter lines running down the skin of it. My mother took a knife and gracefully swept the blade downwards and cut the squash in half. It then revealed a bright yellow orange inside which appeared in the shape of a flower. We cleaned the squash out saving some of the seeds to possibly plant or toast. Then, she quartered it and set them in a pot to boil. When it was ready the dark forest green skin slid off to reveal the lively yellow orange color. There was something new and revealing about discovering a new ingredient. There was a feeling of change and togetherness all at once. My mother and I worked the ingredients ourselves without and machinery. There was something more personal about feeling the ingredients with one’s own hands. We pressed the squash through a strainer revealing a fine puree. It was such a shift from the once crisp vegetable. The room smelled of aromatics waiting for the next ingredients. We added the puree to the pot and then it became a work of patience. A constant flurry of adding and tasting; waiting to taste the harmonious combination that we had long labored for. Finally, the soup came together and it was time to serve it. Each bowl of soup was carefully ladled and gently garnished with a semi circle of sour cream and a sprinkling of meat on top for texture. Finally, we were able to relax and enjoy with those that we cared about. Every now and again we recall that moment we were able to just enjoy that one perfect soup. Up until now we can’t quite recreate that specific taste. Somehow, I don’t think we will ever come back to that one taste because in that one spoonful was the excitement of a new recipe, a labor of love, and the comfort of loved ones.