Recipe |
The year your mother died
I was in college, living off-campus for the first time. As Rosh Hashanah approached I called you for recipes. I didn't know how to cook, but I roasted cornish hens and honeyed carrot coins and assembled my housemates around a table covered with a bedsheet because I didn't own a white tablecloth. As this first Thanksgiving without you draws near, I'm emailing my sister and scouring the internet for a recipe that looks like the mango mousse you always made. It's a relic of the 1950s when your marriage was new. I don't think I've ever bought Jell-O or canned mango before, and I don't own a fluted ring mold but when my spoon slices through creamy sun-gold yellow it will taste for an instant like you were in my kitchen, like you're at my table, like you're still here. |
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