The Holidays as Told Through Three Spinach Recipes

The particular wistfulness of spinach

Photo by Jordan Arnold on Unsplash

I have a long history with spinach.

First there was my Aunt Kathy’s Creamed Spinach, rich with bacon and fat and cream. It was probably one of the richest things I ate as a child. When I think about it, it reminds me of childhood holidays in Parma, Ohio at my paternal grandparent’s house.

They lived in a small, post WWII bungalow with a long driveway running beside it. My father would pull the station wagon up next to the house, then we would tumble out of the car, and enter the house by the side door, right off the driveway.

My aunt and grandmother would be in the kitchen preparing the holiday meal, shuffling around in terry cloth slippers, aprons tied around their waists, dishtowels thrown over their shoulders. The small kitchen was warm, a sharp contrast from the cold, often snowy weather outside and we would begin sweating in our winter coats immediately. The small window over the sink would be steamy, blurring the view.

We would be greeted by the smell of roasted turkey and our aunt, who would grab each of us, kissing us on the cheeks, leaving lipstick marks on our faces. Our boy cousins would race by, chasing one another and often end up on the kitchen floor, wrestling, until their mother shooed them out of the room.

When I was twelve, we moved across the country to California and our holidays with my grandparents, aunt, uncle and cousins came to an end. My mother’s version of creamed spinach was different than my aunt’s. She mixed a package spinach with sour cream and Lipton’s Onion Soup mix, then would spoon it into a small Corning Cornflower Casserole dish and bake it. It was a regular dish on our holiday table, which looked different, with friends, not family, gathered around, and some of the childhood magic (and my aunt’s lipstick kisses) lost.

In my thirties, I took over the job of hosting Thanksgiving. I used Ina Garten’s Spinach Gratin recipe for my holiday meals.

I would assemble it the night before, squeezing the liquid out of three pounds of defrosted spinach until my hands felt numb while I thought about the snowy holidays of my past. I would make a roux , add onions, and whipping cream, small nods to the cream of my aunt’s spinach and the onion soup mix of my mother’s.

On Thanksgiving Day, my nieces and nephew were the ones to come through the door to find me, apron on, cooking in a kitchen with a steamy window over the sink. There was no snow, but my sisters were there. Now we were the aunts, and we would all be waiting, lipstick freshly applied, ready to brand their baby soft cheeks with our love, marking them as family.  

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At the Check-Out Desk

Happy Thanksgiving! I know I’ve been a bit nostalgic the past few posts but the innocence of my past is a warm and comfortable place to be right now and so I am indulging myself. I appreciate reading your comments and knowing I’m not alone in that feeling.

I am bound and determined to make my Thanksgiving table a respite to those who will sit around it this year. My daughter will be home from college soon and I will celebrate my 55th birthday.

I am trying to wrap my head around that number-55! It seems momentous. Perhaps because I can get “senior discounts” in a few places and in some marketing metrics, I’ve moved up to a new demographic group. Or maybe it’s because I am having cataract surgery in January? Whatever it is, I plan to overcome my discomfort by eating plenty of birthday cake and being surrounded by loved ones. Because, as many say, growing old is better than the alternative.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for being subscriber of The Cozy Library. I hope you have a cozy holiday

One of my previous Thanksgiving table settings. I love setting a table almost as much as I love cooking.