Sunday, 8 October 2017
The Things You Remember
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving Day in Canada. Thanksgiving in our family (and for a good many families) means turkey. Every year as I prepare the stuffing I think of my Mom. I can see her sitting at the kitchen table with her cup of tea close to hand and a loaf of French bread in front of her. The bread is stale and the huge loaf cut in half. Mom is patiently 'pulling' the bread into teeny tiny pieces and dropping them into a bowl. All the pieces must be small and pretty much identical. Must be!!!!! I am conscripted to help but my pieces are never quite right. Years later I sit at a kitchen table with my own loaf of French bread, suitably stale, cut in half and waiting for me to 'pull'. I did this for several years until one day, I had an epiphany. The dressing comes out all stuck together. You can't see how big or small the pieces are. From that moment on I sliced the bread, resliced it into fingers, cubed and dumped the cubes in the bowl. Fifteen minutes start to finish. No one can tell the difference. It sure took me a long time to figure that one out.