MOONINSPAIN

Waves of grief slam against the soul when least expected. One is just swimming along in their favorite body of water, inhaling and exhaling in rhythm with their strokes, when a rolling surge of water pulls you into its grasp. Navigating its cadence is impossible and you are left disoriented, with only one possibility of swimming parallel to the shore for its duration. 

Thanksgiving brought one of these waves into my recently calm body of water. 

When my mother passed away in April, a friend who had recently lost her mother said something to me that stuck to my soul like an octopus. “There are moments when I actually have trouble breathing”, she said to me. In those few words she perfectly summed up what became my new reality. 

The shoreline of my favorite sea is astonishing, with views of the Sierra Nevada mountains as a backdrop. Staring up at blue skies my body, on an ordinary day floats buoyantly, held in the arms of its salty brew. Succumbing to the force of grief, I have sunk below its surface a few times in the days since Thanksgiving, and am now ready to come up for air. 

Along with this sadness, I was bombarded with memories of Thanksgivings past, filled with family and friends a plenty. The scents from my mother’s kitchen filled my home year after year when I prepared all the necessary fixings for my own friends and family here in Granada. My love language is food, and sharing my heart through nourishment is my real life “Como Agua Para Chocolate”1 story. 

All of the homes where I have lived in Granada vibrated during Thanksgiving week with some substantial gatherings and the smell of roast turkey, stuffing and pie. Quite a few years all of these dishes were prepared in a toaster oven. “Era lo que habia”. 2

Friends spilled out onto patios, terraces and front porches due to overbooking, but all were welcome to share in a wine stained celebration of grace. 

Please don’t tell this to any living grandmothers. But, one year a makeshift toboggan constructed with a mattress and flight of stairs allowed for hours of entertainment for the wee ones. This is a day that has gone down in history for that group of friends. 

This year, along with a minor health hiccup, my heart was not up for a party. My daughter is away at University, and in Spain Thanksgiving is just another Thursday. The first major holiday with a physical absence of both my mother and father from this earth somehow pulled me down like one of those rusty anchors in a port. 

A long walk is my favorite way to shake off the blues. It is difficult to remain miserable while walking under the Andalusian sun. So, carrying my melancholic backpack with me, my partner and I wandered the hills of my cherished old neighborhood, Sacromonte. With each tread on the cobblestone hills I began to unload the heavy rocks that filled my backpack. Footstep by footstep that load of grief became lighter. 

With a brighter flame in my heart, we slowly made it back to our apartment with a short stop at the grocery store. Maybe it was my devious partner’s plan all along since deep down he did not want to miss out on his favorite US tradition. 

I am still quite proud of the meal I prepared just for the two of us. The bird was roast with hot peppers and leaks, seasoned with ghee and fresh sage which I foraged from the plants near my old house. 

Stuffing was prepared with our local bread called, “salaílla”, which is crispy bread prepared with olive oil and salt. We eat salaíllas year round but especially on May 3rd, El Dia de la Cruz, when we enjoy it with fresh fava beans and on February 6th, the day of Saint Cecilio, the patron saint of Granada. It was the first time I made stuffing with this lovely bread, and it was a fantastic decision. 

Mashed potatoes and kale rounded out our meal. My heart wasn’t up for making pumpkin and pecan pie like I usually prepare so I will save this for when my daughter is home for the winter holidays. 

I am truly grateful for those of you who have taken the time to read this article. I write about food quite often because I truly believe that it is a catalyst to culture and personal relationships in this world. Through the preparation and enjoyment of meals we are continually connected to our own history and able to learn about others. 

Shared meals, along with the flavors and aromas, are one of the strongest bonds that we have with loved ones. Our senses of smell and gustation hold on to memories, both positive and negative, that can take us back in an instant to past moments in our lives.