Holiday tables are edible scrapbooks of foods that evoke wonderful memories. Even though we are not always together at Thanksgiving, my siblings and I can be transported to another place in time with a forkful of Mom's Waldorf salad, tender sweet potatoes mounded with browned marshmallows and every bite of our dad's favorite stuffing or the tang of canned cranberry sauce.
Earlier this year, our father died from complications related to Alzheimer's disease. I have written about Dad's favorite stuffing in this space many times. But I've never confessed to his cranberry preference: jellied, straight from the can and sliced into 1/4-inch wobbly rounds.
This year preparing the stuffing will be bittersweet and just as rich and wonderful as ever.
On my kitchen counter are six versions of the stuffing recipe, each handwritten in his precision, all-cap style and marked with stains to vouch for their culinary fortitude. The recipes vary slightly — a 1/2 teaspoon less of sage on one, 1/2 cup more of chopped celery on another. Despite these differences, each recipe can produce an onion-speckled side dish that has become a McPherson Thanksgiving tradition.
Through the years I have edited hundreds of dressing recipes and devised several original mixtures that were downright amazing. But you won't find any of them on the dining-room table at my house on Thursday. My father's dressing, a simple bread-cube mixture inspired by a recipe in my mother's well-worn "Better Homes & Gardens" cookbook, is the only dressing I serve.
My family is very particular about this dressing. So particular that the first year my husband, Spencer, and I hosted Thanksgiving dinner, my dad brought a large dish filled with stuffing: ''Just in case, you didn't get the recipe right,"' he said with a sweet smile.
"Dad, I am the food editor. I can read a recipe," I said, shooting one of those skillfully concocted I-am-not-a-child-anymore looks that daughters do oh so well. (For the record, I did get the recipe right and was thrilled that we would have extra leftovers with his contribution.)
For many years I tried to convert Dad to alternative cranberry sauces including my favorite laced with rum, orange zest and a smidgen of chopped jalapeno. This year I am opening a can of jellied cranberry and letting it wobble onto a small platter.
Thursday's dinner is a feast of tradition. For foodies like me, it's more than getting turkey to the correct temperature; the tastes and textures of the foods must be just right.
Every bite of green bean casserole, every whiff of a freshly baked pumpkin pie and every drip of turkey gravy can make a memory come alive. We stuff ourselves not to be gluttons but because every fourth Thursday in November a table strewn with familiar comfort foods allows us to renew, recall and relax.
Renewal often comes with new young faces at the table. It's a reminder that life goes on despite our darkest times.
Table conversations at Thanksgiving are scripts from personal history books. We relish recalling the good times. And the bad times don't seem so bad when recollected between swallows of a nutmeg-scented squash soup.
Relaxation comes with the joy of sleeping past 5 a.m. on a weekday. It's felt in the jovial spirit of the day as neighbors drop in to wish everyone well. And, we relax in that deep tryptophan-induced nap in front of the television later in the day.
Holiday menus are not immune from tweaking over the years. But be careful what foodstuff you decide to mess with. Someone could be coming to the table seeking solace in a spoonful of dressing.
(For all of the recipes mentioned in today's column check out OrlandoSentinel.com/thedish.)
Happy Thanksgiving.
Heather McPherson can be reached at 407-420-5498, Twitter@OS_thedish and hmcpherson@tribune.com. Follow daily food news at OrlandoSentinel.com/thedish.
Get the dish
Check out the Morning Mix with Scott McKenzie recipe of the week, Roasted Sweet Potatoes with Cinnamon Pecan Crunch, at OrlandoSentinel.com/thedish and Mix1051.com
