A Bite of Home

The flavors settle in the second day, making leftovers more delicious.

My daughter asks for some and I delight as she devours.

We talk as she eats – and I finish what my son has rejected.

I tell her how ambrosia salad is more than pudding, pineapple, and marshmallows to me.

When Thanksgiving arrives, it’s the only dish I must have.

Ambrosia salad is home to me, a piece of my mother when she is not here,

a dish lovingly handed down from my grandmother.

With each bite, I’m a kid, reveling in the chaos of holidays, family, and too much food.

My husband won’t really eat it, but I reflexively make an enormous bowl each year.

Our guests, enjoying their first American Thanksgiving meal yesterday, eyed it as an oddity.

After a bit of convincing, Ezra tasted it, then quickly moved on to something new.

I’m fairly certain only Ella and I partook.

I’ll admit that pudding, cool whip, marshmallows, and fruit don’t exactly scream salad.

But I’ll savor this dish for days, piling it up on a plate alongside leftover turkey, mayo, and roll sandwiches.

Late nights will find me sneaking to the fridge, indulging myself with a quick bite from the bowl.

I often forgo the spoon and simply dip in my finger, kidding myself that I’ll have just a taste.

Family Thanksgivings became a thing of the past for me early into my teens

as my sisters grew up and moved. After Dad passed away.

I’ve been generously invited to homes of friends, neighbors, and family over the years.

No matter the destination, I always arrive clutching a generous bowl of Mom’s Ambrosia Salad.

When Ella asked if we were making the fruit salad this year, I was thrilled.

She helped me add ingredients, mixing them in one by one, just as I did with my mom.

As we enjoyed a bowl this morning together, hoping for bites of maraschino cherries,

I couldn’t help imagining Ella one day mixing Ambrosia salad with her daughter, thinking of me.

(Go here for our family recipe.)