As I have noted many times here in my editor’s letter over the last 12-plus years, fall is my favorite season. Friends and family returning home after far-flung summer travels; a bit of crispness in the air; bright, sunny days and the busyness and excitement of “back to school” activities. This year, back to school has taken on a new meaning at my house, with my one and only son headed to college.
My “love language,” passed down through generations of mothers on both sides of my family, is preparing the favorite dishes of those I love. This summer, for my brother I made “Zebra Pie,” a favorite of our father’s that our maternal grandmother never failed to have waiting in the refrigerator when we arrived for childhood visits. In return, my brother expertly smoked a Boston butt for pulled-pork BBQ with Alabama white sauce, transporting us back to family reunions on the banks of the Tennessee River. We also hand-churned our paternal grandmother’s signature peach ice cream, made with sweetened condensed milk, and we laughed about the time I had lied to him, telling him it was peach butter (not ice cream) so he wouldn’t want any. We were also imprinting these special food memories, and our family history, on our own children.
Our grandmother’s “Chicken Divan” casserole (yes, it includes lots of mayonnaise and cream-of-chicken soup) has long been my son’s most requested home-cooked meal, and it graced our table many times in his final weeks at home this summer. I expect it will be his first dinner back home at Thanksgiving. My aunt recalls that it was also her younger son’s always-requested first meal back home when he was in college, and ever since. Simple food, yet incredibly rich with the feeling of being “home” amongst loved ones—wherever you are.
I was also fortunate to be able to travel to Budapest this summer. Enjoying an extraordinary meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant just named the best in Hungary, my son questioned the practice of culinary-school-trained chefs “elevating” the traditional dishes of a culinary tradition. Gulyas, or “goulash,” for instance. Deconstructed herdsmen’s stew? Don’t mess with perfection, honed at generations of grandmothers’ hearths, thank you very much. I heard him loud and clear.
If you and your family have your own food traditions—and if you are reading this, I suspect you do—Kirsten Neff‘s personal memoir, “Kneading Through the Pandemic”, is a must-read in this issue. Savor it, then stock up on baking supplies at Keith Giusto Bakery Supply, a family-run business and one of our longtime advertising partners. 
Kirsten’s description of her newfound zen practice of bread baking may just get me over my own fear of the consciousness and exactness required in baking (as opposed to “cooking”). Especially because I know a loaf of home-baked bread will ship to a college post box a lot more easily than a chicken casserole, and will say “you are loved” just as loudly.
