After my parent’s divorce in 2008, my mother moved away and my dad had to learn how to cook. We had a lot of mac n’ cheese, fast food, and frozen meals those first few months (not a real issue for two nine-year-olds). But when the holidays came around for our first Thanksgiving and Christmas’ with a divided family, my dad threw himself into baking a cooking.
Our family has always been a bit disjointed and separate. Not ambivalent towards each other, but not big on ‘family time’ or special customs for the holidays. My dad was disappointed with our lack of unity, and put himself to work creating a more cohesive, seasonal experience via his holiday menu (presumably because we’re a house of foodies).
He learned how to make a peppered pork loin with seared baby broccoli. Creamed, mashed potatoes and medium-rare ribeye seasoned to perfection with a side of fried brussels sprouts, dates, and caramelized bacon. Yet nothing could beat his simpler dishes that became staples for our home and will remain that way for decades to come.
Jalapeno cornbread with honey-butter steals the show every year and is the first to run out before dinner even starts. Followed closely by the Red Lobster buttermilk, cheddar biscuits that may make it to the dinner plate, but never to the left-over containers.
Finally, my abuela usually gets a hankering to make hundreds of tamales about 3:00 am some random morning her sister arrives in town from Texas. Late November, I have memories of waking in the dead of night to laughter and the smell of boiling chicken. I have snuck down the hallway to peer into the dining room countless nights. I’ll watch them deftly paint the corn husks with masa and continue swapping stories to catch up on chisme.
My great aunt is a comic of sorts and has my grandma near tears with laughter through the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes I watch them without them noticing in my sleepy daze. Other times I go back to sleep in only a few seconds. I never join. It is their sacred time together; talking like they’re sixteen again.
This year, my dad passed away and we are left shattered in so many ways.
This year, I won’t get to watch my dad feverishly making his biscuits and stressing about the steak he’s cooking. I won’t get to see him annoyed at everyone in his way and being generally ornery until he’s seated and enjoying his meal. I won’t get to see him excited about the smell of the freshly cut green onions or stealing the crispy end pieces of his painstakingly baked flank steaks.
We will continue to talk about him and feel the sense of tradition and community he brought to a broken family through his lovingly provided fare. He will always be around us in every dish, memory, and whiff of cornbread.
Bailey Blog 
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