Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays. It has all the best parts of a holiday—family, good food, cozy togetherness—without the stressful parts like gifts or costumes or bouncehouses. Thanksgiving is, I know, stressful for many moms because of all the cooking. Lucky for me, I don’t cook much. Actually hardly at all. When I do contribute food to a holiday, I usually bake.
For me baking is pleasurable not only because it results in my favorite foods, but because it represents to me happy family time. My mom baked a lot when I was growing up, usually with me at her side. So although I have no idea how to cook a turkey, I do know how to whip up a cake or cookies.
This Thanksgiving my contribution was pumpkin cheesecake. I had my recipe all picked out from Real Simple magazine. But my husband, the head chef, nixed it for fear it was too simple. Instead he turned to the Internet, one of his favorite cookbooks, and chose what he thought was a more gourmet recipe. I was game; like I said, I KNOW how to bake.
I enlisted the help of my kids, since I am determined to continue the baking tradition started by my mom. As my son merrily crushed gingersnaps and mushed them together with butter using his hands, I encountered my first problem. The springform pan I was using was about an inch and a half wider than what the recipe called for. No problem, we crushed and mushed some additional ingredients. Along the way, we encountered a few other bumps. In an attempt to increase the recipe to fit the pan, I ended up falling short of cream cheese. Another trip to the store. After separating the eggs I accidentally threw away the yolks without realizing they were called for in the recipe as well as the whites. More eggs to separate. When I got to the mixing stage where the batter was supposed to be light and fluffy, it remained thick and liquidy. I reviewed the recipe again and again and confirmed I hadn’t missed anything. With each disappointment I felt myself getting more and more frustrated.
Fast forward to the cheesecake course of the meal. I didn’t hold out much hope for success, and my expectations were met. The cheesecake was a soft, mushy mess, not even close to the consistency it should have been. Everyone politely had a bite then wolfed down my mother-in-law’s famous flan—myself included.
My frustration grew, a feeling I couldn’t shake even an hour later after guests had left and I was washing dishes. “What a waste of time!” I thought. But as I wallowed in my self-deprecation a new thought occurred to me. Days later, no one will even remember what they ate at my house for Thanksgiving dessert. But years later, my children will remember Thanksgiving day in the kitchen with their mom, the smell of turkey roasting, Christmas carols playing in the background, working side-by-side to create something delicious—even if that something delicious is simply a happy family memory.
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