One of my favorite parts of the year is cooking Thanksgiving for my family.
I spend the weeks before the big day cutting out new recipes to try and making turkey-themed place cards. But each year in the middle of peeling potatoes, checking on the turkey and making my famous tapioca pudding, I always make time to call my stepdad in Florida
Without him teaching me how to cook and more importantly, showing me that cooking a meal is gift of love, I am pretty sure that my family would be dining each night on grilled cheese sandwiches.
Our Thanksgiving Day phone call tradition began 15 years ago with me in a panic, convinced that I was either going to burn the bird or give my guests food poisoning.
Even though I am now a confident Thanksgiving chef, the day does not feel complete without a few minutes talking with my stepdad about the new recipes we are trying that year and any new twists we made to the traditional ones.
But these days, I am not alone in the kitchen. My 11-year-old, Laurel, helps make the green bean casserole and chops the bread for the stuffing. Each year I make a silent wish that I am passing my love of cooking down to my daughter, just like my stepdad did for me.
And I can only hope that many years from now, she will call me each year to share about the feast she is preparing for her own family.