Thanksgiving. My sister and I invited eighteen people to gather for an unforgettable meal. We spent hours shopping, cutting, preparing, stewing, boiling, baking. Every special food had been prepared for this four-course Swedish Thanksgiving feast. We took more time in the kitchen than planned. People wandered in and out, encouraging us, for we had prepared no appetizers. By the time we sat down to table, our guests had that lean and hungry look, almost dangerous.
My sister and I sat at the head of the table, together on this special day. She brought in the first round of salads, all well received, even Sill Salad, a beet concoction my grandmother used to make. I brought in the first platter of lutefisk and politely passed it around. I watched as the platter made its way around the table. No takers. Mutters arose as that platter returned to us untouched. "No turkey?" someone queried. My sister and I dug in; this was a feast: Light, succulent lutefisk made with traditional white gravy. Our guests ate broccoli and corn. They were grateful for pie.
NOTE: I'm joining the Scintilla Project (daily writing prompts for two weeks) while
on the road. Read what others have written at www.scintillaproject.com or
jump on Twitter at #scintilla13 and write on!