The Seasoning of Ancestry

Archive

Printed: **Studded Roast Pork.** Insert whole cloves in a symmetrical grid across the shoulder. Roast at 325 degrees until the internal temperature reaches 145 degrees. (Handwritten, ink is dark and precise): Note to successor. The cloves must be harvested during the first freeze of the year. To isolate the specific memory of grief, apply pressure to the stem until the oil darkens. If the flavor is too sweet, the harvester was merely nostalgic; true grief tastes of copper and cold rain. Ensure the cloves are inserted deeply so the sorrow does not leak into the pan juices. Printed: **Autumn Squash Soup.** Simmer cubed butternut squash with vegetable stock, a pinch of ground nutmeg, and cinnamon. Blend until smooth. (Handwritten, ink is faded, letters lean heavily to the right): I tried using the cinnamon from the south coast. It is too loud. Every spoonful tastes like a goodbye at a train station. I have reduced the amount to a sliver, but the longing still lingers in the back of the throat. It makes the soup taste like saltwater. I cannot bring myself to serve this to the children. Printed: **Fresh Herb Salad.** Combine chopped parsley, mint, and scallions. Finish with a dusting of dried sumac and a squeeze of fresh lemon juice. (Handwritten, ink is smeared, script is jagged and erratic): The jar is almost empty. I can taste the heat of the hillside and the smell of scorched cedar. I know he was there. If I can just find the name. One more pinch. The acidity is burning my tongue, but I can almost hear the first letter. Just a bit more. I need to know who he was. I will use the rest of the jar. I do not care if it is inedible.