It’s amazing how much history can be in one pot.
Every time I make matzo ball soup, I feel like my mom is in the room, whispering in my ear…
“add a dash more of this and a pinch more of that.”
My grandma is also in the kitchen with me, guiding me. Growing up, I used to sit at her kitchen table, watching her cook. She would place her tiny wedding ring on the sill above the sink so as not to get it dirty and whiz around the kitchen, glass of (cheap) wine in hand.
This year, I got married and I now wear her wedding band, something I never imagined all those years ago. As I began cooking matzo ball soup last weekend,
I took my rings off and placed them on the windowsill for safe-keeping.
It was only afterwards that I realized that the tide had officially turned and we had come full circle.
And what a beautiful circle it is…