Oil, Always Oil

The vibrant body of my

grandmother’s homemade sauce

lives in memory, I think

of her kitchen around New

Year’s Eve.

She made bacalao, white

and red she called them,

the white having onions,

tomatoes, spices, and olive

oil, the red dressed in

her tomato sauce made from

scratch. I see her by the

stove, holding a well-used

wooden spoon, stirring,

stirring, stirring.

We’d eat olives; peppers

stuffed with delicate

prosciutto and provolone

cheese, all dripping with oil;

mushrooms marinated in

olive oil and white vinegar,

their tangy, slightly

sweet taste melted in

your mouth. Shrimp trays

with cocktail sauce; meat

and cheese trays with

assorted mustards and horse

radish; king crab legs,

the sounds of them cracking

between the crab crackers.

New Year’s Eve, a late-

night romance of nostalgia,

ripe and pungent aromas,

delicatessen's novelties

and boisterous conversation.

Our traditions shaped my

childhood.

By Melissa Lemay

From: United States

Website: https://melissalemay.wordpress.com