We asked some of our favorite scribes to riff on the part of their down-home Thanksgiving they simply couldn’t do without. Here’s what they said. (Stay tuned for more…)

Photo by Art Meripol

I’ve spent Thanksgiving in Mobile, Alabama, with my husband’s family ever since we married 14 years ago, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I love the rhythms of that big family, love looking the other way as the cousins sneak a finger-swipe of Jimmy Wayne’s mama’s coconut cake while I help my mother-in-law with the dressing. But after the food has been devoured and we’re all waiting for the swelling to go down, I usually feel a twinge of nostalgia for the Thanksgiving I had growing up.

And that’s when the phone rings. I steal a few moments to reminisce with Mom, followed by good-natured grumbling about missing her sweet potato casserole. My husband’s family tops theirs with marshmallows, and though it’s delicious, it’s not the pecan crumble I grew up with.

So every year I tell Mom I miss her casserole, and every year she tells me she misses me eating it—the memory of that shared taste connecting us through the miles is truly the most delicious thing.

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