Autumn at the Chateau...Thanksgiving, and a memory comes gusting into the kitchen...

Dear Friend,

The leaves scud across the lawn, the wind flicking them into the air like gold and scarlet streamers. They plummet onto the slates of the roof and against window panes in a delicate staccato.

Out in the garden, the last flowers have twisted and begun to blacken. The last pepper plant has withered. Empty seedpods hang like upside-down horns from a stand of tall okra that we planted for the first time this year; a curiosity of l’Amérique. Dill and fennel seeds have dried into silvery umbels on hollow stalks. And the pea frame, once covered in curling green tendrils and delicate white flowers, shows itself to be nothing more than a pyramid of dry bamboo lashed together with string.

Autumn light, bright and golden with the memory of summer, will soon give way to the pale, frosty rays of a winter’s day.

But we have hardly given a moment’s thought to this profound transformation in the natural world. For the last few days, we have been splitting firewood, peeling chestnuts, and cracking open walnuts. For Thanksgiving was yesterday. Young Clara learned how what side the spoon goes on as she set the table, and why we put the salad fork on the inside of the dinner fork. Her older brother made the fires and kept the logs well stocked beside the mantel. They both helped to make the feast.

“Here comes the dismal part?” quoted Clara. At 10, she is a keen observer and critic of non-conforming prose as well as of clothing, nail polish, and behavior. “That’s a strange recipe!”

She was reading aloud my mother’s directions for making creamed onions. Years ago, my mother had written it down for my sister and me. Now, for an instant, her energy and presence swept through the room like the gusts outside at play in the waning autumn light.

“Peeling the onions is the hard part,” I explained. “But see what she says next.”

“Get someone to help and listen to a jazzy tune to speed you along. They do not have to be perfect, good enough is just fine,” read Clara. “Does “they” refer to the onions, the tune, or the helper?”

With that question in mind – for of course, she must have meant all three – we wish you and yours a Bonne Fête de Thanksgiving in these lovely days of lingering autumn!

And below, my mother's creamed onion recipe in her own words, as a special thanks to you, dear Reader and Ami de Courtomer.

We look forward to hearing from you!

P.S. I would like to share My Mother's Creamed Onions, please click here.

P.P.S. Heather and Beatrice (info@chateaudecourtomer.com) will be happy to speak to you about your own family vacation or special gathering at the Chateau. They can help arrange and recommend expeditions as well. Please feel free to call or write.