The Memory Salad Bowl: How One Dish Rekindles Family, Food, and Connection

Back in fall, I developed and photographed an autumn salad as a way for South Floridians to enjoy fall flavors without roasting squash or baking pumpkin bread. Because, let’s be real, fall in South Florida is a myth. That night, as I served it, my son’s girlfriend admired my wooden salad bowl, calling it “gorgeous.”

The bowl was a gift from my mother-in-law. And although she has many amazing qualities, cooking is not her strong suit.

I remember a Thanksgiving years ago when she made homemade cranberry sauce and asked for my opinion. She knew something was off. It tasted as if she had mashed up aspirin with red food coloring – it was dreadful. She had used a cup of Splenda and just three cups of cranberries. Needless to say, I relieved her of the cranberry sauce duties.

I love to cook and she was always highly complimentary of everything I prepared for family gatherings. But the one food she truly adored was a salad of any sort. I make a slaw with angel hair cabbage, loads of fresh cilantro, red peppers, scallions and jalapeños tossed in a honey-lime vinaigrette that was one of her all-time favorites. I used to prepare extra to send her home with a care package, knowing she would enjoy it for a few more days.

I have no idea where she found this bowl, but it’s pretty perfect. Over the years, thanks to all the olive oil it’s seen, the bowl has taken on an even more luscious and deepened hue.

Now my mother-in-law suffers from Alzheimer’s and last year she moved to a skilled nursing facility. It’s in the same retirement village where she and my father-in-law moved shortly before that, so he can visit her every day. Most days, she doesn’t know who he is. She supposes he’s just the nice man who visits.

I remember when my own mother suffered from dementia. Although she always knew who I was, her conversational skills had diminished, and it could be difficult to conjure up topics that she could enjoy and understand. I know how frustrating and heartbreaking those quiet moments can feel when the connection you once had with someone you love seems just out of reach.

So, when I photographed that autumn-inspired salad to publish, I thought of her. I texted the photo to my father-in-law so he could share it with his wife. I doubt she’ll remember the gorgeous wooden salad bowl she gave me, but at least glancing at the photo might give them something simple and pleasant to admire. Even the smallest connections can mean so much.

I know she gave me the bowl as a token of appreciation for the salads I prepared, but I believe there was more to it. The bowl, particularly large and well-suited for family gatherings, was her way of encouraging me to keep creating, to keep bringing our family together around my table. It was her quiet way of supporting my love for cooking and ensuring the tradition of sharing family meals would continue. It’s funny how an object so ordinary – a wooden bowl – can hold so much meaning and so many memories. Yet, all this talk of salads has me seriously craving a big ol’ cheeseburger. Go figure.

Susan Rosser is the Executive Editor of South Florida Family Life; she shares a variety of her family recipes, all with one key instruction – that they are made with love.