One of my earliest Thanksgiving memories isn’t just about turkey or pumpkin pie, it’s about translation through food. I grew up in a mixed family: some of my cousins came from European roots, others from Chinese heritage, and all of us were born in America. Every Thanksgiving dinner felt like a delicious cultural exchange.
One side of the family brought the traditional American turkey with mashed potatoes and gravy, another brought delicate French-style crepes filled with Nutella and fruit, and my Chinese cousins brought mapo tofu, a spicy Sichuan dish that filled the room with warmth (and a little bit of chili-induced coughing).
At first, it didn’t seem unusual to me. It was just “Thanksgiving.” But looking back, I realize how special it was that one table could hold so many stories, traditions, and histories. It wasn’t just a meal, it was a ritual of sharing.
Starting Narratives 
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