September 11th. The annual weight. Ryan at the ceremony. The flag. The bugle. Caleb quiet, Hazel asleep in the carrier.
But this year, September 11th has a new layer. I'm writing a book about women who cook through crises, and September 11th was the crisis that sent Dad to war and Mom to the kitchen and all of us to the life we've lived for twenty years.
I didn't write a blog post this year. I wrote a chapter.
The chapter is done. Sent to Sarah on Thursday. 8,000 words. The story of Gloria, who is also Mom, who is also me, who is also every woman who ever cooked through a deployment. The recipes embedded in the narrative like bones in a body — structural, essential, invisible to anyone who isn't looking.
Sarah read it and called Friday. 'Rachel. This is extraordinary. This is better than the first book.'
'Better?'
'Deeper. Wider. More. The first book was your story. This chapter is everyone's story.'
She's sending it to the publisher Monday. The decision will take weeks. I'm supposed to 'continue normally' while waiting, which is like being told to 'stay calm' during a hurricane. I'm not calm. I'm writing and nursing and cooking and pretending to be calm.
Dad called on September 11th. The annual call.
'How are you, Dad?'
'I'm in the garden.'
Always the garden. On 9/11, on Memorial Day, on the hard days and the easy days. The garden is where Kevin Abernathy goes to be human.
'I used your deployment story in the sample chapter,' I told him.
'My deployment?'
'Mom's version. The night of the IED. The casserole.'
Silence. The long Abernathy silence.
'That was a hard night,' he said quietly.
'For Mom too.'
'For everyone. But she made dinner. She always made dinner.'
She always made dinner. The sentence that IS the book. The sentence that IS the life.
Made Mom's chicken soup tonight. The September 11th soup. The healing soup. Every year, the same soup. Every year, the same weight. Every year, the same kitchen, holding it.
The chapter is sent. The publisher is reading. And Dad is in the garden.
We remember. We cook. We send chapters to New York.
All of it at once. All of it always.
The chicken soup was the main event — it always is on September 11th — but beside every pot of soup Mom ever made sat a jar of Copper Pennies in the fridge, cold and sweet and waiting. It’s the dish she made on autopilot, the one that required no thought because her hands already knew. Dad in the garden, me at the keyboard, and Mom’s Copper Pennies still in the rotation twenty years later, because she always made dinner, and dinner always had sides.
Copper Pennies
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 10 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes + overnight marinating | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 2 pounds carrots, peeled and sliced into 1/4-inch rounds
- 1 medium green bell pepper, diced
- 1 medium sweet onion, thinly sliced into rings
- 1 can (10.75 oz) condensed tomato soup
- 1/2 cup vegetable oil
- 3/4 cup granulated sugar
- 3/4 cup apple cider vinegar
- 1 teaspoon prepared yellow mustard
- 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
Instructions
- Cook the carrots. Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Add the carrot rounds and cook until just tender-crisp, about 8–10 minutes. Drain and let cool slightly.
- Layer the vegetables. In a large bowl or container with a lid, layer the cooked carrots, diced green pepper, and onion rings.
- Make the marinade. In a medium saucepan, whisk together the tomato soup, vegetable oil, sugar, apple cider vinegar, mustard, Worcestershire sauce, salt, and pepper. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat, stirring until the sugar dissolves. Remove from heat.
- Combine and marinate. Pour the warm marinade over the layered vegetables and toss gently to coat. Cover and refrigerate for at least 8 hours or overnight.
- Serve. Stir gently before serving cold or at room temperature. Copper Pennies keep beautifully in the refrigerator for up to one week.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 265 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 36g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 380mg
About the cook who shared this
Rachel Abernathy
Week 336 of Rachel’s 30-year story
· San Diego, California
Rachel is a twenty-eight-year-old Marine wife and mom of two who has moved five times in six years and learned to cook a Thanksgiving dinner with half her cookware still in boxes. She married young, survived postpartum depression, and feeds her family of four on a junior Marine's salary with a freezer full of pre-made meals and a crockpot that has never let her down. She writes for the military spouses who are cooking dinner alone in base housing and wondering if they're enough. You are.
