In San Miguel, the furiously twittering birds entice you out of your bedroom early in the morning. From the rooftop you observe the glory of each morning and consider the day’s promises. Time’s awastin’, mi vida, levántate, the melodious birds also seem to be telling me.

This year, we had a special visitor. An elderly aunt who took a nine hour bus ride all the way from Monterrey to be with us. Tía Leyla is our regiomontana (a native of Monterrey, Mexico) Mary Poppins. She has the profound wisdom of her years and the exuberant energy of a 20 year old. She’s a powerful storyteller, weaving tales from a remote past, she vividly brings to life the village where my father was born in Mexico. Each morning we made coffee and set the table, taking pleasure in small things, reminiscing, grateful for the opportunity to be together for what was left of our vacation.

Tía Leyla is the kind of person who makes you believe things will be alright; she calls everyone hijo or hija, even the cabdrivers. She has a wise nugget of wisdom for every occasion. She writes poetry (and recites it!). She is kind, intelligent, and a devoted Catholic. If you suspected that she is perhaps is little overzealous in her religious devotion, you would see her differently after a few days in her company. She doesn’t preach, she practices and does so quietly. You will never hear a cross word or complaint coming from her.

So, if I bring you these Lenten specialities after Easter, you will forgive me because I did ‘seize the moment’ by spending this quality time with my aunt.

Let’s start first with fava bean soup. Fava bean soup is something eaten in Mexico especially during the period of Lent and it’s something we ate often this past week. My aunt and I prepared it with fava beans we bought at the Tianguis outside of San Miguel. There is a buttery, creamy texture to this bean soup that makes it very special.  You will find it very easy to make with the dry fava beans you find at the grocery store here. You can even make it with canned fava beans, but you will get a creamier texture if you make them yourself.

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Our son was raised in a household where his Italian father and Mexican mother reigned in the kitchen with battling cuisines. The Italian cuisine won the battles more often than not, but never to anyone’s disadvantage. Frankly, during these last thirty-five years of marriage, it has become as easy for me to cook a good risotto as an arroz a la mexicana. So, often it’s me cooking Italian with a wary eye to my husband who is known to slip into the kitchen at the least expected moment in a badly timed effort to straighten up the kitchen counter, inadvertently sabotaging my cooking (ie; throwing down the disposal a pound of orange sections from which I’ve just removed the membrane and put aside.)

Needless to say, meals have been important to us. Through the years we learned to settle for Mexican breakfast: taquitos, quesadillas, atoles, frijoles, huevos a la mexicana. But the rest of the day has often been reserved for Italian family favorites. It hasn’t always been easy to ‘mix’ things, though, because one always wants to reproduce things as they were in our taste bud memories. One morning, discovering I was out of corn oil, my husband and I argued about whether I should mix olive oil with refried beans. The conversation went something like this:

Me (with fanatic conviction): I’m not cooking my pinto beans with olive oil!
My husband (testy): Why not?
Me: Not gonna do it!
Alex (attempting to mediate with the hope of getting breakfast at some point): Papá, she doesn’t like to mix her cultures.

So, Alex had gotten to the crux of the matter, as usual. He was mostly right. I’ve liked to keep my cuisines compartmentalized. But, here, to honor and remember my baby who was born in April almost 32 years ago, I’ve made a special capirotada. Capirotada is a Lenten-Passover bread pudding that has been made in Mexico in a myriad of ways. The three main ingredients that give this dish its Mexican essence are dark brown sugar (piloncillo), cinnamon and clove.  It is not a typical bread pudding with egg and milk and usually falls limp and floppy on the plate. I’ve adapted the recipe, keeping the three main ingredients but adding milk and egg to give it the elegance of the mold it is baked in.

I’ve used my husband’s homemade Italian bread which is slightly sour, but you can use any good quality artisan bread. In addition, I have added orange peel and walnuts that bring to mind the desserts of Italy. The fragrance of orange, cinnamon, and clove will fill your kitchen for hours.

Alex, your teasing, lop-sided smile is always with me in the kitchen…looking over my shoulder, prodding, taste-testing, keeping my wine glass filled, putting on my favorite salsa music to cook by. How precious, how short, how bittersweet, the times we shared…

Capirotada

Ingredients:

1 large egg
1 1/3 cup dark brown sugar
4 cups water
1 stick cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla
4 cloves
1/3 cup walnuts
1 small loaf French bread or any artisan style bread sliced and left to harden and then toasted, torn up into small chunks and placed in a bowl
3 tablespoons butter
zest of one large orange
2/3 cup whole milk or heavy cream
To garnish: crème fraiche, clotted cream, or Mexican crema if you can find it.

Preparation:
In a saucepan bring the water to boil with the sugar until it dissolves. Add the cloves and cinnamon, cooking at a boil for about 20 minutes, until it becomes syrupy. Remove from the heat, discarding the cinnamon sticks and cloves, adding the butter to melt in the hot syrup. Add the zest as an effusion of flavor into the hot syrup. Let it sit for 10 minutes.

In a bowl beat the egg and the milk or cream together. Pour slowly into the warm syrup mixture taking care not to curdle the eggs. Stir well.

Pour the syrup, egg and cream mixture into the bowl with the bread. Be sure to moisten all the bread with the poured liquid. Add walnuts. Pour this into a buttered flan dish.

Cover with foil and bake for about half an hour at 375 degrees. Remove the foil for 15 more minutes to brown the Capirotada. Set aside for 10 minutes before serving. It can be topped with crème fraiche to counterbalance the sweetness of the piloncillo.

Option: add ½ cup yellow raisins when you pour the syrup, milk and egg mixture into the bread.

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I recently purchased Diana Kennedy’s book Oaxaca al Gusto, a 400 page tome on the indigenous food of Oaxaca, which, in many cases, is unknown even to many Mexicans outside of these valleys. Here you will find recipes with the fundamental building blocks of the food of the region: chocolate, chiles, and corn. And, as Adriana Legaspi has argued, these meals are not just a means of nourishment, but, rather, an important way to understand how they fit within ancient traditions practiced by the community.

The book is a treasure, with glossy colored photographs and recipes of such exotic things as squash vine soup, wild mushrooms in yellow mole, corn fungus empanadas, duck in guajillo sauce, black mole of nopala, and eggs in pipian….three hundred recipes in all. It’s intimidating, to say the least, especially given the fact that many of the ingredients are unavailable here. With this consideration in mind and given the fact that it’s Lent, I decided to try the Frijoles blancos guisados, (Stewed White Beans) from Hueyapam, which, according to Ms. Kennedy’s notes, are eaten during Lent and served with fish.

In addition to large meals, the boys will have meriendas (snacks). The stomach of an adolescent boy is a bottomless pit, there is no end to their hunger, and today’s recipe is a perfect quick, hot meal on the run. It’s a kind of glorified quesadilla, called sincronizada. Instead of just the tortilla and melted cheese, it includes shaved cooked ham, but it can be simply sliced ham, although, the better the quality of the cooked ham, the better it turns out, of course. In Mexico, these are always made with corn tortillas. When I made these here at home in the U.S. this week, I was unable to find the quality of corn tortillas that I like, so I used whole wheat flour tortillas, hence the name Sincronizadas Gringas.

To prepare these for four, you’ll need a dozen tortillas (preferably corn if you can find the ones that really taste like freshly nixtamalized masa). For the cheese, use Chihuahua cheese or any kind of cheese that melts easily, like muenster, Monterey Jack or a mild cheddar. For the shaved ham, you will need about half a pound.

If you would like to add sauces, there are many choices, just look here and here.

What follows is the second part of our interview with Adriana Legaspi.

How have processed foods affected the average diet in Mexico?

Unfortunately, the diet of the average Mexican has reached an extreme point. In fact, the problem of infantile obesity is particularly egregious; we hold the dubious title of  the highest rates of childhood obesity in the world. Fats in fried food are added to our main carbohydrate, corn. The fats add flavor to tacos, quesadillas, tlacoyos, memelas, sopes, etc. but also tons of calories to the daily diet of thousands of office workers and blue collar workers who eat out everyday.

Despite the provenance of a precolumbian diet where animal fats were practically non-existent, (as were refined sugars other than fructose and honey from bees or ants,) we cannot conceive nowadays of a life without our daily ice cream, candies of all types, sweetened cereals, commercial foods, dairy products laden with salt and other chemicals to preserve them. And the worst of it is the ubiquity of junk food and the deplorable fast-food companies that arrived in Mexico 20 years ago and have made a killing far beyond their wildest expectations. Adding to this situation is the decrease in physical activity of the average Mexican, whether it be the rural person who has come to the city or the office worker, neither of whom has the opportunity to walk or exercise.

Traditional food, on the other hand, has ritual meaning and a built-in societal code of reciprocity such as communal cooking on saints’ days or for weddings. Today, all of that has been lost. Mole, for example, is eaten not just for festive occasions, but rather anytime and everywhere. In the past, food like this, as well as all manner of desserts, was reserved for important events.

During colonization, the local tradition of corn gave birth to dishes like the guajolota, which is nothing more than a gastronomic aberration. It is a corn tamal inserted into a wheat bread roll, accompanied by corn porridge.  Millions of Mexicans eat guajolota for breakfast.

The precolumbian diet was healthier than today’s and the public health problem we’re facing is undeniable. Schools and universities are doing their part to control the availability of junk food but the all-powerful interests of transnational corporations are difficult to reign in. Mexico is the number one per capita consumer of soft drinks in the world, over and above the consumption of the United States, despite our genetic propensity for diabetes. Health care and the cost of treating chronic disease arising from this lifestyle and diet will bankrupt us if something radical is not done soon.

If you could have an impact in what people eat in Mexico today, what would it be?

Simply that people should reconsider the native crops and integrate them into their diets in the manner of the native pre-colombian peoples: a preponderance of vegetables or food derived from vegetables, greatly reduced in protein derived from animals, the use of steam, oven, and comal as cooking strategies to eliminate fats and sugars.

What region of Mexico appeals to you most as a chef/cook and scholar?

In the mesoamerican way of thinking, life was one unit integrated with the sky, the underworld, life among the living and among the dead, nature, the seasons, the earth, biology, and our spiritual life. When you know this, you also know that all wealth and interest varies according to where you are.

To go to Oaxaca or Michoacan where the local ethnic groups are so present and their cuisine is so varied and colorful is an indispensable condition for anyone who, like myself, is devoted to this subject. But it’s no less important to visit what was once known as Árido América (the desert states of the northern part of the country) where the pitahaya cactus blooms in flaming colors only after a rain, and in the same state of Hidalgo, in the Valle del Mezquital, seat of the Otomí tribe, you will find a magnificent variety of local resources related to the maguey, to insects, small animals, and cactus flowers.

Regarding the more personal, I cannot help but mention Malinalco, where I direct the prehispanic gastrotour and where I teach about this topic. Malinalco is a privileged area, a point of transition of two climates, one being

subtropical and the other  being high montain terrain. It is a microclimate in and of itself, where almost every native crop can grow, such that its market is a reflection of this in the precolombian manner: zapotes, mameys, calabaza flowers, chayotes, papaya, pineapples, nances, capulines, tejocotes, guava, quelites, wild mushrooms, cacahuacintle corn, cactus dressed for cooking, zompantle flowers, and so many more things that amaze the eyes. Those who participate in the tours tend to focus on photographing the markets more than anything else.

Here is where I hope to spend the rest of my days (although never in retirement) but, rather, having left the city, waiting for you to come and visit me so that we can walk its cobblestone streets, visiting its market and cooking a precolombian meal.

*Photos courtesy of Adriana Legaspi.

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On a warm spring day of my youth, a bowl and rolling pin marked the beginning of my new life as an independent woman.  I was heading off to college and my mother took me to Woolworth’s in Laredo, Texas to make the purchase.  The bowl was a sturdy green ceramic that couldn’t have cost more than two dollars and the rolling pin might have cost even less, a far cry from some of the things I crave nowadays from places that sell gourmet cookware.

Through the years and through all my moves, I carried them around with me like a passport, a reminder of who I was and where I came from, until I finally lost track of both the bowl and the palote (rolling pin). But the shopping trip to buy them remains one of the fondest memories I have of my mother.

I imagine it was a bittersweet moment for her; I was her first-born daughter and the first to travel far away to study. She knew I would probably never again live at home, not to mention in the same town. Yet she didn’t betray her emotions. I did not understand what she must have felt that day until I became a mother myself.  All these years later, I remember we bought the bowl and palote and celebrated the joy of the moment over a fountain coke at the drugstore counter.

We bought the bowl and the palote to make sure I would have the tools necessary to amasar, to prepare the dough for the daily morning ritual of making the tortillas needed to accompany breakfast. In time, as a busy student and later as a working mother, I would come to abandon the idea of having to make them from scratch.  The fat content in the shortening traditionally used in flour tortillas also became a reason to go without. I began to prefer corn tortillas that I bought at the grocery store. The flour ones became a special treat to look forward to when my mother visited.

Corn tortillas are the norm in most of Mexico. However, in northern Mexico and along the U.S. border, both wheat flour and corn tortillas are eaten; wheat are for breakfast and corn for lunch and dinner.

I’ve adapted this recipe from my mother’s, cutting the quantity for shortening in half and substituting with peanut or canola oil for health considerations. Also, in my house, we didn’t stack our flour tortillas.  We liked them flaky, so we separated each one, leaning them against the inside of a basket where they could cool slightly without becoming sweaty or gummy. And we would eat them like that, fresh, warm, and delightfully flaky.

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Also known as a “palote,” this heirloom palo is a small rolling pin traditionally used to roll out tortilla dough. –Photo by Michael Sedano

Fingertips brush a wooden cylinder at the deepest back corner of the kitchen cabinet. I stretch and reach into the shelf, aching to wrap my hand around and be sure. I know this. I remember what it looks like. Fingers trace the hole in one end erasing any doubt. This is my mother’s palo.

When I grasp it to bring it into the light, my hand hears pulsing rhythms coming from as far back as I can remember, the music my mother creates as she rolls out tortillas with this palo.

Twenty-one-year-old Nellie pulls a dozen bolitas off the ball of masa, piling them on a corner of her floured cutting board. She picks up her palo. Her four-year-old sits watching, smiling with the uptempo percussion mama’s palo makes rolling out a dozen tortillas.

Klik-cloc. Cloc cloc cloc. Klik, the wooden cylinder thuds into the bolita and the board. Cloc, she handles the palo with her palms forming the elastic masa to a thick, shiny oval patty.

Cloc cloc cloc, swift diagonals back and forth level out its thickness leaving the masa flattened and now perfectly round. Nellie exhales in quiet satisfaction. The masa comes from her mother’s recipe, her technique fine-tuned by aunt Jessie and abuelita.

The comal is hot enough to smell the heat, but just in case, Nellie licks her index finger and touches it to the cast iron. The sizzle feels a little hot and she lowers the gas flame. She slips four fingers under the limp tortilla, lifting it from the board. A deft toss, the masa lands on the comal with a hot hiss.

The tortilla sizzles and rises. Steam wafts aroma across the table. Toasting bubbles swell magnificently in contact with the comal, the tortilla dancing to their randomness. When Nellie flips the tortilla, its toasted face tempts a finger to pull the brown crust off a bubble and let the wafer melt on the tip of an extended tongue.

Klik cloc klik cloc. Cloc cloc. Cloc. She wraps ten tortillas in a kitchen towel to keep them warm for the meal and puts three aside for tomorrow. One for egg and tortillita for tomorrow’s breakfast, two to wrap around tonight’s leftovers, tacos in tomorrow’s lunchpails.

Nellie turns to finish dinner and the boy takes mama’s palo in both hands. He runs his fingers in the deep holes on both sides. He pulls a bolita out of the masa bowl and pushes the palo into the lump. He rolls a thick, penca-shaped slab of masa. Mamá toasts it for him and hands it back. The boy slathers the surface with butter that softens and pools inside crusty bubbles. The boy folds the tortilla to funnel the dripping mantequilla. He fits the hot tortilla into his mouth and bites.

❖

Amasando is puro arte. My mother did not teach me to amasar. “Can he make tortillas?” wasn’t the quality familia looked for in the boys. Yet, since we didn’t use forks, making tortillas held great value for our people. But ni modo. I can’t eat wheat any more so tortillas de harina is food out of my remote history, like my mother’s palo.

I think the last time my mother made tortillas from scratch was when I got back from the Army in 1970. By then, she was using a Cuisineart to amasar, but the palo was there that last time, and her welcome home tortillas were, as always, unrivalled.

Mamá’s palo sat in that cabinet forgotten for forty years, until today as I’m prepping the cabinet for refinishing, gonna sell the house.

I look at my mother’s palo, longing to eat her tortillas again. But I’ll forever have only this moment’s sentimental resurrection of my years sitting in the kitchen with mamá, watching her turn out tortilla after perfect tortilla, klick-cloc, cloc-cloc-cloc.

Michael Sedano retired from the world of work to write, garden, raise la chickenada, cook, and enjoy the next twenty years, if that’s allowed. A lifelong Aristotelian, he campaigns for Oracy as the third basic competence of modern society, alongside Literacy and Numeracy. Sedano finds it unthinkable a person would be unable to defend herself with words. In keeping with his commitment to Oracy, Sedano enjoys working with writers to develop their comfort and effectiveness reading their stuff to audiences. A co-founder with Rudy Garcia and Manuel Ramos of La Bloga, the world’s longest-established blog for Chicana Chicano Latino Latina literatura and cultura, Sedano writes La Bloga’s Tuesday column and regrets the uninflected grammar of English.

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There is a movement afoot in Mexico to preserve the traditions of its indigenous cuisine and the ancient knowledge of the use of curative herbs. It involves the rescue and preservation of the ingredients, methods, and utensils common in the pre-colombian past of Mesoamerica in the hopes that they do not flicker out of existence in our lifetime. With globalization and the proliferation of fast food franchises, it is no surprise that these ancient traditions are becoming a distant memory. In twenty-five years, who will know how to prepare tecorral tea, muicle, tlacoyos, or tamales de atepocate or know what they are, for that matter?

Enter Adriana Legaspi, an anthropologist of the palate and a woman on a mission to preserve these traditions. She is neither the first nor the only person in Mexico bent on what Adriana calls “the ethnogastronomic rescue” but she certainly stands out with her passion and conviction.

A multi-faceted business woman who is not only proficient in the kitchen, Adriana also has degrees in communications, political science, and public affairs. Many years ago, she and her husband purchased a weekend home in the cobble-stoned mountain village of Malinalco outside of Mexico City. Adriana found herself in her element, naturally drawn to the wizened old ‘doñas’ in the ancient market of Malinalco, chatting, learning recipes and listening to their stories of old times and ways.

With encouragement from friends and with a penchant for social causes, Adriana founded a project which would direct her seemingly boundless energy toward two goals: to preserve the culture and identity of the region and to help the women with a much needed income. This was the genesis of the Gastrotour of Malinalco.  The tour consists of a hands-on cooking class on weekends, starting with a visit to the market in Malinalco to buy organic fruits, vegetables and herbs grown by the seller herself at zero kilometers. She invites her guests to observe the fauna and the flora of the area and to visit the historic sites, thus ensuring a thorough understanding of the historical backdrop of the food they are preparing.

What follows is the first of a two-part interview with Adriana about her work to preserve the Mexican identity through its prehispanic cuisine:

When did you first become interested in cooking?

The truth is that I’m a product of a generation that did not hold cooking in high regard because it was associated with a lack of culture or professional status. I am the first generation of female college graduates in a family where the women had always considered marriage and the running of a household as the first priority.  My sisters and cousins began to take on minor professions in banks. The more professional we felt, the more we shunned the kitchen. Nevertheless, I’m a descendent of Italian immigrants to Mexico on my father’s side for whom food and its preparation were of utmost importance in daily life. The quantity, the quality, freshness, uniqueness, and delectability for a traditional community in Northern Mexico where we lived, set us apart. As soon as I began my career in the hospitality industry, my own personal history became relevant as I found myself charged with the responibility of organizing unique dining experiences at the empresarial level.

How did you come to get involved in the gastronomic tours of prehispanic cuisine in Malinalco?

This is a very long story whose chapters played out slowly starting from the first moment I arrived in Malinalco with my husband over 20 years ago. In spite of the enormous cultural offerings we enjoyed living in Mexico City, on weekends we spilled out of the city in search of open spaces and fresh air. That’s how we ended up in Malinalco on many a weekend enjoying lunch in the subtropical climate of this town 88 kms from Mexico City.

We often ate at a restaurant called El Tecorral situated in a grand old house dating from the 17^th century where we took in the gardens, the climate, and the people. Soon we found ourselves buying a property in a place where every neighborhood had its Caocalli or Teocalli typical of Indian villages with a prehispanic past. The Augustin monks who arrived in Malinalco to evangelize in the 16^th century built the Convento de la Transfiguracieon del Señor and directed every barrio to have its own saint and chapel. Ours came with a chapel; we purchased it from a seller who still has a a Nahua surname: Donaciano de la Fuente Tecayahuatl.

Little by little I became involved in the life of the town, admiring its geography, its ecology, and naturally, its cuisine. I became aware of the strength of its indigenous origins and the pride in its traditions evident in daily life. Imagine a prehispanic market where you can find tlacoyos, a type of oval tortilla filled with fava bean paste or ricotta spiced with chilies, cooked on a clay comal by vendors like Doña Carmen. I started, then, to make a mental inventory of all that grabbed my attention to begin my ethnographic research. I began interviewing the elders, finding and documenting ingredients, looking for their existence in a precolombian past. The rest came naturally.

I felt the need to help the economic possibilities of the women of the market who rely on their own meager income. The weekend visitors were not necessarily buying their products; hence, the beginning of my classes: to teach my students the importance of this food, its contextualization, the value in its freshness, helping these students to understand who we are and why we eat as we do. Then, going home to turn the ingredients into a meal.

Why do you think it’s important to get back to authentic roots in mexican cuisine?

First of all, because the Mesoamerican diet is healthy… and because to eat guided by prehispanic and Mesoamerican principles of when to eat something is healthy.  Eating guayabas before and during winter, for example, provides the body with the vitamin C necessary for the immunological system to withstand the freezing weather of the central high plains of Mexico.

What is the attitude and/or interest now of the professional (upper and middle) classes in Mexico regarding authentic prehispanic cuisine?

Well, in reality, I think there is growing interest throughout the world, among those who can afford it, to eat authentic and traditional food. The designation of Mexican food as a world heritage cuisine has made it stylish, and chefs throughout Mexico are recuperating the tastes and recipes, creating them with modern techniques and charging exhorbitant prices.

To be continued…

*Photos courtesy of Adriana Legaspi.

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Two more daughters were born and, over time, the three sisters grew to play in the shade of the tree’s broad branches, climbing, jumping, and staining their clothes with its caramel-colored sap.  The girls gathered the tree’s savory pecans, cracking them open and eating them as they played.

As time passed, the nogal grew majestic, spreading its branches and reaching higher into the sky until the next generation of this family played in its shade and gathered its dusty pecans. In the evenings, a grandmother would shell the pecans and add them to recipes for meals and desserts the family would enjoy together.

My sisters and I left our pecan tree many years ago and now live in cities distant from this reality. Who knows who lives in that house today, and if on windy nights anyone can hear the sighs and creaks of our nogal or the laughter of children who’ve played in its shade.

One of the candies my mother made with the shelled pecans was nogada. I always took it for granted that someone would make nogada in the fall, that there would always be a plate of nogada to finish a meal in the winter. Alas, I never asked my mother for the recipe! I’ve had to experiment and to remember the sweet, nutty taste and the combination of ingredients: anise seed, piloncillo, cinnamon, and fresh pecans. It’s taken several attempts, but I finally have it.

I appreciate Thanksgiving for the way in which the holiday brings together friends and family and reminds us to give thanks for each other and the goodness in life.  But I still often think about how Thanksgiving came about and the ways in which it misrepresents the relationship between America’s first colonizers and its native people. (See our post about the origins of Thanksgiving here.)

Interestingly, none of the Hispanic countries (those colonized by Spain) of the Americas have such a holiday as far as I know. The Mexican mestizo soul is complex and opaque. Most Mexicans identify proudly with the indigenous people who blended with the Spanish colonizers to create the mestizo race. (However, don’t be surprised to hear epithets hurled at either the indigenous culture or at their European ancestors when a little Tequila is going around. Mexicans know how to make light of these “problems of the psyche!”)

This Thanksgiving, I thought it would be appropriate to give you a recipe that is quite possibly prehispanic and can be made with the native bird of the Americas and of this holiday: guajolote (nahuatl for turkey). I had to go through a stack of old handwritten recipes to find it. It’s Tía Oralia’s recipe for pipian verde, a kind of green mole, which is usually made for chicken. I see from my notes that she was dictating it to me and I was barely keeping up with my writing, but the essentials are here. It looks like my pipian sauce needed more broth, just add as you like to get the proper texture and serve this with a good white rice and warm corn tortillas.

To all those with a loved one who did not return from Iraq or Afghanistan, may your bounty of friends and relatives help dry your tears and  fill the void of the empty chair at your table.