One thing that brings me joy is making food and feeding people. December is my favorite month accordingly: I bake cookies and make candy to send off in packages and plan a grand open house with all the care and deliberation (and spreadsheets) with which I would undertake a military campaign. My cookbooks, many of which have been companions of decades now, have plenty of notes to say which dish and accompaniments I served when, and to whom, jottings about what worked and what didn’t, and substitutions and tweaks. The binder which holds all my handwritten recipes, including ones from my mother, grandmother, and grandmother-in-law, also has a sheet of food likes: no eggs for Nona, Mom hates garlic, Sandra likes the lentil soup, Wayne hates pineapple and olives but loves squash.