Before-bed read

When Andrea K. Farrier’s mother-in-law insisted on teaching her how to make her special potato salad, Andrea thought she’d simply be getting the secret recipe to her family’s favorite dish. But what she received was so much more precious: It was a comfort

We have friends and family coming over tomorrow, so I’ve just finished making a giant batch of potato salad. It’s my mother-in-law’s recipe, and it’s the only one I ever make anymore. It wasn’t always my favorite, though.

It was love at first sight when my husband and I met. I fell in love with his family as well. Their taste in food, however, was another story. The goulash was good. The nachos were great, but I just couldn’t understand why this family insisted on putting green olives in everything. I’ve often heard that they are an acquired taste. At that point, I still didn’t care for them much. Imagine my surprise, then, when they even showed up in the potato salad! I was beginning to worry I might starve at family functions.

Fast-forward many years. My husband and I had been married for almost a decade. We had three beautiful children, and I had learned to love green olives—especially in Cathy’s potato salad. She was called upon to make it for all the picnics, potlucks and gatherings. The last few get-togethers had been difficult, however. My mother-in-law had cancer, and it had begun to manifest itself in interesting ways, including some we did not expect. There was, of course, the fatigue and nausea. But there were

other things, too—more campout weekends together; the re-telling of childhood stories; the increasingly frequent exchanges of wan, knowing smiles.

She arrived at my house one afternoon with three huge bags of supplies—potatoes, bowls, special kitchen equipment, and (of course) green olives. Apparently, Potato-Salad School was in session, and I was ready to be a diligent pupil. It wasn’t a recipe she had ever written down, but rather a labor of love with each and every batch. We mixed, chopped and tasted together. I took copious notes. By the end of the afternoon, we had a big bowl of what was unquestionably her special potato salad. I had a recipe in hand, and she wore a tired but triumphant expression.

Then I really stopped to take a good look at her. Her hair had been short, wavy and black before the chemo.

The wig she had chosen that day was a chin-length, blond bob. (Even in the face of such loss, she chose to find the bright side, experimenting with hairstyles she never would have been able to achieve otherwise.) She was thin and didn’t have the stamina she used to. In that moment, I suddenly realized Potato-Salad School was about far more than just passing along a recipe. It was one part rite of passage for a daughter-in-law, one part passing-ofthe-torch for a motherin-law. It was, in short, the assurance that her potato salad—and all that it entailed—would continue, even if she did not.

Cathy passed away about a year later. It had been a long, hard process, and we were blessed to be by her side during the weeks she was in the hospital and hospice. The whole family gathered with my father-in-law back at their house the morning after she died, numb and unsure of what to do. I found myself drawn to the kitchen and began dragging out her giant bowl, methodically peeling potatoes and hunting around in the cupboard for the jars of green olives that I knew I would find there. After all, the family was together, and

“She was thin and didn’t have the stamina she used to. In that moment, I suddenly realized Potato-Salad School was about far more than just passing along a recipe”

that meant someone had to make the potato salad. I’m not sure it tasted as good as hers, but it was a comfort to have it there anyway.

Since then, I’ve been the one expected to make it for all the picnics, potlucks and gatherings, and I couldn’t be more pleased. Every second helping and satisfied “mmm” are reminders of my beloved mother-in-law, all the love she had for her family and our special afternoon together when I learned so much more than just how to make potato salad.

—Andrea K. Farrier