Congratulations to Barry Roach for Winning the November 2025 Barefoot Writing Challenge! (Your $100 prize is on its way!)
The challenge was to write an essay that answered this prompt:
Write about a meal or food tradition you enjoy that brings people together. What memories does it evoke, and what does it symbolize for you?
Barry shared a touching account of holiday memories and the way he keeps those memories alive… Enjoy his winning submission:
Thanksgiving in the Yellow Bowl
by Barry Roach
Every Thanksgiving, I still picture that bright yellow Tupperware bowl sitting on the counter. You always knew what was inside — and you knew you’d need to save room for it.
Maybe that’s why Thanksgiving has always felt different to me. It’s not just about the food — it’s about the rhythm of it all. The predictability. The way every year, no matter what changes around us, those same dishes bring everyone back to center.
There’s one thing I never seem to finish. My days move fast, and my mind rarely shuts off. I run an accounting firm, which means there’s always another email to answer, another number to check, another project that “just needs five more minutes.” Those five minutes often turn into five hours. I haven’t taken a real vacation in over five years — and before that, it had been almost eight. There are only two days each year when I completely stop: Christmas and Thanksgiving. And between the two, Thanksgiving is the one that feels like mine.
When I was a kid, Thanksgiving meant packing up and heading to my mom’s side of the family. The house was full — cousins, aunts, uncles, and enough food to feed twice as many people. My great-grandmother’s desserts were the highlight of the day.
Her chocolate pudding was always made in those big yellow Tupperware bowls. You could spot it from across the room, and somehow it always tasted the same — rich, smooth, and perfectly chilled. Right beside it was her cranberry sauce, but not the kind anyone else made. Hers was more like applesauce — soft, sweet, and just a little tart. Together, those desserts filled in the cracks after the big meal, the perfect ending to a day of overeating and laughter.
My mom made an unbelievable fried filling — crispy around the edges and full of flavor. I’ve tried to make it a few times, but it never turns out quite the same. Maybe that’s part of the magic — some recipes just belong to the person who made them.
These days, our Thanksgiving looks smaller. It’s just me, my wife, and our kids. I don’t make the pudding or the cranberry sauce, but I handle most of the food. I’m a little obsessive about making sure everything comes out hot and ready at the same time. My family laughs, but that’s how I show I care.
Thanksgiving, for me, is about connection — to family, to memories, and to traditions that stick with you even when the faces around the table change. Every year, when I finally sit down — no phone, no laptop, no to-do list, maybe even a little football if I can stay awake — I finish something. A meal, a memory, and a moment that reminds me why it all matters.
I think that’s the secret of Thanksgiving. It’s not the recipes or the perfect timing. It’s the reminder that even as life gets busier, there’s always one day left to slow down and feed the people who feed your soul.
