Eat, Bake, Love

Ask me what my favorite memory is. Ask me what my favorite hobby is. Ask me what I miss most when I leave the U.S. Go on, ask me. They are three different questions, but they have the same answer: Baking and Eating. Not eating, shoveling some microwaved food into my mouth quickly as I run out the door, but Eating: that time-consuming, mouth-watering, multi-dish experience that must be shared to be fully enjoyed. Not baking: throwing a frozen pie in the oven or cutting dough from a roll, but Baking: that experience that leaves me covered in flour, with dirty dishes in the sink, and between shopping, cutting, kneading, rolling, rising, shaping, pouring, cooling, baking, frosting, and cleaning can take all day, and leave me with an aching back and tired feet, but is still somehow my favorite way to spend a day.

I was lucky to grow up in a family that values food. While many of my peers grew up eating boxed cereal and microwaved casseroles, my stay-at-home mom took the time to cook 3 meals a day for most days of my childhood. To my shame, I once complained because Mom had made muffins for breakfast 4 days in one week-- but that gives you an idea of how we ate. Mom wanted us to Eat well, and she wanted us to Eat together. Most evenings, to this day, the entire family will gather together for dinner to Eat... it's basically a Norman Rockwell painting come to life. These are some of my favorite times with my family-- come for the food, stay for the fun: my family is silly, funny, and loving.

My extended family loves to Eat, too. I've rarely seen a spread like the ones my aunts throw when we have a family dinner. Last time I was home, they made eggplant parm with rolls for sandwiches, pasta with meatballs, and about a thousand delicious sides: bread, salad, green beans, asparagus. I'm pretty sure there was enough dessert for everyone to have their own entire dish: pumpkin cheesecake, a few types of pies, baklava, more varieties of cookies than people. Along with all this food is served a heaping serving of love and affection and a smaller serving of kookiness-- but without both, it wouldn't be my family.

One of my favorite, and one of my earliest memories is baking with my grandma: she lived in an in-law apartment in our house, and little Alisha used to go visit and watch her Bake. She would give me a little measuring cup full of coconut or raisins, and I would sit on a stool and watch her roll out pie crusts, make noodles and soups from scratch, her famous apple or pistachio pudding pies, and the German Pfeffernusse she made for my dad every November and kept in a pillowcase for a month to harden before giving them to him for Christmas. As she aged, she began to Bake less, and then one day came the announcement: "We are eating Grandma's last apple pie-- she's retiring from Baking." This was followed by the unofficial appointing of a new family baker: my brother. But in my heart, I took the title for myself and determined that I would take over her position.

When I Bake, especially Grandma's apple pie, I feel connected to her, like it's not just something I do, but something I do to show my love, and to remember her and her Love for me. Some day, maybe my daughter or son or granddaughter or nephew will come and watch me Bake while Eating coconut or raisins, and feel like they, too, are part of a grand tradition, connected to their past, and remember years after I'm gone, that they were Loved.



My fellow syncrobloggers:
Lori: Fish Food
David: The Meat of the Hunt
Jennifer: They Don't Call it the Big White Dress for Nothing
Katie: Bag of Cuties
Alaina: Feed Me, Seymour!