Granny’s Lemon Pie
Azul and I met in Barcelona and we’ve been in touch ever since. She understands my need to cook. She even understands my need to cry while I cook. Azul worked at the hostel where I stayed, and on my eight day trip, I stopped at her desk every morning to talk. It was the exchange of our family food stories and extreme love for food that connected us. A few months ago she sent me an email containing a series of amazing photos and a family recipe. Amazing photos of her making her grandma’s Lemon Pie.
A pie was sent to me via email, and although I couldn’t actually taste it I felt the intent in her note. It was much needed reminder of how I know so many people view food but so few can put into words.
“It’s a very simple pie, made with a lot of love. It will always have the taste for me of my family and the thoughts and feelings of trying to learn and do for the ones you love. And as you know food is not only about taste, it is about nourishing and loving and becoming closer and being a part of others by sharing noms. As I did last weekend while I cooked. That’s my special dessert for you beautiful. I wish one day we can share it in NYC or here on my terrace. Meanwhile I had you in my heart while I was making it and when I eat it I imagine you cooking grandmas recipe and eating it in your home - crossing continents and oceans there is no difference. Big big hug. Thanks for letting me recover the joy of cooking and for inner contact with granny.”
I heard from Azul last week, and it turns out she’s visiting her family in Argentina for the first time in 5 years. When we met, she told me it had been so long since she saw them. I’m happy Azul is home for a visit. Going home isn’t something everyone can do whenever they want.
She described her trip, so far, as finding a part of herself that’s still inside. A part that reminds her of the things that make her who she is now. The comfort of her mother making breakfast and having stocked the house with her favorite childhood cookie is contentment in a supremely pure form.
Going home is beautiful, but not always possible - and sometimes impossible.
And so begins my mission, which I’ve had on my mind for over a year, to start collecting friends/family food stories and retelling them here. I want to know what food brings you home, reminds you of your first kiss, makes you want to throw a cake in someones face and even makes you sick. If you love it, you hate it, or love it so much you want to put it in your pants - kind of how I feel about Bacon Cheese Burgers from The Little Owl and homemade crumb cake, I want to know. I’m asking my mom, dad, aunt, uncles, cousins, and friends their favorite food memories. I plan to scan through any original recipes and include them with the story. I hope the meals range from gourmet to those that use cream of mushroom soup, canned vegetables and bean casseroles I never grew up eating. I’m excited to eat and make food I wouldn’t typically talk or think about. I hope it gets twisted, loud, funny, crass, sad, angry and gross. I can only I hope I receive something to work with.
Granny’s Lemon Pie looks delicious, and it will be made this winter when I’m longing for summer and deep brown skin. Deep brown like a juicy pork rind. I’ll have a piece and think of Azul and how this was her dad’s favorite pie. I’ll have a piece and from her food memory make a new one of my own.
