Barbra Austin

This book belonged to my mother, which is strange because she really wasn’t an ambitious cook. She kept things very simple and didn’t often stray from her repertoire.

But I think I know why it was on her shelf.

When I was visiting my brother over the holidays, he told me he wanted to say something, and that he hoped it wouldn’t upset me.

“Uh, OK,” I said.

“We’ve made the Banana Nuggets according to your recipe, they don’t turn out the way Mom’s did, and we think it’s because of the butter. We’re pretty sure Mom used shortening.”

In cleaning out my mother’s house I discovered something about my father.

Today I bought myrtilles in Paris for a tart I’m working on. Exactly one year ago I went blueberry picking with my mother in Ohio.

Last Friday I participated in quasi-American style cookout on the rooftop terrace at Mama Shelter, a boutique hotel in the far reaches of the 20th arrondissiment. It was a beautiful evening, and not even the paunchy half naked man looking out his window across the street could take away from the stunning, flaming pink sky.

There is a lot on my plate at the moment, and I wish I meant that literally, since last night’s dinner seems to have gotten lost somewhere between French class, phone calls, and packing.

When I eat steak I think of my father.

My mother loved to send little cards and packages around all of the holidays, some holier than others: There was candy corn at Halloween, a set of cookie cutters at Christmas. There were red hots and (if I was lucky) heart-shaped cupcakes at Valentines day and decorative cheese spreaders for every other major or minor holiday. These boxes started to arrive when I was in college and never stopped, no matter how far into adulthood I was.

The sight of bananas blackening on the counter can only mean one thing: Time to make banana nugget cookies.

One year when I was in high school, my mother and her sisters decided to mix things up. Instead of our traditional Christmas dinner of turkey and all of the trimmings, we would just have “a bunch of appetizers” which people could eat at their leisure while opening presents and watching TV and playing games.

My grandmother was horrified.