Food and eating are almost inseparable from memories, personally. I’m sure I’ve said this before, but yesterday’s adventures in banana-bread town lead me back in time to the week right before I moved to Seoul.
It was summer time in Brooklyn, which meant hot and humid days filled with an irresistible desire to be outside, exploring, around fresh food, wearing tank tops and flip flops, and with friends eating cold ice cream. Farmers markets were opening early and serving many samples of peaches, strawberries, and cherries, and an iced coffee always seemed like the right thing to drink.
By chance, I met up with two amazing fantastic crazy incredible friends in a farmers market only to wander around the city, dipping in and out of grocery stores, and finding out way back to one of their houses. They had just gotten off the Long Trail in Vermont and were in heaven with all of the choices they had, food wise.
“We met up with two awesome hikers.”
“Yeah, they were great, funny, and so nice.”
“I think we should bake them a banana bread and send it to them.”
“Let’s find a recipe.”
Off to the cookbooks they went, with me in tow. I suggested epicurious, they got out their big Joy of Cooking, and we found the right recipe: simple, but it had everything we needed.
We baked and laughed, and drank cold water and hot tea. We made kale chips as we waited and had a Caprese Salad too – indulgence at its best.
By the time the timer went off the room had filled with the deep, warm smell of cinnamon, sugar, and baked bananas. It was comforting and appetizing. We let the quick-bread cool on the granite counter top and anxiously eyed the hearty confection, wondering who would be the first to try it.
As I bit into the sugary-crisp outside, and I found the gooey, yet fluffy, banana, cinnamon-laden inside that had hints of maple syrup, I was thrust out of memory-town, USA, and was back in my Seoulite kitchen, with three mini-loaves of banana bread and one muffin. With a confection oven in my apartment now, no longer will I have to Macgyver my way through a baking recipe in a pan, over low heat. It’s the real thing.
Perched on the windowsill to cool, the little muffin had made the journey from Brooklyn to Seoul, finally.