Summer season is coming to an end. Like so many experiences in life, I often want to have more. I want to savor more blueberries. This morning I made a batch of blueberry muffins…with a modification. I couldn‘t find my muffin cups so I opted for mini loaves. While I baked, I thought of the ancestors who passed down the recipe. I thought of the connection to those who have passed on yet still stand with me in my kitchen. Happy thoughts.
For me, blueberries are so much more than a fruit. Each little round blue morsel of goodness makes me smile. They are a symbol of the summer and the taste of childhood in New England. The joy and abundance of the season picked fresh and greedily consumed by the handful. Blue dots hanging upon the lush green of the big bushes. Clusters of juicy jewels beckon from bushes bigger than small hands can reach. Bursting with flavor, they are shoveled onto a tongue eagerly waiting for the sweet reward. And later, they find their way into muffins.
Families and food are woven together in a tapestry of cultures, traditions and beliefs. We all have “family recipes” passed down from generation to generation. Some have secret ingredients or require elaborate preparation. Some come with stories about their origins while others seem to have no beginning. All have an emotional attachment to the food – a connection to the cook or to the tradition or the memory of family gatherings that taste like love.
Food and love come together in many ways. Why do you think it’s called “comfort food”? I often visit with my extended family in the summer. One visit with my then 86 year old Aunt Alice, who is the epitome of home cooking and family recipes, surprised me with a secret. All of her recipes are in her head. She’s happy to share but it takes a moment while pen and paper in hand, she mentally prepares the dish as she painstakingly lists all the ingredients and instructions. Aunt Alice loves to cook and bake. She loves to love and this is her way. When I arrived I was greeted with a favorite yellow squash (never use zucchini) casserole. I was reminded that it was the original recipe. Not like the way her sister, my Aunt Helen might have prepared it for me. Helen is always trying to mess with a recipe, which doesn’t set well with Alice.
While the casserole was baking in the oven, I spied the other treat awaiting me. A bountiful plate of blueberry muffins! Yum! Aunt Alice offered one before lunch. I offered no resistance. I took a bite, savoring the taste of summer blueberries contrasting with the texture of the cake. I took a good look at my muffin; “feasted my eyes upon it”, so to speak. And as I admired it, I had to make a comment.
“There’s the perfect ratio of blueberry to muffin,” I proclaimed.
“That’s because I put 9 blueberries in each muffin,” she replied.
“What do you mean, 9 blueberries? Do you count them out for each muffin?” I asked as I giggled with the thought.
“Why, yes! You can’t just put them in the batter all at once. They lump together! That’s what Helen does. I put half the batter in the tin and add 5 blueberries. Then I put the rest of the batter in and add 4 blueberries,” she said.
“That’s hysterical! “ I couldn’t contain the laughter and she joined in. “That’s not written in the recipe! Cousin Doris gave me the recipe. I haven’t made it yet, but I’m sure glad I didn’t. I had no idea it required counting 9 blueberries! Why do you do that?”
And with authority, she said, “That’s the way I like it.” Who am I to question why?
Later that day, we visited my Aunt Helen who is now 90 and confined to a retirement home. Sadly, her muffin baking days are over. Cousin Doris was there. I questioned her regarding the recipe and shared the story of my discovery. As I told the story, I watched her nod in agreement as I noted the specific counting and baking procedure.
“Do you put 9 blueberries in the muffin too?” I asked.
“Of course!” she responded in a very matter of fact manner. “That’s what fits!”
And there we sat, a family of women connected to each other by common ancestors and DNA. But more than that, connected by memories of cooking together and sharing food. Family connected by this recipe and the silly “secret” secret of 9 blueberries. We laughed and laughed and laughed.
When I returned home, I felt the need to bake the muffins. I followed the recipe as I was taught by the master. Trust me, its’ worth your time to listen to Aunt Alice. The next time you bake muffins, count your blessings.
Sadly, Aunt Alice, Aunt Helen and Mom have passed on. There are many secret ingredients in a family recipe. The most flavorful, satisfying and nourishing one is the power of love.
Blueberries are a connection. A bridge. A divine expression of now. A blueberry bush is a knowing of the past and a belief in the future. When a gardener plants, there is a belief that there will be a harvest and that the gardener will be there to enjoy it. When a seed is planted, we trust that a plant will grow.
It’s important to note, that a seed is just like a thought. If you believe and trust, the thought will manifest into form and you will reap your harvest.
And I also need to point out…blueberries are blue! How special is that! Blue food! Even blue flowers are rare. Seems the color has been reserved for really special things. The sky and the ocean and the taste of summer.