Comfort Foods and Indulgences

I resisted Facebook for years, but the ease with which I could share and view pictures of a high-school reunion compelled me. So like most people my age, I found myself using the site to reconnect with a past I had previously ignored or forgotten. Then, when my husband passed away suddenly a little more than a year ago, Facebook became a strange lifeline during my first year of grief. Frankly, being on Facebook makes me think about what it must be like to be dead, floating like a ghost into and out of people’s lives, into and out of all the worlds we’ve inhabited. The compression and conflation of time that Facebook provides makes way for the beguiling draw of nostalgia.

Nostalgia, like grief, is essentially homesickness, and we tend to get homesick when we want to restore the parts of ourselves we think we are losing or have lost. Soon enough, I found myself looking up my old summer camps, my old junior high school (that’s what we New Yorkers called middle school), and inevitably I discovered a Facebook page dedicated to Riverdale, the small northwest Bronx neighborhood where I spent my formative years.

I am a popcorn monster. During the cold winter months in northern Minnesota when it gets dark early, there’s nothing like curling up in front of the fire with a bowl of popcorn. I don’t eat the popcorn from a bag that is prepared in the microwave — too much sodium. The kind I eat is prepared the old-fashioned way in a pot on the stove, then drizzled with just the right amount of melted butter and sprinkled with salt. Napkins are a must.

Years ago, I had a generous neighbor who would make batches of Honey Peanut Butter Popcorn, always sharing a big bowl of it with us. It would usually be during the summer time. We’d sit out on my front porch munching and visiting, and suddenly, the bowl would be empty. The snack that my neighbor had intended for my family was gone.

I hadn’t thought of that sweet, chewy treat in such a long time. But the other night, as I was sitting on the couch with my big bowl of buttered popcorn, watching The Biggest Loser, that popcorn treat popped right into my mind.

In hopes of starting the year with a sweet and steeped memory, I hurried into my kitchen to whip up a quick tea–infused treat. Faced with several perfectly ripe pears, chocolate chai tea and whole grain flower (that never made its way into holiday cookies), I decided to give a basic muffin a delicate, tea-infused twist.

The perfect breakfast bite, these Whole Wheat Pear & Chai Crumb Muffins are slightly addicting (I dare you to make more than 6 and see how long they last…I say that while typing with crumbs that are dangerously close to finding their way into my keyboard crevices).

Fragrant pears are mixed into the somewhat savory whole wheat batter to add a hint of natural sweetness. The chocolate chai tea adds a pop of warming spices to the basic crumb topping, the real star of the treat (but don’t tell the pears).

The first bite reminded me of soft yet satisfyingly hearty cornbread with a dainty dab of spiced pear jam. But maybe that’s just me. You’ll have to take a bite while it’s still warm from the oven (with just the tiniest bit of unsalted butter) and tell me what you think. And if you add a chocolate chai latte to the mix, well, you’re just spoiling your taste buds.

Have you ever had bananas in your kitchen that were so black and shriveled, you almost threw them out? It's happened to me so many times. Day after day I I tell myself I will make a batch of banana muffins. And finally, the day arrives when I actually pick up the deflated bunch of almost unrecognizable fruit and head for the door, with intentions of taking them out to the woods for animals to enjoy. But, I just can't do it. So, this week, I squeezed the mushy fruit from its shriveled, dark skin and stirred it into a rich mix of cream cheese, sugar and eggs to make cheesecake.

I must back up a little bit at this point. Years ago, in 2005 actually, I copied a recipe for Hot Buttered Rum Cheesecakes with Rum-Caramel Sauce from that year's December issue of Bon Appetit magazine. I ordered a bunch of tiny (4 1/2-inch) springform pans, ready to make the cheesecakes and give them as gifts. It never happened that year, or any year since that time. But, I still have the recipe. I vaguely remembered the recipe instructions for reducing some dark rum to stir into the cake batter. With the experience of tasting warm, rum-spiked bananas foster still clear in my mind – I made several flaming pans full of the dessert for a recent fundraising event for the Headwaters Science Center in Bemidji – I wondered if I could match the flavors of that dessert in a cheesecake.