Aunt Barbara's Blueberry Buckle
The intoxicating smell of brown sugar and butter and bubbling, oozy blueberries was impossible to ignore. Doubling the brown sugar topping and adding some more blueberries, the recipe was perfect.
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D's Banana Pudding
Separate the Nilla wafers by whole cookies and any broken cookies you find. In two bowls, prepare the vanilla pudding according to package directions. Immediately place a piece of plastic wrap against the surface of each bowl of pudding.
Read MoreTzatziki
I remember sitting out on my terrace as a 7 year old child, eating a bowl of plain yogurt, cucumber, dill, garlic and salt. Looking out at the Hudson River and Tappan Zee bridge, I’d crunch the chunky cucumbers in between my little, crooked teeth and smack my mouth together from the tart yogurt.
I liked it and I didn’t. It was weird and yet totally pleasurable to eat this thing that was neither liquid nor solid.
It was comfort food for a hairy little mediterranean girl. It was strange like the buttered cheap caviar sandwiches or stuffed grape leaves I’d bring to school. The faces I’d get when my friends came over and my mom made this dish called spaghetti and yogurt were funny to think back on. “Eeewwww…” my friends would say.
While I was easily embarrassed about things like boys or being on stage, somehow I always seemed to march to the beat of my own drum when it came to clothing and food. Being a public elementary school kid in NY before sushi became the popular cuisine it is today, I was in a grade with kids from Taiwan, India, Puerto Rico, Hungary, Roumania, the USSR (yes), and Ireland.
If you ask me to remember multiplication tables, you’ll never get me beyond 12 without grabbing a calculator or pencil. But I can tell you with clarity of the bright orange, syrupy julabi at Shamila’s birthday party or of biting into the little yellow and pink pickles in the futomaki at international food day.
When I think back on those days, the blessings of growing up with people from every color, background, and walk of life is not lost on me.
If there’s anywhere in the world to learn that people can in fact live, work, interact, and be together, it’s here in New York City.
When I make this simple little tzatziki, I think ofit’s humility, of my mom stirring together the ingredients with a fork in our riverdale kitchen and of what it means to share authentically your own family culture so that others can learn, connect appreciate and celebrate our diversity.