Childhood provides a sense of comfort that one can retreat to every now then. The most constant thing from childhood that one can turn to is food. So many memories are formed around the dishes of childhood, the smells and taste. Memories made around the table shape people and minds alike, making childhood foods the most magical experience of all.
I find it impossible to choose just one food that defined my life as a child. Some of the dishes I remember the most are blueberry pie, sugar cookies and hot dogs. It’s seems silly to say, but these foods shaped who I am as a person and gave me a chance to grow out of some childish behaviors. What I adored the most was blueberry pie, which makes me laugh even now when I think about it. Even now, I still love blueberry pie. I love the color it stains my lips. The sweet taste is reminiscent of even sweeter childhood days. Blueberry pie fills me with warm memories. One might be surprised to learn that yes, a pie, helped me grow up and outgrow childish habits and shape my personality.
I still enjoy some of this indulgence every now and then, but the time between each pie grows farther and farther apart. It seems fitting. The last time I had the sweet taste of pie on my tongue was Thanksgiving of 2010. My mother didn’t provide my favorite dessert this year, and it’s rather depressing. She thinks I’ve outgrown such an indulgence, but the craving for a comfort like this will never depart.
My relationship with the dessert began ever since I had teeth to chew. As a child, I was so incredibly fascinated with every aspect of the dish. The crumbling crust that was flaky yet crisp, the squish of the blueberries and the juice that leaked out the side and down my chin.
There was one thing that always baffled me about blueberry pie. I always wondered why, if blueberries are supposed to be blue, why did the filling of the pie have a purple tint? Even though it’s a rather silly question, adventures with food are what developed my curiosity. Usually the most piercing, unanswerable questions came with my mouth full and I barely able to speak. My mother would repeat “I don’t know” for the tenth time as my father doused my pie in whipped cream. “Is that really necessary?!” she would exclaim. But as Shakespeare once wrote: “Can one desire too much of a good thing?”. The answer for my family was always no, as the pie disappeared quickly as well as the whipped cream. So I believe the first lesson I learned with my blueberry pie would have to be that some questions can’t be answered by those around you and that scavenging for knowledge is better than being handed the information.
The pie always seemed to be like my lucky charm, whenever I ate it, something good always happened. I would enjoy a slice as I owned family during Monopoly, eat it right before I caught fireflies and chow down as I watched the ball in Times Square drop on New Year’s Eve. As a kid, I always associated food with family. Every time we played a game or went somewhere, food was a common factor. But now as my sister matures into her twenties and I into my teens, little sugar cookies or snacks aren’t set out on the table to enjoy. Food isn’t required to enjoy family time, but it feels the best and strongest when I have that one, beautiful piece of pie sitting on plate in front of me, inviting me in.
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