I am a legend in my own head for wasting bananas. I purchase them with some frequency, intending to be “good” and improve my diet. Then, when they start to brown and spot, I plop them in the refrigerator or freezer committed to making banana bread in the near future. Yea, right! I once counted 16 frozen bananas in my fridge.
Today, I made good on my banana bread pledge. I just pulled four golden loaves out of the oven.
(An aside, in mixing the bread, I managed to scrape up the last flour in my house from the storage container and leave only a residue of sugar—testament to how infrequently I bake anything. Forever put to shame this time of year with the memory of Dave’s 72 loaves of cranberry-orange bread and his gracious and legendary Christmas Eve distribution. )
But back to banana bread. I’ve never used any recipe other than my mother’s. And truth be told, I am far fonder of what she and I baked using that recipe than most other versions. I’ve always suspected that her secret was the line that called for one teaspoon of soda dissolved in 1 tablespoon of hot water. Nothing else that I’ve ever baked included that little quirk. And I never knew why.
So today, I turned to Google which, in turn, checked with AI and explained the following: Dissolving baking soda in hot water ensures rapid, complete dissolution for even distribution in batters, preventing lumps and metallic tastes. It also kick-starts the leavening reaction, produces a more delicate crumb, reduces cookies from spreading, and helps ensure proper activation in the oven. Who knew? And why don’t more recipes suggest that?
At some point, likely before my single year of teaching in Maryland, my mother copied a number of her recipes–our collective favorites–onto my first group of recipe cards. The Banana Nut Bread recipe is one of those. That was 1970. Note that the shortening Mother recommended was “oleo.” Abbreviated for “oleomargarine.” If you were born after about 1975, you won’t recognize the term. I use butter.
Thumbing through my recipe file box, I come close to tears when I find a card of Mother’s. The care and time she invested in creating my starter set of directions for beloved dishes and treats sent me out into the world with a part of home—a part of her. Those cards represented her intuitively wonderful, practical but one-of-a-kind gifts. Something that no Hallmark store could duplicate. She forever modeled giving that came from our own hands and hearts.
I am moved to tears, as well, because the ink is fading on her cards. I can still read her distinctive, elegant writing. But will the fine blue lines last another ten years? And after a decade, will I be here to bake? And will the words mean something to Emily and Amanda or in turn to Mattie and Izzy and Ella and Charlie? I suspect the girls will have outgrown the Banana Nut Bread card I treasure—and the bread itself. Especially in a world where almost every recipe we use is on the web and every special baked good originates in a bakery.
Which heightens my melancholy and my resolve to invest a few more winter afternoons in four more loaves of banana bread. ©
