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stretchjournalemerson · 4 years

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Keep the Pie Right Side Up

By Daniela Lee Hoyos

46 million turkeys are sold in the U.S. every Thanksgiving, it is a very American tradition, and families take it very seriously here. But oddly, most of my Thanksgivings happened in Bogota, Colombia. My very American, tall, blond, blue-eyed Grandmother from Indiana fell in love with a very Colombian man and moved to Colombia after marriage. My Grandfather studied at a university in Bogota and had an exchange program with a catholic college in Fort Wayne, Indiana. For someone who lived in a country that had no seasons, going to an exchange program for the spring semester in Indiana meant living under the snow for three months. My Grandmother and Grandfather never had classes together since they studied very different things but they would meet up for lunch and my Grandma would invite him to eat at her house. My American family would laugh at my Grandfather for being so underprepared for winter and would serve him a cup of hot chocolate he would hate because he missed the bitter, mouth-watering, dark roast black coffee from home. After the semester ended their love lived through letters that would take four days to arrive, until my Grandpa went back to visit and asked her to be his wife. He couldn’t imagine a life without her. They moved to Colombia a few days after the marriage and have lived there ever since.

I was born in Manhattan on June 9, 2001, 4 months and 3 days before the twin tower attack. My Grandparents freaked out about this and didn’t really like going to NY to visit. Thanksgiving was really important for my Grandma so every time that time of the year came along we would fly into Bogota to have that meal.

On Thanksgiving 2008 I was already living in Colombia since I moved there from New York. This meant that we would actually help out with the cooking. At around 11 A.M. my Grandfather picked my sister and me up from our house in his big, box-like Jeep. I remember him honking the horn that sounded like a 16 wheeler truck on a highway. My sister and I ran down the stairs, leaping from the excitement that my Grandma had invited us to go bake pies. We jumped up and down in the car on the way to my Grandparent’s house. Once we arrived we ran up the stairs with my Grandpa’s dog who had come along for the trip. My Grandma had already opened the door because she said she could hear us all the way up the stairs.

My Grandmother extended her arms open with excitement to see us and her cookie scent filled me with joy. Her bright, blue eyes looked into mine as she smiled. I headed straight to the kitchen ready to bake the pies, my Grandma had already set everything up for us. I hung a red apron around my neck and tied a bow with the two strings hanging behind my back. My Grandma said, “Lucia go to the counter next to the sink and start reading the instructions for the apple pie, and Daniela go to the counter next to the oven and start reading the instructions for the banana cream pie.” I headed to the counter and found myself reading the instructions and pointing at each ingredient that my Grandma had left out for me to simply mix in the bowl. “Traeme Cocola Dani porfa,” my Grandpa screamed from the living room. I served him a glass of coke and I sat on his lap as he told me about his day. I kind of forgot I was supposed to be in the kitchen helping my Grandmother until she called my name for me to go back. Tito laughed and I jumped off of his lap and ran back to the kitchen.

I started to put the dry ingredients together in a bowl and began mixing them together, my Grandma had told me to not dare mix the wet and dry ingredients until she told me to, or it wouldn’t end up right. To this day I still don’t understand the theory behind that since it all ends up together anyway but I followed her instructions. Once I had the filling done, she told me to get the crust from the fridge. The scent of graham crackers filled my nose and reminded me of the summer when I was at camp. I placed the pie crust in its plate on the counter and filled the base with the filling. I later sliced the bananas that my Grandma passed me, clumsy me cut my finger in the process. My Grandma’s nickname for me never failed to show its meaning: “Grace,” she laughed in a sarcastic tone as she put my finger under cold water and put a nude-pink bandage around my finger. I took the apron off and sat on my Grandma’s bed watching the discovery channel as she baked both pies in addition to the pecan pie she was making simultaneously.

She called me back to the kitchen to take my masterpiece out of the oven. She put a blue glove on my right hand and a red one on my left hand and told me to pull the pie out carefully to not drop it. “Plop.” Well, I blame her for jinxing it. There it was my banana cream pie straight out of the oven face down on the kitchen floor. I looked up fearful to see her reaction because she was dead silent. Once my eyes met her eyes she cracked up in laughter and had to sit down because of how hard she was laughing. Her humor is something I miss the most. I cracked up with her and it took us around 15 minutes to turn the pie over because each time we went back to pick it up our uncontrollable laughter would start again. We were finally able to control our laughter and flip the pie back over. It honestly didn’t look that bad, the only thing was that the filling looked a little smooshed and the meringue didn’t have its full effect. My Grandma scraped the top and told me, “it’s our little secret.” That night we all enjoyed the meal and even my downside up banana cream pie and no one even found out it had fallen down.

This year’s Thanksgiving wasn’t quite the same, the laughter wasn’t there. It was all the echo of her presence. The turkey tasted different, the green beans looked soggy, the potatoes were dry. It just wasn’t the same. She wasn’t there. As the banana cream pie came from the kitchen it smelled the same, it looked the same, and it probably tasted the same; I wouldn’t know I didn’t have the guts to eat a piece. The hands bringing the pie from the kitchen weren’t my beautiful grandmother’s wrinkled, tissue paper hands. They were my mom’s. It hit me, I felt the hole inside people talk about when they deal with loss. It all came with the banana cream pie, a little piece of her came into that room that day saying hello with the sweet scent she always had.

Banana Cream Pie

Remember those Thanksgiving dinners over at your Grandmother’s house? After being fully stuffed from varieties of cornbreads, stuffing, vegetables, turkey, and gravy? And then suddenly you see your Grandma come out of the kitchen with a freshly baked pie? Your favorite. Well, this is what Thanksgiving looked like for me, and thanks to my Grandma I am able to share this family recipe with you. It might seem like a tedious task but believe me, you and your guests will find it extremely rewarding once you get the first bite into this pie.

Ingredients for crust:

1 ½ cups crushed graham crackers

⅓ cup of sugar

½ cup melted shortening or butter

Add sugar to the crushed graham crackers and add shortening/butter into the mixture.

Mix well and press the pastry into a greased 9-inch pie pan. Chill until set (around 45 minutes).

Ingredients for filling:

¼ cup cornstarch

⅔ cup of sugar

6 tablespoons of sugar

¼ teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons butter

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

2 cups of milk

3 scalded, stiff beaten egg whites

3 slightly beaten egg yolks

2-3 bananas

Mix the sugar, salt, and cornstarch; gradually add milk.

Place mixture in a double boiler for about 10 minutes or until thick. (stir constantly)

Slowly add a small amount of the hot mixture to the egg yolks, and add it back to the remaining hot mixture and stir properly.

Put back into a double boiler for 5 minutes.

Add butter and vanilla and stir until fully mixed, put the mixture to the side and let cool.

In a bowl whisk the egg whites with added 6 tablespoons of sugar to form the coating merengue.

Pour the mixture into the set crust shell and add 2-3 sliced bananas on top. Spread the meringue on top and place pie into a moderate oven (350 degrees Celsius) 12 to 15 minutes.

Enjoy!

Tip: Make sure you keep the pie off the ground, it makes the process easier.

Works Cited

“Turkey Facts.” Turkey Facts - Turkey for Holidays - University of Illinois Extension, web.extension.illinois.edu/turkey/turkey_facts.cfm.

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