BY SYDNEY LEVY

Baking must be my love language, or something like that. But I don’t have those memories of icing cupcakes with my mom and swiping my finger through the bowl of buttercream when she wasn’t looking. Rather, I tend to return to those nights spent, bloated and content, playing Monopoly with my sister and cousin after our family’s annual tradition of Chinese food on Christmas Eve.

Between dice-rolls, as if right on cue, the slatted saloon-style doors which separate my grandparents’ kitchen and den swing open. There is my grandfather, greeting us either as his “girls” or “goddesses” and carrying a plate of brownies. He approaches the little card-table in the corner where we intently play our game and sets the plate down, saying little, hardly lingering, and absolutely never taking a brownie for himself. Instead, he smiles an “okay” to our absent and collective “thank you” and squeaks back through the swinging doors.

March 14: Roasted Garlic & Rosemary Focaccia Bread

March 24: Chocolate Chunk Shortbread Cookies

There are three things I can count on about these brownies: they are made from a box, fresh from the toaster oven, and cut into strips rather than rectangles (I still think brownies taste best this way). He does his best to cut these strips evenly and in some multiple of three, but someone always feels slighted—usually myself, being the youngest—and returns to the game with chocolate-stained fingers and a renewed sense of vengeance. Thinking about it now, I’m hard-pressed to remember the outcomes of any of these Monopoly games. I don’t even think we’ve ever really finished one. It has never mattered.

My grandfather, like myself, has never been vocal with his emotions. I won’t attempt to speak for him, but I’ve always felt a palpable, suppressive fear that my affection is something of a nuisance. I’m afraid of being too much, of saying too much. Instead, it is easier to say, or to think, “Here. I made this for you.” Less risk of rejection. Somewhere along the way, this practice has evolved from giving crudely drawn cards to hopefully less-crudely executed baked goods. This love of baking has never quite made sense to me, with my presumed lack of family history behind it. It is only years later that I have recovered these memories of brownies and Monopoly.

As I continue to fail and succeed in attempting new recipes, I realize that I’m hardly satisfied with my product, regardless of how close to perfect I come. It’s not until I call my family into the kitchen or wrap up a box that the process feels complete. Though I have taken to preferring homemade versions of things like breads, cakes, and even cookies, I can’t help but return to those “JIFFY”-brand brownies whenever I get a craving. Nothing else tastes right.

This piece is a part of our Spring 2020 Special Collection.