Luna Azcurrain - Abuelos, Apples & Me

 

Thanksgiving at my house is not your typical Thanksgiving. Half of my family is from Spain, so we always add our little Spanish twist to it. We have tortilla de patata and gambas al ajillo, instead of, what do you guys have, your green bean casserole?] I do not know. [audience laughter] My favorite part of Thanksgiving was actually this apple cake. Typically, Thanksgiving was held at my aunt’s house, so I just assumed that she was the mastermind behind it. But I actually found out that it was my grandfather, which completely surprised me, because he is never in the kitchen. He is either reading a French newspaper or watching the Spanish news channel. So, when I found out it was him, I was like, “One, this is the perfect opportunity to get the recipe. And two, I can actually have a time and place to connect with him,” which I did not really have before that.

 

So, ever since then, I would go early on Thanksgiving morning and we would pull out this old recipe book that had all these food stains on it. I would mix together the wet and the dry ingredients, and he would double-check my measurements, and then I would sit there, mesmerized by the fact that he could peel an apple in one entire rind. We would combine everything, and then go over and consult with my uncle about the placement of the cake in the oven, because no one wanted to disrupt the turkey’s cooking time, even though [chuckles] no one wanted to eat it anyway. [audience chuckle] And then, it almost felt like instantly, the house would just smell like cinnamon and apples.

 

And at the end of the night, when everyone got that thick slice, we would just get this big round of applause, and everyone would be like, “Oh my God, it’s so amazing. It tastes so good.” Me and my grandfather and I would just look at each other from across the room and be like, “Yeah, we did that.” [chuckles] It just became a tradition that I enjoyed and always looked forward to. But as I got older, so did he. And one Thanksgiving morning, he was sitting at the kitchen table, and I assumed that he was waiting to make the apple cake. I was unpacking the groceries and putting the apples on the table. He looks at me and goes, “Luna, what are you doing?” And I’m shocked.

 

I knew that he was beginning to forget things, but I didn’t think that he would forget this. It was our tradition. It was our time of bonding. It was our time to connect. And he had forgotten. And I told him, I'm like, “We’re making the apple cake, you know, the one that we always make.” And he goes, “Apple cake? Can you teach me?” And now, I’m terrified, because he was my teacher, and now I have to be his teacher, because I don’t want this tradition to die. And so, I tell him, “I’ll teach you.” 

 

As I’m telling him that I’m putting the sugar and the eggs in a blender, and I’m putting the flour and the cinnamon in another bowl, and then we’re going to combine. I hand him the apple, and he still peels it in one rind and I’m like, “Okay, maybe he remembers a little bit.” We put it in the oven. It comes out perfectly. But the entire time, it just doesn’t feel the same, because even though he’s there with me, he’s not completely capable of being there like he used to be. 

 

And so, fast forward to this year, it’s about three years later, and I’m on my way to work and I remember that it’s going to be Thanksgiving. So, I call my mom and tell her that I need her to pick up the five freshest Granny Smith apples. And then, a few hours later, she calls me again and she goes, “Luna, your grandfather was just admitted to the hospital. He needs to get a small, minimal surgery. He’s going to be fine, but we’re going to have Thanksgiving in the hospital this year.” 

 

My first reaction was, “Oh my God, is he going to be okay?” But then, my second reaction was, “What about the apple cake?” [chuckles] And so, I knew that everyone was really worried about him, and so I figured I would just make the apple cake by myself this year, so that that way I could bring a little bit of comfort to the family. I get home, and I’m looking at the apples and I just completely forget everything. I don’t remember if he does slivers for the apples or chunks, if they’re big or if they’re small. I’m testing one with one apple and I definitely can’t peel it in one rind. And the entire time, as I’m mixing everything together, I’m just doubting myself, I’m like, “This is going to taste horrible. It’s not going to look the same.”

 

As I’m putting it in the oven, I’m just like, “This doesn’t have his touch. He’s not by my side. This cake will not be the same.” Because what made it so special was him being there, was us being able to make it together and he couldn’t do that this time. And so, as soon as it comes out of the oven, I’m like, “We’re not bringing it. This is not the cake. We’re not bringing it.” But of course, my mother insists. And so, we pack it in the bag and we’re on our way to the hospital. As we enter, it’s cold and it smells like medicine. But as we get to my grandfather’s room, everyone’s surrounding him and creating some warmth.

 

I try to discreetly [chuckles] hide the bag behind my back, but my grandmother sees and she goes, “What do you have there, Luna?” I hand her the bag and she pulls out the apple cake and then she tells my grandfather, “Look, Luna made apple cake.” He looks down at the cake and then he looks back up at me and he smiles. I just feel this rush of memories flowing back to him of every time we have made it together. And in that moment, even though he was in the hospital, it felt like we had made it together. We had done it once again. Thank you.