My mom's Cinnamon-Kissed Banana Pie.
A pie without birth certificate.
You probably have this kind of recipe in your family. That kind someone has been making for centuries, but no one has ever sat down to transfer it to paper. They just cook it. And it works.
That's the story about my mom's cinnamon banana pie. We don't know where it came from, but we always felt that it was destined for great things. I wish this compliment was for me, not the pie. Buttery, but not too much. Caramelized on the top, but not too brown. Naturally moist from the bananas, and perfumey like a spice cabinet. It's just the right sweetness and the fact that each bite melts in your mouth, for me.
After years without tasting it again, one day I came home and my mother—who has been staying here with us for a few months—was in the kitchen, counter-leaning (and very focused), rolling up little strips of dough that looked like playdough worms. The whole house smelled like cinnamon sugar (which, if you closely pay attention to, smells different than ground cinnamon alone), and no cookbook in sight. I could see that pie coming right around the corner.
The pie came out of the oven all beautiful, just like the one I used to eat when I was a little girl. If cloud-nine was an aroma, it would be the aroma of this pie.
We sliced it, photographed it, then ate it.
When I was about to post my devouring-the-pie picture, mom hesitated. “This pie is such a simple thing, filha. I don't know if people want to see this.” I didn't disagree with her, but I insisted and posted it anyway. Half an hour later there it was, the humblest of pies, shining on social media.
A lot of people asked for the recipe, as it naturally happens with all the foods you post about from the moment you online declare yourself a person who works with recipes. And I was surprised to see how much interest our trivial pie sparked. Then I posted a short video, and those sparks turned into a little fire.
Breakfast next morning was all about figuring out how to come up with a recipe for a recipe that has no recipe. Mom and I wanted to make sure whoever found the enthusiasm to bake this very simple pie that was born in our remote Amazonian kitchen, would deserve to taste it exactly as it should be.
So we started testing.
We got carried away when shopping for ingredients and got at least 48 bananas from the market. By the way, did you know that in Brazil you not only can buy bananas in their different stages of ripeness, but you also can buy a VARIETY of bananas? Smaller, fatter, sweeter, starchier. Tropical perks.
The consistency and ripeness of the bananas we get in the US sometimes frightens me. When dealing with bananas, you're supposed to understand how they age. Underripe, and they give you the worst mouth feel and somehow lock your palate. The ripe ones have great taste and bite, but are still not good enough for baking. When they are overripe, they are perfect for baking, but by the time you're invited to the funeral, all the fruit-flies have already conquered it.
For this pie, if your bananas aren't soft, creamy, and naturally sweeter, characteristics of an overripe banana, the pie will still be delicious, but it won't be our pie. So we noted it down.
From there, we positioned ourselves in the kitchen, mom on one side of the counter, apron and hands at the ready, me on the other side, camera and all. We were committed to delivering that baby recipe.
“Two cups of flour?”. “It's too much flour.” “1 1/2?”. “It may not be enough”. “And how many bananas?”. “I never counted”. “Mom, please fill this pie with plenty of bananas. Be generous. If you don't have enough bananas, it's not good”. “Do you want to teach grandma to suck eggs?”. Folks, animosity on delivery day is really inevitable.
Four attempts later, she was born. Cute as she should be, she had her mother's face. I wrote everything down quickly so I wouldn't forget and then we sat down to eat.
“This pie is really very simple, Mom. Why did you never write down the recipe?”.
“For cooking and baking with your heart, for the people you love, you never need a recipe”.
I soon learned, going through my Mom's old kitchen notebook that the recipe actually already had a birth certificate. I found the poor little recipe forgotten in between the pages. Important to say that the notebook was gifted to me with a resounding announcement: I don't guarantee a good outcome for any of these recipes. I just wrote down everything I saw on TV. Minus that recipe. We figured that that sweet handwriting was from my mom's mom, Geni. They never really talked about this pie, but grandma thought it was good enough to make it to the notebook. She isn’t here anymore to confirm our theory, but I have a feeling she would be happy to see, as we all predicted, that this pie would do great things.
I hope this recipe adapts well to your kitchen. I will be on the lookout for your message saying: Cloud-nine aroma. Now I know what you mean.
My Mom's name is Eva and she was too shy to let me take a photo of her with her pie, but I do want you to “meet” her (hi in Portuguese is oi). So here is a quick video of us making Pão-de-Queijo, which I consider to be one of the most Brazilian of recipes and that will be making it to this newsletter soon.
On another note, I will be vacationing in Massachusetts for a couple of weeks and drinking all the drinks at one of my best friend's wedding. Lots of eating will be happening, so if you have any recommendations of where & what I should eat (or if you want to see something here) let me know.
Merci,
Thank you so much for sharing this amazing story and recipe. I will be honest, I'm usually not a banana fan, but I can't miss out on "cloud-nine aroma!" I'll make sure to tag you when I make it. Cheers!
You have such a way with words, my dear. And now I'm totally in the mood for pie!