First Love

sweetie pie(s), honeybunch

From Karyl’s Cook & Tell Newsletter (February 1989)

At unexpected moments in our lives, memories of first love drift through consciousness on a breeze of dreams. These are times when youth seems a million miles away—or just barely out of reach. Such reflection reminds us that youth is full of promise and freedom, poetry and fire. And that maturity bids us keep our promises, while joys grow deep and quiet.

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Teddy was my first love. Everybody at school knew he was mine, but nobody knew what it was like, to be in love, because nobody was Teddy and nobody was me, except Teddy and me.

My seventeenth summer passed more like fantasy than real life. Since the afternoon in July when we had first talked at Barney’s soda fountain, Teddy had strolled through my summer in his crisp, white tennis shorts and dashing suntan, in the familiar manner of a character in a favorite novel. Where did he come from, I would ask myself, made breathless by his attention. What’s so special about me, I wondered, as if reminding myself of my plainness would help me see he would never be serious. But he thought I was interesting and he liked me. He was handsome and nineteen, and nobody knew him very well, because he had gone to private school somewhere out of state.

On the way home from the Orchard Ballroom the first time he took me dancing—a double date with Earl and Lois—I tried to carry on a conversation with Teddy. I heard his voice; I heard my own. I had a feeling I ought to talk, but I couldn’t figure out why, not what to say. Nothing I said sounded entirely rational. My words had nothing to do with my thoughts, and a thrumming from somewhere on the edge of awareness made too much noise. I watched the ends of sentences float out the car window. It was hard to breathe quietly.

I shivered. The night was warm and still, and Teddy must have known I wasn’t cold, but the sleeve of his jacket brushed my bare shoulder, and his arm drew me near him. Does Earl know where I live, I wondered, trying to concentrate on something very important. I tried to recall the sound of Teddy’s voice. He hadn’t spoken for a long time.

His face was very close. The kiss came like fragrance, like a cloud of blossoms, like the first raindrop, like drums. That was me and that was him! I wanted to shout it, so I’d be sure.

He left me at my door without a word and held my hand for the briefest moment. A few minutes later he called me up to say goodnight. No half-sentences this time, no trivia, no conversation. Softly, he said, “I love you.”

I remember wondering if I’d ever get to sleep and trying not to. My wide-open window embraced an arc of black silk sky, dotted with summer stars. No one has ever seen this sky before, I thought. The scent of his cologne, his face so cool, so smooth…everything is different. Has he seen the sky?

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The gentle tenderness of love was as large and as real as life to me then, just as it is to me now. Thinking back, I know I never dared ask myself: Can tender things survive? I was so young.

Now I am older, and I dare. And I know.

illustration by my mother, Karyl Bannister

Karyl’s Headnotes

With this recipe, a few simple ingredients are transformed into a creamy, tart-like confection, a favorite with the Québécois.  

“Hi, sugar,” you say, “here’s a sweetie pie for dessert.” And you stand there with this in your hands, waiting for the affectionate response that’s sure to come.

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QUÉBEC SUGAR PIE

• Pastry for 1-crust 9” pie, unbaked

• 1 c. firmly packed light brown sugar

• ¼ c. flour

• 2 c. light cream or half-and-half

• ½ stick (4 T) butter

• 1/8 t. nutmeg

Preheat oven to 425◦ F. Line a 9” pie plate with the pastry. Trim and crimp the edges. In a small bowl, combine the brown sugar and flour. Spread it in the crust. Pour the cream over the sugar mixture. Cut the butter into tiny pieces and drop them over the sugar. Sprinkle with nutmeg.

Bake for 10 min, then reduce temperature to 350◦ F and bake for 40 minutes longer or until the filling is set around the edge but still soft in the center. (Actually, it will be bubbling). Cool to room temperature before serving. Store leftover pie in fridge and warm to room temp to serve.

Note: a foil collar around the pie plate will keep the crust from browning too much.

illustration by my mother, Karyl Bannister

Amie’s Endnotes

I’ve included a bonus recipe for another Québec favorite (and Elf-approved), Maple Syrup Pie, in the “print the recipe” link above. It’s a lovely, surprisingly not-too-sweet, chess-type pie.

Mais oui, c’est vrai—every recipe in these newsletters can be downloaded and printed. You can find them ALL in the Cook & Tell Index. Cook & Tell is a firm believer in free love!

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💕Avec amour,

Amie & Karyl