What can one accomplish with a dash of nostalgia and a pinch of motivation? Banana Puffs.

My latest baking adventure came about two-fold. First, I had three beautifully ripe bananas.  Too mushy for toddler pick up, and just nearly right for baking. I don't bake much, but I find myself dabbling in it more and more.  The last time I had bananas I also happened to have one small zucchini that needed used so a couple loaves of quick bread were in order.  But this time as I peered across the kitchen at the perfectly spotted yellow peels, I remembered....Grandma's Banana Puffs.

Banana Puffs were one of Grandma Naomi's signature recipes.  People across the country rave about her delightfully splendid banana puffs. They brought a taste of melt-in-your-mouth-watering-joy to all who visited and lodged in her care. Even just this fall, a lady in my church in the middle of Kansas was sharing how much my grandparents had meant to her and then she sighed, "...and those banana puffs." You never know where your family's legacy is going to catch up with you.

Growing up, I never showed much interest in anything domestic.  Baking, coking, sewing, (don't get me started on cleaning), and the like were never anything to tickle my fancy.  And the fact that I was married at such a young age, the skills were more developed on the fly as needed.  My husband taught me how to cook and my mother taught me how to sew when I finally asked her to help me sew a dress for my young daughter.

Of all the domestic areas, I did seem to progress well at cooking.  I have surpassed my husband by far on everyday cooking - he still is much superior to me with the large meats.  Need a turkey or ham, ask the man.  Need an amazing pot of chili or even a tasty batch of gravy, I'm your girl. But recipes? Please. I rarely use one.

Due to my affinity against measurements and menial suggestions for nonsense like time and temp - BAKING was NOT going to work for my lifestyle of spontaneous freedom-dumping and tasting until it's just right.  If it didn't come pre-mixed in a, "Just add _____." format, it never touched the bowl, let alone the oven. So between my inexperienced youth and my general disregard for exact science, I never had the wherewithal to ask for recipes. Ever.

So here I am this week, with perfectly peaked bananas, a dash of nostalgia, and a pinch of motivation. I group messaged a several of my first cousins asking if any of them had acquired the secret potion I so suddenly desired.  And behold!  By the end of the day I had received a picture of the recipe in Grandma's very own handwriting. *swoon*

I glanced over the requirements and I had everything needed - except a clean kitchen to work in, go figure.  So my bananas would have to wait.  As I implied earlier, I don't even like to discuss cleaning, let alone actually accomplishing it, so I was hoping my motivation would kick in before my beautiful bananas began to rot.  As luck would have it, the hubbs came home with all the motivation I would need.  He started sorting and tossing and hanging and dusting and moving and sweeping and washing and I followed him around pretending to look busy until the house was clean! GO ME! Then, he made dinner while I was out running errands. *uberswoon*

With dirt and dinner behind us, I decided to break out the mixing bowls and get to work.  I was happy that my daughter wanted to help.  We were able to experience her great-grandma's banana puffs together.  There we were measuring and mixing, checking and rechecking the cursive laden lines, and suddenly I was flashbacking uncontrollably.  I was almost dizzy.  I placed my face just above the batter bowl, took a long whiff, whipped my head up and exclaimed, "This smells just like my grandmother's house!"  The experience only intensified as the baking continued.

I was happy to revive this pleasant, aromatic memory.  Too often some weird odor* that left a bad taste in my mouth is what comes to mind first when I think of how Grandma's house smelled.  I have yet to figure out whatever it was, but I hate to admit that it has plagued my memory - until now! Now I have the sweet, sticky smell of banana puffs any time I want to recall my sweet (and equally sticky) childhood at Grandma Naomi's house.  *It has come to my attention that not all my cousins recall this awkard and slightly rancid aroma, so I am very happy for them and wish them the best, thankfull I can now share in the joy of a more pleasant sensory remembrance.

At last, the baking was complete, the puffs were cooling, and the mess had been cleared.  Now it was time to taste.  Had I done it right?  Would they be all I had remembered?  Had I over-glorified these mini cakes into something that would ultimately let me down in the dark light of reality?  The moment of truth came as I grasped one lone puff between my thumb and forefinger, feeling the sticky sugar topping on the warm crust, smelling the sweet banana infused goodness, and finally tasting....

Yes.

I had done it. Perfection. Instant joy. Mmmm Hmmm.