Ode to Sonia O. A.K.A. Mi Mamá

My Mod Mom--Many Moons Ago in Italy

“What do you notice about the line of my shoulders versus the line of my hips?” My mom asks me as she stands before me in her studio. Her hand, purposefully placed on her right raised hip is that much more pronounced due to her lowered right shoulder. Her head, in true model fashion, is slightly titled to the right. Thick dark and perfectly arched eyebrows accentuate her almond-shaped eyes above her light brown flawless skin and high cheekbones. Her straight dark brown hair is cropped carefully and closely to her head.  Her deep chocolate eyes focus fully on me. She’s exaggerating her stance as she poses in front of me. She wants me to see her with an artist’s eye. 

My sketchbook lies open on my lap and my charcoal pencil is in my right hand. I’m sitting up straight on her royal blue covered couch, observing her observing me—eyes peering into mine—as she models. Her easel and stool are behind her, as is the red French Roast coffee tin filled with different-sized paintbrushes, and the adjacent palette dotted with small piles of shiny colors. The smell of fresh oil paint breathes towards me as does the warm light from the skylight above.

“The lines of your shoulders and your hips are slanting in opposite ways?” I say—with a question in my voice to cover myself in case I’m incorrect.

“Exactly!” her Audrey Hepburn smile lights up her face and I bask in her approval. She maintains her stance.

“Now sketch me,” she commands. I know she means for me to pay attention to her position and figure, and not the details of her outfit:  black and white thinly striped turtleneck cotton and high waisted capris black pants, tapered at her skinny waste, as well as toward her thin, sockless ankles that lead into ped-cushioned feet, and her loafers.

I was probably nine years old. This was one of many art lessons she gave me. I’m sure I resisted at times.  But I tried to keep my complaints to myself, especially when she recounted how the only way to get good at anything was to keep at it—and never give up.

This class was probably given just before she put me into African dance classes with Mr. Ashangi. When I started those classes I did complain--about being the only white girl, about the other girls who wondered why I was with them—and Mr. Ashangi, who made fun of me and told me that as a white girl, I couldn’t possibly have rhythm.

In response to my whining about the class, Mom told me that I needed to work that much harder so that I could get rhythm, and that this class would be a good lesson for me.  “Now,” she claimed, “you’ll understand what it feels like to not be in a majority!”  

As for my mom, she didn’t appear to have ever struggled with rhythm. In fact, she seemed to have been born a natural dancer—as well as someone possessed by so many other attributes. We have home movies of her, from the 40s, dancing on the roof of her Brooklyn apartment. In the films, she’s about 11 years old, and imitating Carmen Miranda while being coached and coaxed by her parents.  She looks sun kissed and happy.

Mom kept her love of the sun, dance, and smiles her whole life.

As a young teen, my Brighton-Beach-Brooklyn-born-and-raised mother worked to lose her native accent. She won the argument to go to Cooper Union to study art instead of being sent to secretarial school. She worked in advertising, television, as an illustrator, a children’s book illustrator—and author, teacher and more. She often told me tales of being the first female art director, at age 23, at Young & Rubicam, and how she had to repeatedly prove herself in order to “hang out with the boys.” Apparently, she did.

Mom and Dad in the 1960s In NYC

M & D in the 1980s in North Brookfield, Massachusetts

Hostess and cook extraordinaire, those that knew my mom extol her virtues as an entertainer, as well as a quick-witted extrovert. Clever and creative are just two of the many wonderful qualities she had. Controversial could be added to that list.

Four Generations: Sonia, Sofia, Arlen, Grandma Sophie, in the 1990s, Larchmont, NY

Recently, a dear friend suggested I write a book about her. Mom was, after all, a fascinating trailblazer in many ways. I told my friend about her many accomplishments, as well as a bit about her being quite controversial, both amongst her five children (from three marriages) and their significant others, and grandchildren, as well as friends, and colleagues. He immediately retorted: “That makes the story that much more interesting.”

Well, perhaps I will dive into that in the future.

Today I glance around my home at her numerous paintings, sculptures, furniture designs, photos, and books;  memories of her and my dad’s parties, her taking me to so many museums, shows, and movies, her sharing of  books, tales, travels, and more come into my mind. It’s a bittersweet wave that runs through me as I write about her. I feel lucky, and hope I told her that before she passed away two years ago.

Three of Mom's Children's Books 

However, dear family and friends, my objective is here is not to be sad; on the contrary, I want to celebrate her life today. Today, after all, is Mother’s Day. And so, it’s a pleasure to share Sonia’s Blueberry Pie with you. Both of my children, Sofia and Wes, not only love this pie, but also have made it for their friends on occasion.

In conclusion, to all of you—mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children, I hope you enjoy this treat as much as we have, and do.

Blueberry Pie and Flowers 

Sonia’s Open-faced Blueberry Pie

Makes one 9-inch pie

Graham Cracker-Nut Crust:

1 1/2  cups graham cracker crumbs (you can buy them as crumbs, or crush 1 ½ packages   in a food processor)

1/2 cups pecans (I prefer) or walnuts, toasted pulverized (in a food processor) or finely chopped

1 tablespoon raw brown sugar

1/4  teaspoon ground cinnamon

4 tablespoons butter cut into ½-inch bits

Preheat the oven to 375ºF. Combine the ingredients in a food processor and process until it becomes just about smooth. Press into a buttered 9-inch pie pan. Bake until lightly toasted, 8 to 10 minutes. Let cool

For the filling:

3 cups fresh blueberries (you can add blackberries, too!)

3/4 cup blueberry jam or preserves (can be a blueberry and blackberry mixture)

1/4 teaspoon minced fresh lemon rind

1 pinch nutmeg

1 pinch cinnamon

In a medium saucepan, combine ½ of the fresh blueberries (about 1 ½ cups) with the blueberry jam or preserves. Add the lemon rind, nutmeg, and cinnamon, and cook, over medium heat, until warmed through, about five minutes.

Scrape into the cooled pie crust. Top with remaining blueberries, serve, and enjoy! 

Inspiration from Meals, Music, and Muses: Alexander Smalls' Latest Cookbook

Not quite sure what day of the quarantine we're in, but I do know one thing: it’s time!

What is it time for?

It’s time to put the pedal to the metal, so to speak, and get back to what I started many moons ago. And so, my friends, I’m going back to one of my true loves: food writing.

To “re-inaugurate” this blog after a two-plus year hiatus, I turn to a chef, author, restaurateur, singer, dear friend/mentor whom I admire tremendously: Mr. Alexander Smalls.

With Alexander Smalls, a Few Years Ago

Now, Alexander and I met about 15 years ago, when my agent at the time thought we would not only get along well together, but that we could also collaborate on a book project. At that time, he had already published Grace the Table (which is available via Amazon and other outlets).

Well, the book Alexander and I worked on together didn’t get published, BUT others have been—and continue to be—and we are still very much connected.

Which brings me to this blog.

Alexander—in the past two years—has written and published two wonderful books (pictured below): Between Harlem and Heaven, and Meals, Music and Muses: Recipes from My African American Kitchen.

It’s Meals, Music and Muses from My African American Kitchen, published this year,  that pushed me into my Easter Sunday menu. And that, my friends, is exactly what I’m sharing with you here!

Two of Alexander's Books, with Post-Its Marking my Yet-to-Make Dishes 

As for the recipes in his book, I encourage you to buy it. Actually, you should buy both of his recently-published books to read, keep in your library, and gain inspiration from. After all, if you are lucky enough to be home, healthy, and with loved ones or neighbors who would benefit from your cooking, now is the time to cook—and share.

Speaking of sharing, some of you may recall advice I shared a while ago: when creating a new menu for family/friends, it’s a good idea to incorporate one ol’ favorite along with the new dishes. The old favorite I incorporated are the Brazilian cheese puffs, a.k.a. pão de queijo. Now—as I've also told many of you—recipes evolve and adapt depending on availability of ingredients and on what you like—or dislike, not to mention whose at the table with you. So this recipe for Brazilian cheese puffs, since first published in my cookbook Mambo Mixers,  has gone through some changes. Here, below, I send you my latest version. But first, check out the photos from our Smalls'-inspired dinner:

Our Easter Table

Icebox Lemon Pie = dreamy...

Here’s the menu (Note: All are from Meals, Music and Muses--except for the Cheese Puffs!):

·         Brazilian Cheese Puffs 

·         Deviled Eggs

·         Carolina Hoppin’ John (Rice and Peas)

·         Carolina Cabbage Slaw with Roasted Sweet Corn

·         Barbecue Ribs with Bourbon Praline Sauce

  Icebox Lemon Pie

And, with this menu, and encouragement to explore, I sign off. In the meantime, I urge you to make the additions suggested to your cookbook library—
and to play with your food!

Warmest regards,
Arlen

Here's the Cheese Puff recipe: 

    Brazilian Cheese Puffs
(Adapted from Mambo Mixers,©2005, Arlen Gargagliano)

Makes about 6 dozen small cheese puffs

• 1/2 cup canola oil
• 1/3 cup water
• 1/3 cup milk
• 1 3/4 cups tapioca starch (doce) or manioc flour (available in large grocery stores and Latin markets)
• 1/4 cup tapioca starch (azedo)
• 2 eggs, lightly beaten
• 2 cups freshly grated Sardo (Argentine parmesan), your favorite parmesan, or Pecorino Romano cheese
• 1/2 cup shredded mozzarella cheese

Preheat the oven to 375ºF. In a medium saucepan, combine the oil, water, and milk and bring to a boil. Meanwhile, pour the starches into a large bowl. When the liquid has boiled, add it to the starch and mix well. Let it rest for about 15 minutes. Then stir in the eggs and the cheeses and mix until well blended.

Form into medium size balls, about the circumference of a half dollar. (At this point you can refrigerate them up to three days in advance.) Just before your guests arrive, place them an inch apart on parchment paper covered sheet pans. Bake in the top rack of the oven, until they start to brown (about 15 minutes). Then flip them so that they brown on both sides. Let them cook for another three to five minutes. Serve immediately--with caution because they will be hot! Keep remaining (if you have any left!) cheese puffs in an airtight container for up to 5 days. Reheat, wrapped in a paper towel, for about 15 seconds in the microwave.