By July. The co-parenting is better. Measurably, specifically better. The shared calendar works. The bi-weekly check-ins are happening. Brian is on time. The on-time-ness is the change, the visible evidence that the parking lot fight was the catalyst, the lowest point that became the turning point. The turning is the work. The work is ongoing.
I made hiyashi chuka — the annual cold ramen, the July sentinel — and the blog post was the annual post, the tradition that the readers expect, the return that says: it is summer. The noodles are cold. The writer is still writing. The world continues. This year's post was titled "The Same Noodles, Different Summer" and was about the way the annual practice reveals the change — the same dish, the same season, the same blog, but the woman making it is different each year, because each year adds: a divorce, a book, a parking lot, a shame, a healing. The noodles are the constant. The woman is the variable. The variable is the life.
Miya's summer cooking project this year: baking. Not Fumiko's territory — Fumiko baked nothing, Fumiko believed in the stove and the steamer and the fryer and did not trust the oven, which she called "an unpredictable box" — but mine, and Barbara's, the American inheritance, the kitchen where cookies and muffins and bread are made. Miya and I made banana miso muffins — a fusion, bananas with a spoonful of white miso in the batter, the miso adding a savory depth that makes the muffins taste more complex, more adult, more interesting. The muffins were excellent. The fusion was correct. The oven, despite Fumiko's reservations, performed admirably.
The blog has thirty-two thousand readers. The first book continues to sell steadily. The cooking classes continue monthly. The magazine column continues. The career is a river now, not a stream — wide enough to float on, deep enough to sustain, carrying me forward at a pace that is sustainable and sure. The river does not rush. The river does not stop. The river is the practice. The practice is the river.
The banana miso muffins were Miya’s triumph, but the kitchen momentum didn’t stop there—it never does when a nine-year-old discovers she can make things with her hands. These popsicles came the following weekend, a logical extension of the fruit-forward summer we were already having, cold and bright and requiring almost nothing except a blender and the patience to wait for the freezer to do its work. Patience, it turns out, is something both of us are learning this year.
Pineapple Orange Banana Popsicles
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Freeze Time: 6 hours | Total Time: 6 hours 10 minutes | Servings: 8 popsicles
Ingredients
- 2 cups fresh pineapple chunks (or canned in juice, drained)
- 2 medium ripe bananas, sliced
- 1 cup fresh orange juice (from about 3 medium oranges)
- 1 tablespoon honey or agave syrup (optional, adjust to taste)
- 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- Pinch of fine sea salt
Instructions
- Blend the fruit. Combine the pineapple chunks, banana slices, orange juice, honey (if using), vanilla extract, and salt in a blender. Blend on high until completely smooth, about 60 seconds. Taste and adjust sweetness as needed—ripe bananas usually provide enough.
- Pour into molds. Divide the mixture evenly among 8 popsicle molds, leaving about 1/4 inch of space at the top to allow for expansion during freezing. Tap the molds gently on the counter to release any air bubbles.
- Insert sticks and freeze. Place the popsicle sticks into the molds (or cover with the mold lids if they hold the sticks in place). Transfer to the freezer and freeze until completely solid, at least 6 hours or overnight.
- Unmold and serve. To release the popsicles, run warm water over the outside of the molds for 10—15 seconds. Gently pull each popsicle free. Serve immediately or wrap individually in parchment and store in a zip-top bag in the freezer for up to 2 weeks.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 72 | Protein: 1g | Fat: 0g | Carbs: 18g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 18mg