Raisin Cinnamon Bars

Camila Rosa Delgado-Medina was born on November 8th, 2021, at 2:15 in the morning, at Yale New Haven Hospital, seven pounds even, with dark hair and a set of lungs that the delivery nurse described as 'impressive' and that I, having raised four children with Delgado lungs, describe as hereditary.

Carlos called at 2:30 AM. I was awake — I had been awake since midnight, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of chamomile tea that I was not drinking and my phone that I was staring at and the particular alertness of a mother whose daughter is in labor, which is the alertness of a soldier, which is the alertness of a woman who cannot do anything except wait and who does not wait well, who has never waited well, who considers waiting an inferior form of activity and who only endures it when the alternative is impossible and the impossible is this: the baby comes when the baby comes and the grandmother waits.

Carlos said, It's a girl. I said, I know. He said, How do you know? I said, Mami told me. He did not understand. He does not need to understand. Mami knew. Mami has always known. The knowing is in the blood.

Her name is Camila. Not Consuelo — but Rosa, bless her, gave Camila the middle name Rosa, which is Abuela Consuelo's middle name, so Consuelo is in there, embedded in the name the way Consuelo is embedded in everything, the DNA of our family carrying the grandmother's name forward even when the granddaughter is too new to know what the name means.

I drove to New Haven at 6 AM. I held Camila at 8 AM. She was seven hours old and impossibly small and she had the Delgado nose — the nose that I have, that Mami has, that Abuela Consuelo had, the nose that says: this person has opinions and you will hear them. I held her and I said, Hola, mi amor. Bienvenida. Welcome to the table. There is always room for one more.

I never did drink that chamomile tea. But somewhere in the weeks after Camila came home, when I found myself wanting to mark that night — the vigil of it, the holiness of it — I started baking these raisin cinnamon bars at odd hours, because cinnamon is what warmth smells like in my kitchen and raisins are what Mami always kept in a jar on the counter, and putting the two together felt like the closest I could get to saying: I was awake for you, mi amor, and I would wait a thousand midnights over. Now whenever I bring a pan to Rosa’s house, Camila reaches for one with both hands, and I think: she already knows. The knowing is in the blood.

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 16 bars

Ingredients

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened
3/4 cup packed brown sugar
2 large eggs
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1 cup raisins
1/2 cup chopped walnuts (optional)
Powdered sugar, for dusting (optional)

Instructions

Preheat. Heat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking pan or line it with parchment paper.
Whisk dry ingredients. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking powder, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt. Set aside.
Cream butter and sugar. In a large bowl, beat the softened butter and brown sugar together until light and fluffy, about 2–3 minutes with a hand mixer or stand mixer.
Add eggs and vanilla. Beat in the eggs one at a time, then mix in the vanilla extract until fully incorporated.
Combine. Add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and stir until just combined — do not overmix. Fold in the raisins and walnuts if using.
Bake. Spread the batter evenly into the prepared pan. Bake for 28–32 minutes, until the top is set and golden and a toothpick inserted in the center comes out with just a few moist crumbs.
Cool and cut. Let the bars cool completely in the pan on a wire rack. Dust with powdered sugar if desired, then cut into 16 bars.

Nutrition (per serving)

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