By I drove to Beaufort on Saturday, which has become a biweekly pilgrimage — the two-hour drive south on Highway 17, the marsh opening up, the egrets standing sentinel in the shallow water. This visit was different. Mama had called on Wednesday to say she couldn't find her car keys. Not in the refrigerator this time — simply gone, vanished, as if the keys had decided to leave the house before Mama could. I told her to look in her purse. She said she had. I told her to look in the coat pockets. She said she had. I said I'd be there Saturday.
I found the keys in the garden, next to the tomato cages, which means Mama had been gardening and set them down and forgotten. This is not alarming in itself — anyone might do this. But the forgetting is no longer isolated incidents separated by weeks of normalcy. It is becoming a pattern, a texture woven into the fabric of her daily life, and the pattern is thickening.
Joy was wonderful, as always. She has progressed in her cooking class to making sandwiches independently, which she demonstrated for me with the pride of a chef presenting a tasting menu. The sandwich was peanut butter and banana, constructed with Joy's characteristic enthusiasm — too much peanut butter, banana slices of wildly varying thickness, the bread slightly crushed from excessive spreading. It was the best sandwich I've ever eaten, not because of its construction but because of the joy (lowercase and uppercase) with which it was made and presented.
I sat with Mama in the kitchen after dinner and asked her, as casually as I could, whether she'd thought about coming to stay with me in Charleston. Not permanently — I couldn't say permanently, not yet — but for a visit. An extended visit. "Joy could come too," I said. Mama looked at me with the particular clarity that surfaces unexpectedly in people whose clarity is fading — a sharp, knowing look that said: I understand what you're really asking. "I'm fine here," she said. "This is my house." I said, "I know, Mama." She said, "Your father built this life." I said, "I know." She said, "I'm not leaving it." I said, "Okay." And I drove home and told Robert we need to start making plans, because Mama is not leaving it, and someday soon, the it she is not leaving will need to come to us.
I made peanut butter and banana sandwiches for dinner. Robert looked at the plate and then at me and said, "Rough day?" I said, "Joy made me a sandwich. I'm honoring the recipe." He ate his without further comment, because Robert has learned that sometimes the best response to grief disguised as food is to eat it and be grateful.
Joy’s sandwich — too much peanut butter, uneven banana slices, slightly crushed bread — was the best thing I ate all weekend, and I’ve been thinking about peanut butter and banana ever since I drove back up Highway 17. When grief needs somewhere to go, I find it moves most naturally into the kitchen, so I’ve been making this thick, fudgy chocolate peanut butter smoothie on the heavy days, adding a banana because Joy would, and because some recipes belong to someone even before they know it. It’s simple and honest and a little excessive on the peanut butter, which is exactly how it should be.
Thick and Fudgy Chocolate Peanut Butter Banana Smoothie
Prep Time: 5 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 5 minutes | Servings: 2
Ingredients
- 2 ripe bananas, sliced and frozen
- 2 cups whole milk (or oat milk for dairy-free)
- 3 tablespoons creamy peanut butter (Joy’s amount: 4 tablespoons)
- 2 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
- 1 tablespoon honey or maple syrup
- 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
- 1/4 teaspoon fine sea salt
- 4–6 ice cubes
Instructions
- Freeze your bananas. For the thickest smoothie, freeze banana slices in a single layer on a baking sheet for at least 2 hours, or overnight. In a pinch, fresh bananas work — just add extra ice.
- Combine. Add the frozen bananas, milk, peanut butter, cocoa powder, honey, vanilla, and salt to a blender. Add the ice cubes.
- Blend until fudgy. Blend on high for 60–90 seconds, stopping once to scrape down the sides. The smoothie should be very thick — almost spoonable — and deeply chocolate-colored. If it won’t move, add milk one tablespoon at a time.
- Taste and adjust. Add another spoonful of peanut butter if the day calls for it. Add a little more honey if you need sweetness. There is no wrong version of this.
- Serve immediately. Pour into two glasses. Eat it before it melts. If you’re eating alone, drink the second one anyway.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 380 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 51g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 280mg