You know those childhood memories that just stick with you?.... the good ones that you have no idea why they left such an impression; they just did... and that's that. Well, one of mine involves standing around the counter of my Girl Scout troop leader's house in grade school. I've long since forgotten the grade I was in and most everything else about Girls Scouts for that matter (minus Thin Mints, Samoas and all of those fantastic badges ofcourse).... but I remember that particular meeting; the kitchen and the late afternoon light and the bunch of us girls staring down in amazement at all that nutty, sticky goodness.... many of us having never made anything in the kitchen before. She told us about her Greek heritage and the history of this dessert.... all the while letting us take turns carefully putting down the layers (I swear she said there were a hundred) and we laughed and she laughed.... and it felt good.
Decades have passed since then and I can count on one hand the times I have eaten baklava. I quickly learned that it isn't a common offering; at least in your typical American eateries.... so it always comes as a pleasant surprise to see it on a menu or hear it included in the list of desserts the waiter is rambling off. And each time without fail, my heart skips in delight and my mind starts reminiscing.... and I'm obliged to tell anyone who is around about the story of the woman who was crazy and wonderful enough to host of gaggle of giggling girls to one of the messiest desserts known to man... and smile about it.
This woman; my troop leader and the mother of dear friends passed away last week..... and, yep, the first thing that came to mind when I heard the news was... baklava. I don't think she'd mind that that is the legacy she left with me for it is filled with sweetness, warmth and love.... one hundred layers worth...
