Anna and David and the kids came up for the weekend. The house held everyone. The dishwasher ran four times. The fridge was full. The bed was made. The week was good. I am sixty-something and I have hosted my children and grandchildren in this house for forty years and the routine of the visit has become a polished thing — the way the towels go in the guest room, the way the coffee gets started, the way the Sunday breakfast happens at 9 AM with eggs and bacon and potato pancakes and limpa toast.
Karin is having heart trouble. She had a procedure. She is fine. Stockholm is far. I called every day for two weeks. She said: "You are the most insistent sister." I said: "You are the only sister in Sweden." Fair, she said. We laughed. The laughing across the Atlantic, mediated by video call, is its own form of intimacy. We are eighty and seventy-something and we are still the small girls in the kitchen on Fifth Street, in some way that the years have not erased.
Peter came up for a long weekend. He looked good. He brought Janet (the new woman). She made banana bread. She held her own in the kitchen. She made me laugh — twice, both times at her own expense, which is the kind of self-deprecation that signals an emotionally healthy person. I think this might be the one. I think this might be the one Peter has been waiting for, the one who can match his particular wounded honesty with her own steady-handed kindness.
I cooked Berry pavlova this week. Crisp meringue base, whipped cream, mixed summer berries. The dessert that looks like more work than it is.
The Damiano Center on Thursday. Gerald told me a long story about a bus accident he had survived in 1988 in Duluth. He had not told me before. He has been telling me more stories lately. I am the audience he has been gathering, slowly, over years. I listen. I do not interrupt. The stories are the gift he is giving.
Pappa would have liked this week. The fish were biting. The weather was clear. The Vikings won. He would have approved of all three. Pappa was a man of small approvals — he did not say much, but he made a small grunt of acknowledgment when something was right, and the grunt was the highest praise he gave. I miss the grunt. I miss being given the grunt.
It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen.
I keep a small notebook on the kitchen counter — green spiral-bound, from the drugstore. I write in it most days. The notebook holds the things I do not want to forget — Erik's stories about Pappa, Karin's notes about Mormor, Sophie's first words about her babies, the recipes I have changed slightly and want to remember in their changed form. The notebook is a small museum. The museum will go to Anna eventually, and then to Sophie, and then to Sophie's daughter Ingrid, and then onward.
It is enough.
The pavlova was for the weekend — airy and bright, the kind of dessert that earns a small grunt of approval from the people you love most. But these Blackberry White Chocolate Cheesecake Cups are what I keep coming back to when the table is full and I want something that travels well from kitchen to porch, something individual and easy, something that lets each person hold their own little cup of sweetness. Peter brought Janet, the house held everyone, and dessert should match that energy — generous, unhurried, a little beautiful without making a fuss about it.
Blackberry White Chocolate Cheesecake Cups
Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 20 minutes (includes chilling) | Servings: 8
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 cups graham cracker crumbs
- 4 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted
- 2 tablespoons granulated sugar
- 16 oz cream cheese, softened
- 6 oz white chocolate, melted and slightly cooled
- 1/2 cup powdered sugar
- 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- 1 cup heavy whipping cream, chilled
- 1 1/2 cups fresh blackberries
- 2 tablespoons blackberry jam or preserves
- 1 teaspoon lemon juice
Instructions
- Make the crust. Combine graham cracker crumbs, melted butter, and granulated sugar in a bowl. Stir until the mixture resembles wet sand. Divide evenly among 8 individual cups or glasses, pressing firmly into the bottom. Refrigerate while you prepare the filling.
- Whip the cream. In a chilled bowl, beat the heavy whipping cream with a hand mixer on medium-high until stiff peaks form. Set aside.
- Make the cheesecake filling. Beat the softened cream cheese with powdered sugar and vanilla until smooth and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Pour in the melted white chocolate and beat again until fully incorporated and silky.
- Fold and fill. Gently fold the whipped cream into the cream cheese mixture in two additions, taking care to keep the filling light. Spoon or pipe the filling over the chilled crusts in each cup, smoothing the tops.
- Prepare the blackberry topping. In a small bowl, stir together the fresh blackberries, blackberry jam, and lemon juice until the berries are lightly coated.
- Top and chill. Spoon the blackberry mixture over each cup. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or up to overnight, before serving.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 420 | Protein: 5g | Fat: 30g | Carbs: 34g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 230mg
About the cook who shared this
Linda Johansson
Week 545 of Linda’s 30-year story
· Duluth, Minnesota
Linda is a sixty-three-year-old retired nurse from Duluth, Minnesota, living alone in the house where she raised her children and said goodbye to her husband. She lost Paul to ALS in 2020 after two years of watching the kindest man she'd ever known lose everything but his dignity. She cooks Scandinavian comfort food and Minnesota hotdish and the pot roast Paul loved, and she sets two places at the table out of habit because it makes her feel less alone. Every recipe she writes is a person she's loved.