Some of you already know this story: We lost my mother’s recipe binder after she died. I don’t know exactly when it was misplaced, but in the shuffle of my move and my father’s renovating the house, it went missing. It was a humble plastic-covered white binder, the kind with the inserts that allow you to put pages in the front. It reminded me of middle school, and just generally being young, and the feeling that my mother knew the answers to everything. God, I miss that feeling—nuzzling into the comfortable not knowing. It’s a luxury most adults can no longer afford.

But I digress. The binder contained handwritten recipes, some of which were my mothers, some that were from her aunts and my grandmother. There were yellowing newspaper pages and index cards with spidery cursive instructions. Everything kept in three-hole punch plastic sleeves. Everything neat and orderly. Somewhere in there were recipes for lentil walnut loaf with miso tahini sauce, cilantro and parmesan green rice, raspberry almond linzertorte, and the cheesecake she made me every year for my birthday. And this banana bread, or the one that came before this up-leveled version.

My mom was a three-times a day cook. She got up before me every morning and made me scrambled eggs and toast with jam, or plain yogurt with chopped apples, cinnamon, and almonds (a riff off our favorite Passover charoset), or oatmeal and fig pep in soy milk (I’m tempted to explain fig pep, but the mystery may be more exciting than the reality). From my mother, I learned to eat tahini on rice cakes and sprouted bagels, use beet juice as food coloring for pink cream cheese frosting on birthday cupcakes, and to cook without a recipe.

Though chocolate and refined sugar were frowned upon, my mother’s favorite desserts were banana bread and apple crisp. Jars of local Maui honey, bottles of maple syrup, and cartons of dates were kitchen staples. My mom didn’t have a recipe for her ideal apple crisp—it was an intuitive affair. She sliced apples, skin on, tossed them with cinnamon, honey, and lemon juice, and tucked them under a blanket of oats mixed with butter and honey and more cinnamon and walnuts. She let it bake until it was bubbling and brown. There were no timers or exact measurements. It was all felt. Smelled. Touched. Tasted. Sensed.

That’s how I learned to cook. When I conjure her in my mind, I see her hands in food, touching everything.

This banana bread, though, or its first iteration, did have a recipe. I’m not sure where it came from originally, but it managed to find its way back to me because before she died I’d sent it in an email to a friend. I forgot about this exchange entirely, but my friend didn’t. She made the bread often, and when she saw me post on Facebook about searching for my mom’s recipe binder, she reached out immediately to tell me she had the banana bread. My mother’s banana bread! One recipe reclaimed.

The original version is super simple. It’s vegan, and laced with tender chopped dates, nuts, and cinnamon. No bells and whistles. The instructions are two sentences long (oh, how I miss those instructions that assume the cook knows how to do all the unspoken steps). But here’s the thing: I’m guessing you already have a great banana bread recipe you like. One that doesn’t surprise in any way—it’s just plain old excellent. This, however, is not your mama’s banana bread. It’s still vegan, yes, but it’s packed with textural delights I could only have imagined after living in such a culinarily alive city as Los Angeles.

The first change I made to my mom’s recipe was to add poppyseed, a cue I took from my favorite restaurant in LA, Botanica. I love the subtle crunch and pep it adds to each bite, and the airy, slightly herbal flavor the seeds impart. To this, I added cardamom, cinnamon, and nutmeg. I kept the chopped dates, but went with well-toasted pecans instead of walnuts. I also wanted the top to be extra fun to eat, so I sprinkled on a mix of coconut flakes and shreds, pecans, and poppyseed.

After the first round, I realized the whole of it needed to be fattier and saltier (always, amiright), so I upped the salt and decided to add in some raw coconut oil, too. A few batches later, and I found that perfect loaf: It’s just sweet enough, ideally salty, subtly spiced, tender crumbed, and chock full of lovely edible moments of delight from poppyseed, dates, and coconut.

I think you’re gonna love it. Give it a whirl and let me know—and if you decide to make it your own in the process, you know I’ll be glad. And you’ll only be doing my mom proud.

Bake well, my friends. Too much else in the world is a mess right now to forgo our kitchen joys.

The post NEXT LEVEL POPPYSEED BANANA BREAD (VEGAN). appeared first on Kale and Caramel.