In many places around the world, it's customary after a birth for friends to bring along gifts of food. It's something nice that people do for each other not only to relieve some of the burden from discombobulated new parents, but as an expression of love and a pleasant reminder that "Hey, we're all in this together."
Of course, not in New York City. Now maybe that's because good delivery food is so easy to come by, or maybe it's because no one knows how to cook here, but I think it's largely because in NYC we're not all in this for each other, we're all in it for ourselves, or else we would live somewhere different and less anonymous, rude, and frenetic.
Our friends The Bomber and The Bomber's Husband just had their first baby, Maxwell, and I am going to meet him today. I intended to bake banana bread to bring to them -- really, I did -- but instead I stayed too late at work last night and then made the last-minute decision to attend a drinks reception for The Viking's prep school. If this sounds tedious, then you do not know The Viking's prep school. Going to a drinks reception adds up to mingling with people with names like Hugo Cadogan Finchley-Armitage and Richard Frederick von Wriothesley (pronounced: Risley) , all of whom are wearing ties and socks that mean something and are several measures wittier than the wittiest Americans I know. It's like walking into a staged production of Right Ho, Jeeves!, and opportunities like this one are not to be missed. But, as a result, now I'm just another one of those selfish New York people who doesn't bring anything homemade to new parents.
I've already seen pictures of baby Max, and he's a real dreamboat. I'm not just saying that. The truth is, some babies are ugly -- of course not your baby, reader, but some babies. I've seen babies who look like Vladmir Putin, Luciano Pavarotti, and Yoda. I know that it would be social suicide to indicate this to new parents but I do I feel that saying every baby is cute really takes something away from the babies who actually are cute, in the same way that "participation trophies" take something away from the person who really did win the 100 meter dash or had, without a doubt, the best original limerick of anyone in her fourth grade class. I'm just saying.
Back to the banana bread. I know it's not as fun to talk about a hypothetical banana bread as an actual one (and even less fun if you're The Viking, because hypothetical banana breads do not taste great with a cup of tea), but the recipe I had in mind last night was a really, really good one from Cook's Illustrated. I first made it in August, which is when the above picture was taken.
I love Cook's Illustrated. While the rest of us are groping around in the dark trying to get it right, Cooks applies not only the scientific method to cooking but also actual science, referencing things like sodium receptors and osmosis and fermentation and other terms that you have not thought about since a final exam when you were 14. Cooks Illustrated is the unfashionable yet clever lab partner who methodically completed the experiment while you spend all period "borrowing more sodium carbonate" from the cute soccer players one bench over. The main innovation in their banana bread is that they evaporate off some of the water from the bananas to pack flavor into the bread without making it soggy and dense. I can't vouch for it being the best banana bread in the whole wide world, but it's incredibly moist, crumbly, and addictive, and I for one will look no further for my banana bread needs.
You can get the recipe for the "Ultimate Banana Bread" here. Unless you're The Bomber, her husband, and Max, in which case you'll probably get the Ultimate Banana Bread sometime next week.
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