Journey of devotion, imagination ends with golden gift to remember.
There once was a princess who was young and beautiful.
She had a lovely lyrical name, Arabella Lyra Albertine (definitely not Diana or Aurora or anything related to Rose), but she was so pretty, everyone just called her Bella. She was gracious and kind and exceptionally pious. She had a beautiful voice, because she was a princess, and she spent her days lifting her voice to the heavens. Princess Bella had dreams of a life of service, but that wasn’t really in the cards for her because she was a princess and everyone — her father the king, especially — thought she should just marry some pretty boy and live her life out in luxury and repose.
When she was old enough, her father decided it was time to open the gates of his kingdom to the hordes of suitors who craved Bella’s hand and heart. In carefully choreographed and chaperoned meetings, Bella met with a parade of possibilities — old men and young men; handsome, virile men; sensitive, scholarly men; funny men, serious men; men that came in every shape and size and hue. But for Princess Arabella Lyra Albertine, called Bella, they were all boring men because she was looking for someone to be a partner and a helpmeet and an equal in her life goals of mercy and grace. (Although, to be perfectly transparent, since she believed she would be walking beside him all the days of her life, Bella did hope for a good-looking man.)
One day, a young man saw Bella singing hymns in the chapel in town (she did that often because she was exceptionally pious). He was a builder and a teacher name Alden Augustus, often called Gus the Good by his chums who sometimes mocked him in the schoolyard because he liked to help people and was dedicated to living a virtuous life (which, as his schoolmates insisted, isn’t necessarily as fun as a nonvirtuous life). Of course, Bella’s lovely voice enchanted him — as it did everyone who heard it; but as he stood in the doorway to the sanctuary, watching her as she dropped to her knees in prayer, Gus was also struck by her great beauty, her sweet demeanor and her piety.
Gus approached Bella as she was leaving the chapel, and soon they were deep in conversation. Bella was impressed by the handsome stranger, by his easy-going manner and his openness. Soon, they were spending nearly every day together, getting to know each other, reading poetry and scripture, making plans for all the good deeds they would do together and all the people they would help, laughing and singing and picnicking in a little gazebo behind the king’s castle. (Come on, people, not that kind of picnic, not that kind of gazebo. This isn’t Bridgerton!)
Bella grew to care for Gus, quickly convinced that he was a man of great integrity with a servant’s heart. And, for his part, Alden Augustus the Good fell in love with Princess Arabella Lyra Albertine. They made plans to be married, but when Gus asked the king for permission to wed the princess, the king said no.
Although the king conceded that Gus seemed like a personable, respectful, ambitious young man who appeared to have real feelings for his daughter, he was concerned that the princess’s fame and fortune were the real draw for the poor builder. So the king sent Gus on a mission to prove himself worthy, instructing him not to return to the kingdom until he secured a tangible symbol of his devotion to present to the princess.
Gus was gone for many months, and the seasons passed, one into another. Arabella Lyra Albertine waited patiently, offering a prayer for her lover’s safe return each night and awakening with expectation each dawn as the sun crested the horizon. She never doubted he would come back to her, even when she heard rumors that Gus was going on princely adventures — like swatting flies, slaying dragons, finding swords hitherto inaccessible, chopping thorny vines, befriending dwarves, storming castles.
In reality, Alden Augustus spent his time away trying to live up to his nickname, Gus the Good. He helped communities build schools and clinics; he planted crops, cared for animals, dug wells and rejoiced with farmers for bountiful harvests; he gathered children around him, telling stories, singing songs, teaching truths about science and sacrifice, letters and words and sentences. Each night he sent up a prayer of gratitude for a newborn day that would bring him ever closer to Bella.
One day, many months and uncounted miles from the king’s castle, a mighty wind ravaged a little village and the historic chapel that stood watch over it. In its storied past, the chapel had hosted popes and potentates, holy souls and miracle-makers. Gus found the church’s old pastor weeping, the roof of the chapel sheared from the building, the walls riven and scattered at their feet.
“For centuries, this church has been the heart and soul of our community,” the sad old pastor told Gus. “Within these walls, we’ve welcomed new life to the brotherhood of believers. We’ve rejoiced as young lovers embarked on life’s adventures together. We’ve sent weary souls to their final rest.” Dejected, he shook his head. “How will we go on without it?”
A ray of sunshine filtered through a still-intact stained glass window, and Gus found hope in the colors that danced over the debris. “I can help,” Gus said. “I’m a builder, a builder by trade. I can rebuild this church.”
Although the old pastor said the parish was too poor to pay for the work, Gus insisted he would get it done before winter. He worked through the spring rains, in the hot sun of summer and through the colorful cold days of autumn. On the night of the winter solstice, Gus hammered in the last nail and prepared to depart the recovering hamlet, but the old pastor stopped him before he could slip out of town. He pressed something into Gus’s hand. “It’s not much,” he said, “but it’s a small token of our gratitude. Take it and consider it a symbol of your devotion to this community and this quest and the heroic work to which you have dedicated your life.”
In his hand, Alden Augustus, known now by even more people as Gus the Good, was a small golden cross, etched with a delicate filigree; its center a heart pierced with a diamond.
Gus took the golden cross with thanks, slipped it into his breast pocket, and started out on the long journey back to the kingdom and his beloved Bella. He was hailed by many people along the route as Gus the Good, not because it was the mocking nickname of his childhood but because everyone recognized his servant’s heart and admired his selfless deeds.
Once he returned to the kingdom and after a joyous reunion with Bella, Gus presented the princess with the golden cross. “A symbol of my devotion,” he said.
However, because there was no Internet or social media or instant communication, the king had not yet heard about the storm-ravaged church and the builder’s help and sacrifice. He did not know that people meant it when they called Alden Augustus “Gus the Good.”
The king scoffed at the little cross. “That’s nothing more than a trinket,” he said, “hardly befitting a princess. Where are the dragon scales? Where is the mighty sword? Where are the treasures and riches and hordes of people bowing down when you walk by?” He demanded. “Rather than a symbol of devotion, that little thing seems only a totem of perpetual poverty and continuous sacrifice.”
Gus was devastated by the harsh words; but in the months that Gus had been away, Bella had grown and matured, learned her own mind and channeled the strength of her ancestors and all the women warriors who forged a path to happiness and fulfillment despite historic roadblocks.
“This is enough,” she told her father, as she fastened the golden cross around he neck. “Gus is enough.”
Bella, like Gus, embraced the golden cross as a symbol of their united hearts; and Alden Augustus and Princess Arabella Lyra Albertine, as they say, went down in history.
***
My sister told me that story one day when we were both still kids.
We lived in Colorado Springs then, newly transplanted from sleepy Fort Collins. Kathy was in high school, and I was still in grade school, maybe junior high by then. We lived in a little yellow house on the east side of town, a block away from a bus stop, which gave us a tentative taste of independence. The “big city” was just a short bus ride away.
Sometimes our mother would escort us downtown, and we would go shopping in the fancy department stores and have lunch (or hot chocolate) in their top-floor tea rooms.
But because the world was a little gentler then than it is now or because parents trusted their children and their neighbors and the strangers on the bus more than they do now or because stay-at-home mothers — like my mother and almost all the mothers of all the kids in our white, middle-class, kind of Leave-it-to-Beaver neighborhood— were in desperate need of some alone time, more often we took that bus without her.
We went to the library and to the bookstore with the invisible man window displays and to the two-story toy store, and we looked in the windows of the bridal shop that sold fantasy to little girls and the shoe store that sold fantasy to big girls. Sometimes we ate lunch in a tiny Greek restaurant that served spanakopita and baklava or a French bistro that whipped up crepes and croissants; sometimes we saved our pennies for a frozen treat (with real whipped cream) at the pink-and-white ice cream and candy shop. Somewhere along that Main Street, there was an antique store that enticed us with beautiful things from days gone by, imaginings and stories and tall tales.
One day, Kathy returned from a solo sojourn from downtown and told me all about going into the antique shop and having a lengthy conversation with the shopkeeper, who she described as little and old but distinguished and gregarious. That old man showed her — or noticed her looking at — a little gold cross, and he told her the story of Gus and Bella.
Or so my sister told me.
At length.
In my memory, she told me the story she said the old shopkeeper had told her while we sat on our twin beds in the bedroom we shared in the basement of that yellow house in Colorado Springs. In my memory, it took most of the evening. I remember the story she told being heavy with details, often convoluted, and swollen to bursting with romance. (My sister, after all, was a teenage girl at the time.) I — her rapt audience — was pretty sure that the story wasn’t true, but because the storyteller was my sister I was equally sure it wasn’t a lie.
On the next gift-giving occasion— my birthday, I think, but I’m not sure now, it could have been Christmas — my sister presented me with a pretty green jewelry box. Inside, was a golden cross, stamped with delicate filigree, a silver heart in its center. And in the center of the heart, a tiny diamond, barely even a chip but a treasure beyond my wildest imagination.
But clearly not beyond hers.
***
The story of Bella and Gus came to mind sometime during this holiday season when I was being bombarded by memes on Facebook telling me — all of us — not to be enticed by gifts this Christmas. It’s not the treasures that come wrapped in pretty paper that make the holiday memorable, they scolded. It’s the experiences; it’s the time with loved ones; it’s the lights and the memories and the moments. But not the gifts, the virtue-signaling memes insisted, never the gifts. I hate those memes.
Don’t get me wrong: those things are important. Of course they are, but that no-gift paradigm dismisses the religious symbolism of recreating the magi’s gifts to the Christ child; and on a more practical level, it also diminishes the huge impact holiday spending has on the U.S. economy. Plus, it’s just nice to know that someone thought of you and thought you were, for whatever reason, gift-worthy.
And I would contend that a thoughtful gift, chosen with the gift-getter at its heart, is fundamental in creating those moments and has the power to extend the memories, maybe even to the point of resurrecting muted feelings and lost days.
In fact, a gift rediscovered at the bottom of a drawer seldom opened just might transport you to the basement bedroom you shared with your sister on a long-forgotten evening when all the time in the world stretched before you and all your most cherished people were safe around and the vast expanse of a child’s imagination welcomed you in and asked you to stay awhile.
4 pies
At Thanksgiving this year, we kept coming across recipes for interesting pies. Usually we just make pumpkin pie, which is so delicious smothered in hand-whipped cream. It never disappoints; but this year, we decided to mix it up by making a bunch of pies that could be eaten at various times throughout the day. As it turned out, the experiment had mixed results.
The naturally pink flesh of a Lucy Glo apple creates a beautiful filling for your holiday pie. We started the day with a pink apple pie with a cinnamon roll crust. The Lucy Glo apple slices were very pretty and just the right amount of tart. The cinnamon roll crust was fun to make and gave the pie an interesting finished look, while at the same time boosting the irresistible aroma of cinnamon and sugar. We even topped it with a sweet, gooey cream cheese frosting, that melted into puddles over the crust and onto the plate — just like a big ol’ cinnamon roll from your favorite breakfast dive. All that being true, the cinnamon roll crust ultimately was too thick and made the pie too heavy. I’m not sure I would make this pie again.
Next up was a Striped Sweet Potato Pie that I have been interested in making since last year’s failed Purple Sweet Potato Pie. Rather than a custard, it is made with thin slices of orange and purple sweet potatoes, layered alternately by color, to create a pretty striped filling. It did look pretty cool and we topped it with a fun crust and molasses whipped cream. However, I’m beginning to think I’m just not a sweet potato person because I did not like this pie at all. It was heavy, lacked sweetness and a cloying clove flavor. We ended up throwing away most of this pie.
The winner of the day was the Kinda Like a Samoa Cookie pie, aka Coconut Caramel Tart. When the recipe first appeared in the New York Times, this tart was compared to a Girl Scout Cookie, specifically a Samoa, also called a Caramel DeLite, which has always been my choice when an eager Brownie knocks on my door. It was an apt comparison, although I don’t think it is quite as sweet as the cookies. It has a chocolate cookie-like crust and a coconut filling; then it’s topped with caramel and a drizzle of chocolate (or if you’re like my helper, a heavy pour of chocolate). I really liked this pie and would recommend it if you are looking for something different and fun for your New Year’s table. (Recipe below.)
I also made a pumpkin pie because, you know, it’s tradition and, to be honest, just as a safeguard in case nothing else was edible. We didn’t eat it for Thanksgiving. Instead, I covered it in foil and popped it in the freezer — and then thawed it for our Christmas dessert. Pumpkin pie freezes and thaws really well, and it’s delicious cold (even still a little frozen in the middle, which is how we ate it because I took it out of the freezer a little later than intended). Another benefit, because pumpkin pie can be frozen, you can make it well ahead of your holiday celebrations and be confident that you’re serving your loved ones something satisfying and delicious.
The recipe:
Kinda like a Samoa Cookie Pie
(aka Coconut Caramel Tart)
Chocolate Crust
1 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 cup powdered sugar
1/4 cup Dutch-processed cocoa powder
1 teaspoon kosher salt or 1/2 teaspoon fine salt
6 tablespoons unsalted butter, cut into cubes
1 large egg, beaten, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
Mix together flour, powdered sugar, cocoa and salt until fully combined. Add butter until mixture resembles wet sand. Add beaten egg and vanilla and cut into mixture until you can form ball.
Form the dough into a disk about 1 inch thick. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes or up to overnight.
On lightly floured surface, roll out the dough into a 12-inch round. Press the dough into a 9-inch pie plate or a 10-inch tart pan. Freeze until very firm, about 20 minutes. Crimp edge of crust or, if using a tart pan, trim edge flush with top of pan. Use fork to dock dough on bottom of crust.
Heat oven to 375 degrees. Bake crust for 15 minutes, until fragrant and slightly dry. Cool completely.
Coconut Filling
8 tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature
1/2 cup granulated sugar
2 large eggs, at room temperature
1/2 cup almond flour
1/2 cup unsweetened shredded coconut, toasted
1 tablespoon flour
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt or 1/4 teaspoon table salt
Spread the coconut on a sheet pan. Bake in a 350-degree oven until golden brown, 4 to 7 minutes, stirring halfway through. Watch closely because it burns easily.
In a large bowl, with mixer, beat butter and sugar on medium speed until smooth, about 2 minutes.
Add eggs and beat for another minute until light and fluffy.
Add almond flour, coconut, flour, vanilla and salt. Beat for another minute until fully incorporated.
Spread mixture into cooled crust and bake for 20 to 25 minutes until slightly puffed and toothpick inserted in the middle comes out clean let cool at room temperature while you make the caramel.
Caramel topping
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup full-fat coconut milk or heavy cream
1 cup unsweetened coconut, toasted
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
1 teaspoon kosher salt or 1/2 teaspoon fine tablespoons salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 ounces semisweet chocolate m chopped
Optional: Flaky sea salt, for sprinkling
In heavy saucepan over medium heat, stir the sugar and 2 tablespoons water and cook until sugar dissolves.
Increase heat to medium high and boil without stirring, but swirling occasionally.
Carefully brush sides of pan with water to dissolve and sugar crystals that maybe sticking. Continue cooking for 10 to 12 minutes, until bubbles begin to slow down and sugar gradually turns amber, registering about 320 degrees on a candy thermometer.
Remove from heat. Add toasted coconut, butter, salt and vanilla. Stir to combine.
Let cool for about 10 minutes. Spread caramel over top of baked tart. Let cool completely.
Melt chocolate in a bowl set over a saucepan of simmering water. OR place chocolate in a microwave-safe bowl and microwave for about 30 seconds. Stir. Then microwave in 15-second bursts, stirring after each interval, until completely melted.
Drizzle melted chocolate over cooled tart.
If you want, top with flaky sea salt.
Tart will keep, covered, at room temperature for 2-3 days or up to 4 days in the refrigerator. If it’s been refrigerated, let stand at room temperature for about 15 minutes before slicing. This pie also freezes well.
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