12 days of heather, day 7

i wrote this series remembering my best friend who was making pastries at windows on the world when she was senselessly killed by strangers with hate in their hearts. it’s been 18 years since i’ve seen her face, put my arms around her, eaten a meal she’s made. i wrote this to feel connected to her. i share it so that you might too.

day seven

this is a picture of heather fulfilling her destiny, graduating at the top of her class from the culinary institute of america. her first step on this journey started with her easy bake oven as a very young child. later, while the rest of us were leafing though tiger beat magazine, heather was reading gourmet. as we worked our way through judy blume young adult novels, heather was devouring julia child cookbooks. from as early as most people around her can remember, heather expressed a deep and abiding passion for food.

as high school was drawing to a close, her parents were not thrilled with her idea to become a chef. she was brilliant and hard working and i think they felt she could set her mind to any profession and climb to the top. so why slave away in a kitchen for next to nothing? but as soon as she got to college and specialized in hotel & restaurant management, her gpa soared. she finished summa cum laude from b.u. and went on to c.i.a.

by then it was clear that if anyone could make a go of it as a chef--and as a woman in a male-dominated profession--it was heather. prestigious jobs and accolades followed, along with sweets that made people swoon. what many don't know is that she was just as talented with proteins, vegetables and starches as she was with desserts.

this has always been one of the hardest things for me to accept about her being taken from us. her gift was astonishing and rare, and the food world got only a glimpse of what she could do. i suppose i should take solace in the fact that she left behind recipes. but sometimes i think about the birthday cakes she never got to make for my girls and the asparagus with capers and anchovies she threw together for us one new year's that i will never have again and, well, i just can't.