Eighty red linen eggrolls sat stacked in two neat pyramids on the white tablecloth in front of me. I also wanted to get where I really belonged-in the kitchen. My rush was only partially motivated by boredom. I raced through it-napkin, fork, knife, spoon … roll … napkin, fork, knife, spoon … roll-the rhythm so deeply ingrained I could do it with my eyes closed. It was Saturday night, and I was doing what Id done every Saturday night since I was ten: rolling silverware in the empty dining room of my familys restaurant (Taverna Ristorante, est. I realize framing a recipe for tomato sauce sounds strange, but its a reminder, not just of my mother but that every cook has to start somewhere. Its stained with oil splatters, and one corners ripped. The recipe is written on an unlined index card. I have it displayed in a five-by-seven, plastic craft store frame on the desk in my room, the desk where Im supposed to do homework but cant because its covered in books and dirty clothes. I never knew my mother, but I know this recipe by heart. He likes to add oregano and basil and more garlic-always more garlic. My father says this tomato sauce was the first thing my mother mastered in the kitchen. Dash in some salt and pepper, and there you have it.
You crush the tomatoes with your hands and stew them over low heat in their own juices with garlic, onions, and a bay leaf that have been sautéed in extra-virgin olive oil. Then you pull back the skins, just like peeling a banana. You dunk them in boiling water, just for a second-maybe ten-and run them under cold water. To peel them, you use a sharp knife to cut a tiny X in the skin at one end.
Told with honesty and heart, Kathryn Williams’ second novel tackles the timeless theme of growing up, set at a camp where innocence is created and lost.My mothers recipe for tomato sauce starts with ripe plum tomatoes. And when Ransome, her longtime crush, becomes a romantic reality, life gets even more confusing. As she struggles to define herself in this new world, Helena begins to lose sight of what made camp special and the friendships that have sustained her for so many years. All too quickly, Helena discovers that the innocent world of campfires, singalongs, and field days have been pushed aside for late night pranks on the boys’ camp, skinny dipping in the lake, and stolen kisses in the hayloft.
But this year she is returning not as a camper, but as a counselor, while her best friend, Katie Bell remains behind. Every year the camp and its familiar routines, landmarks, and people have welcomed her back like a long lost family member. I don’t say that to be dramatic, only because it’s true.’ For the past nine years, Helena Waite has been returning to summer camp at Southpoint.
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