That's fruit cocktail. Somehow my baba has a way of honing in on those things that you love, even though you're not supposed to. Like fruit cockatil. As I watched at my brother drinking the syrup from the bottom of his bowl and I can remember being about 8 years old and eating fruit cocktail out of a paper cup in the school cafeteria. I loved the maraschino cherries the best. He's 18 years old, mind you, and shouldn't be drinking anything out of a bowl, but the fruit cocktail makes us all feel like kids.
Sometime back we started the ritual of meeting at my baba's house every Sunday morning. It was a while ago, before I moved permanently to the city. My mother has two siblings and they both have children. There are 12 of us in all and we all make it to her house on Sunday in some combination. Sometimes it's just my parents. Sometimes it's all the siblings. Sometimes it's just a few grandchildren.
This Sunday was special because so many of us were home who usually aren't. Baba made blintzes and fruit cocktail. We sat around her table and I remembered being 8 years old - eating fruit cocktail and whispering secrets in my cousin's ear - warm and happy in my baba's kitchen.
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