1) Oatmeal: made on the stove with dates dates dates, but no sugar because you said the dates were sweet enough. You were so right about cooking oatmeal on the stove. It puffs out like a robin's breast, and has so much more pillowy give than the microwave version, which stay flat and somehow staticky: tinfoil on a capped molar. Once with berries and whipped
cream, from your birthday the night before, when you drank champagne straight from the bottle and looked so beautiful in a gauzy black dress and red heels. Pavlova: it was the first time any of us had eaten it. Soft, forgiving wedges of meringue with a crispy, parchment-y crust. Berries and whipped cream. Never met someone who likes whipped cream as much as you: beater licking and almost-secret spoonfuls.
2) Apple pie, from the freezer: One of the twelve or so that you made: fresh pie dough and apples stolen from the tree hanging over our house. That first time you climbed up the table and then the chair (which kicked out a bit) and then into the loose drain pipe with a bucket under your arm I mentally reviewed my CPR "C" for head trauma.
3) House staple: yogurt with apples/berries/bananas! Maybe not bananas for you, because you and Andrea were conscious about the chemicals that farmers dip them in, and it's long-term effects.
4) Muffins! You'd make em ("I feel like baking not math. Muffins. Yes. I have rhubarb, I have dried pears. Eggs. Hmm.") and freeze em, and then be sad that you'd have to eat them before you could bake again. Good for homework, not for happiness.
5) Smoothies: you tried to make them with rhubarb for a while, but no amount of sugar could make semi-frozen rhubarb successful. Your best concoction: lime and punch concentrate with rum, ice, and frozen berries.