I found old postcards that were never written in, places I used to think were magic. My mother took me to Las Vegas when I was 14; we sat by the pool and saw the Hoover Dam. A postcard in Rome, nothing special—tattered and dog-eared. It had a photo of an old Pope on the corner, his face creased and the cheap ink smudged. A million places, memories. I thought I would scrapbook, I thought I would mail them to people I love. I just let them wrinkle in an old box under my bed. I forget where all I’ve been and the memories I’ve held onto. They’re nothing special—tattered and dog-eared from revisiting them so often before bed.

I’ve been away for two weeks now, traveling got the best of me. I’m working on projects, I’m changing how I work. I bought a plate in New Orleans and a keychain in the airport for my mother. A magnet for the fridge, a baseball cap for my father. I’ve eaten nothing but cereal for two days straight, too lazy and tired and nervous to have much else. I keep thinking back to before I left, the last dish I made in my parents’ house. I found the recipe in an old tattered book, a church cookbook with its pages tattered and dog-eared, too. It’s a Swedish cheesecake, a Scandinavian dessert, an ost kaka is the term they use, but mine is scented and aromatic with orange and vanilla. A custard, a curd, a warmth I haven’t felt when I travel so much—the Freon air conditioner leaves my eyes dry and my hands reaching for something to cover up with.

Orange and Vanilla Ost Kaka

This recipe is divine. Light and so surprisingly refreshing. This dessert requires a casserole dish with a 6-cup capacity and you will be using a bain-marie, which can be a little tricky but worth it for a delicate custard dish like this.

Ingredients:

4 eggs
1 cup white sugar
½ cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon almond extract
1 vanilla pod, split with seeds scraped and removed
1 orange – reserve all zest and ½ the juice
3 cup small curd cottage cheese (not low-fat)
¾ cup AP flou

Directions:

Butter your baking or casserole dish and preheat oven to 425*F
Boil about 6 cups of water in a kettle
Beat eggs in a large bowl with a whisk until yolks are broken
Slowly add sugars in a steady stream
Add your almond extract and your vanilla
Stir in your orange juice and zest
Add your cottage cheese and beat quickly to mix into your egg and sugar mixture
Finally, gently fold in flour
Pour into your prepared casserole dish
Put casserole into a rectangular baking dish, pour boiling water into the baking dish until ¾ of the way up the sides of the casserole dish (called a bain-marie)
Bake for about 40 minutes, until top is golden and middle is firm with just the slightest wiggle
Gently remove pans from oven and remove casserole from bain-marie
Allow to cool before servin

I've been doing a lot of thinking about home. The threaded yarn that braids my siblings to the same farmland as me. I made a Hoosier Pie last week and I thought it would satiate this deep hunger to feel connected. It didn't. I thought about going to church and feeling part of a community. That feeling passed as quickly as it came.

The fact of the matter is, the ghost of the Midwest breeds in you. It grows like a tumor and spreads like wildfire. I've always lived in the limns between home and journey, between the concrete and the destination. When I think of home, I think of cornfields and highways. I think of the swaying of wheat fields and how you can either be crucified like a scarecrow or lost in the hedge maze. Everyone I've talked to feels liminal, at the roughshod corners of two in-betweens. It's what the Midwest is, by definition. The in-between. The forgotten. It's a genetic abnormality to hold onto that gossamer strand of satisfaction and horror when you know there are still places that exist where pies sit on windowsills and you'll never be able to call those places home again.

I described this phenomenon as the Potato Salad Diaspora. A dispersal, an exodus. No homeland to go back to, the gates closed behind our family. I only know the world through sense memory, through muscle memory. Through fingerprints that left smudges on a set of silver. On old bonds I cashed in for a hundred dollars last week. The corn silk that stuck like cobwebs to your sweater, your finger tips, your eyelashes. It all became folklore to someone like me, lost in his own mind and a refugee in the same home where I once stood on a phonebook and watched my grandmother cook eggs.

Two flavors I remember well from those days are corn and cherries. Of the earth, in their rawest form. Toothsome, sensory. Messy. Spit out the pits over the sink, shucking corn in the bag. It was primitive in its own way, messy on my blue jeans. I loved every minute of it and I recreated those flavors in a French custard--a cherry and corn far breton.

Bourbon-Soaked Cherry and Sweet Corn Far Breton

A French custard desert, made with bourbon-soaked cherries (too bad I used up my stock making this cake again) and a corn puree. The flavors burst like dying embers of summer. Adapted from David Lebovitz's recipe. Note: Preparation for this dessert is 8-12 hours.

Ingredients:

2 cups pitted cherries (frozen works too)
1/3 cup warmed bourbon
2 ears corn
2 cups whole milk
2 egg yolks
2 eggs
1/4 cup + 2 TB white sugar
1/4 cup dark brown sugar
1/4 cup butter, melted and cooled
1 teaspoon vanilla
2/3 cup flour

Directions:

Heat 1/3 cup bourbon in a saucepan until warmed and throw in cherries. Add two tablespoons white sugar and allow for cherries to soak in juices and bourbon, macerating slightly in the sugar. Sit for at least four hours, but continue on to step two.
Shuck corn. Using a box grater, grate corn over bowl. It is a messy process, but you should end up with a mashed corn pulse and a fair amount of liquid. Discard cob and repeat with second ear of corn. Set aside.
Put all ingredients in a blender, including corn pulp, and pulse until fully blended. It should be a very pale yellow color with minimal lumps. Refrigerate mixture 4 hours (preferably overnight).
When ready, preheat oven to 400*F. Thoroughly butter and flour baking dish (I used ceramic). Drain cherries, but reserve two tablespoons of liquor.
Add liquor to the batter and blend for a second to reconstitute.
Place cherries in baking dish, making sure to spread out
Pour batter through a mesh strainer over cherries in baking dish, going slowly and gently, wiping sides with rubber spatula to get all liquid
Bake for 35 minutes at 400*F. Reduce to 350* and tent with tin foil to avoid excessive browning. Bake for an additional 12 minutes or until set in the middle and a toothpick comes out clean (could take up to 20 minutes, depending on oven consistency).
Dust with confectioner's sugar and best served warm or at room temperature. Can keep for two days in fridge.