The last great "pasta frola"

This is a tribute to my grandmother Maria and Adelina. Thanks to them I got to know what love through food is and what childhood smells like.

My grandmother, Maria Arriola, was from the Basque Country. She arrived in Argentina when she was a baby with her mother and a doll on a ship. They settled in Mar del Plata, a city by the sea, 400 km from Buenos Aires.

Very young, she married my grandfather, who fell from a roof and died at the age of 50. He was a race car preparator. I never got to know him. They said he was a hard worker and didn't give many hugs.

Adelina worked (and lived) at my grandmother's house for as long as I can remember. She did the shopping, cooking, cleaning, feeding the cats (who were her passion) and making the beds. Basically everything.

We lived in Buenos Aires but spent all summer months and a few weeks in winter in that house.

Sometimes, at night, I would go to sleep in Adelina's bed because my dad snored so loudly. And I liked to play with her high heels because she had very small feet and they were perfect for my 10 years old.

From both of them I inherited the love of food. From early in the morning the kitchen was in operation, there was always a fire going, always indulging our girlish cravings. One of my favorite outings was going to the market with Adelina because we always stopped at the bakery and she let me eat warm bread.

We ate a lot of bread and butter in the morning until it was close to lunchtime. We also ate cookies that they hid in tins on top of the refrigerator. With my sister Nina, we would grab them by climbing up on a stool when we thought no one was seeing us.

There were no recipes, everything was by eye. It was pinches, squirts, a little bit, glasses, bits and pieces.

After lunch, the smell of lemon and vanilla invaded the kitchen. They were preparing pastries for the afternoon, my absolute favorite moment.

The star of the kitchen was the pasta frola made of a wonderful butter dough and a filling of quince and sugar. There were also alfajorcitos de maicena (cornstarch pastries filled with dulce de leche), marbled puddings, lemon cookies, sponge cakes and ricotta pies.

With my sister, what we liked most was to eat the dough raw, but they didn't allow us much.

I remember the obligatory naps, with the sun coming through the window and the view of the pine tree in the garden. The water of the swimming pool always light blue and cold, the bathing suits that we only used there. The smell of clean towels and sheets, the softness of the skins and kisses.  My grandmother knitting, her pearls, her perfume, her collection of little bells at the entrance.

They are long gone but I miss them every day.

Thank you, Abu and Ade.