Codfish Balls

Good Friday has always been more eagerly anticipated than Easter. Even though we would receive chocolate eggs on Sunday, it was on Friday that the feast took place.

Our Portuguese-origin family never failed to respect the occasion with seafood recipes. Despite still feeling the repercussions of a hurried immigration by the previous generation, it was mandatory to have a lavish lunch that brought together great-grandparents, grandparents, children, and grandchildren.

My great-grandmother Rosa was in charge of the codfish balls that tasted like Portugal. My grandmother Fátima took care of a more Brazilian recipe, the Codfish with Coconut. The steaming pots emitted a fragrance that made us, the grandchildren, stop playing to gather around the stove, salivating as if we hadn't seen food for days.

The Codfish with Coconut was a collaborative effort. My grandfather bought the dried coconut and scraped the white part so that it could be added to the mixture while still fresh. He even invented a grater with a piece of wood and wrought iron that had been passed down from father to son. A truly useful contraption when it came to grating coconut.

My grandmother always insisted on teaching us the recipe. I spent years going to her house early in the morning to help with the preparations. It was a delightful day because, in addition to learning the magic of the kitchen, we also had long conversations. Her childhood stories and family gossip fascinated me and I believe it was crucial for me to fall in love with literature and become a writer. Knowing how to tell a good story is a gift for a select few.

But great-grandma Rosa's codfish balls were legendary. She made them once a year—perhaps because she knew that scarcity would elevate them to a gastronomic pedestal—and rarely did anyone accompany the process. She made enough for everyone to eat, but not enough for seconds (which was precisely the desire of each great-grandchild).

My great-grandma didn't hide her smile when she saw us devouring everything. She knew it was a divine flavor that brought forth our entire Portuguese ancestry.

She departed too early, and one of the missions of those who remained was to rummage through her recipe notebooks in search of that blessed codfish ball. According to legend, she measured the ingredients "by eye" and never missed a beat.

Some years passed, and we never tasted the codfish balls again. My grandmother moved to another house and took her mother's notebooks with her. When my bedridden grandfather slept, she would explore the recipes on the yellowed pages, trying to ease her longing by seeing my great-grandma's round handwriting.

To everyone's joy, on a Good Friday, my grandmother gave us great news. On the last page of a handwritten recipe book was written: codfish ball more or less.

We managed to reproduce a clone of the incomparable ball. But like all clones, it lacked the brilliance of the original. However, it was enough for all of us, now adults with graying hair, to get teary-eyed with the nostalgic taste.

It's been two years since my grandmother joined great-grandma. I made sure to note down and save the recipes for Codfish with Coconut and Codfish Ball in the cloud. They won't have the flavor, care, or embrace of the matriarchs, but they certainly carry their warm DNA.