My sister-in-law made the perfect cup of coffee. She didn’t roast and grind her own beans, she didn’t make sure the water was at the perfect temperature and study the drip rate to make sure she was extracting maximum flavor from each bean. That’s not who she was. She would scoff at the pretentiousness of such things and would tease me if I alluded to caring about it. Coffee is a morning drink to shake off the evils of the night before and to get your eyes open. I don’t remember her ever drinking coffee after noon. 
It was this same sister-in-law that suggested to my husband that I was probably the ONE. The story behind all of that is too messy to get into, but when we got serious she was the first family member that he wanted to introduce me to. My connection to her was instant. She immediately made me feel welcome. We first bonded over a mutual love of her brother, but found so many more things that we had in common. 
Christina loved to feed her family. It was more than just that perfect cup of coffee made from pre-ground grocery store coffee. When we were at her house for the weekend, we could expect a full breakfast influenced by her Southern roots. I can now publicly admit that my biscuits and gravy are better than hers, but since she wouldn’t let me help her cook, she would’ve had no idea. 
Sunday football meant a full buffet of fried, homemade pickles, chicken wings, and chili or soup of some kind. I am not big on frying at home, but Christina didn’t have similar concerns. She also grilled all year long. She loved having people around to cook for and never held back. She also made this amazing frozen coleslaw. She had gotten the recipe from a lady with whom she had worked. She refused to share the recipe with me. I think it was because if I could make it on my own, I wouldn’t come visit her to eat hers.
And then there was the foray into homemade goat cheese. When she married a goat farmer, she started making cheese. She quickly got bored with plain cheese and texted me for ideas about flavors. I sent her some suggestions and she branched off from there. 
When she would host a party, the food was almost as good as her company. Christina was warm and funny. When I picture her face, I see her smile. I can hear her laugh in my head. She died last week creating a gaping hole in our lives. There will be no more phone calls asking if using strategy in games is cheating. There are so many pickles left unfried, so many pork loins left unplundered, and so many perfect cups of coffee left unmade.
In honor of Christina’s memory, I present to you Country Apple Coffeecake. It seems especially symbolic of who she was. Biscuit base for her Southern roots, country flavor for her time on the farm, a bit sweet, a bit tart, boozy, and kind of nutty. It’s perfect to serve for breakfast with coffee. It’d be great with a side of bacon or even some goat cheese. I’d stay away from the pickles, though.
I have no idea what makes this coffeecake Syrian as opposed to any other nationality. I keep meaning to ask my colleague, but never have the recipe with me at work. I expect it’s got something to do with the cinnamon. Or perhaps is just called Syrian because someone thought it sounded fancy. 
I love this coffeecake. It’s cinnamony and nutty with a sort of firm crust underneath the cake. The pecans add such a beautiful crunch to it. It’s simple and basic, but completely wonderful.
It must’ve helped because I think the interview went really well. But when I got home and opened the door two children met me. One of whom was crying, the other of whom was trying to explain.
“So…you liked the coffee cake?”
