SUNNY SLICE, SWEET PURPOSE
- Yulia Strokova
- 3 days ago
- 2 min read
In this essay, Natalia Martinez-Kalinina welcomes us into her kitchen, where mango pies carry family memories, awaken generosity, and nourish the soul of a community. There’s a secret ingredient—but in true Abuela fashion, Natalia shares it with anyone who asks. Savor the sweetness.

Photo Courtesy of Natalia Martinez-Kalinina
Every summer, as the mango trees around Miami start bursting with fruit, I bake pies. It’s a tradition that began quietly—just me in my kitchen, thinking of my Abuela—and has grown into something far bigger than I ever imagined. This year, for the first time, I gave it a name: Sunny Slice Co.
The ritual started as a personal one. I was born in Havana, where we had a towering mango tree in our backyard—taller than the roof and wildly generous. During peak season, my Abuela would fill buckets with fruit and hand them out from our front door. Neighbors, friends, strangers—everyone knew they could stop by. I was her assistant, watching how a simple act of giving could tether people together.
Years later, far—but not so far—from Havana, I started baking mango pies in her honor. They’re not a family recipe or a culinary staple from home, but something softer and more invented—a tropical take on the all-American classic, filtered through Cuban improvisation and a dose of nostalgia. There’s a secret ingredient, but in classic Abuela fashion, I readily tell everyone what it is.
Over time, word of the pies spread. Friends and neighbors began gifting me mangoes from their own yards, porches, and overgrown trees. The fruit arrives like clockwork every June—offered, shared, sometimes anonymously. I love that part the most—the way the pie has become a magnet for generosity echoes the spirit it was born from.

This year, I took the next step, thanks to a fortuitous encounter with Jasmine, an incredible creative director and graphic designer who offered to help bring the brand to life. With her vision and encouragement, Sunny Slice Co. officially launched—beautifully designed and ready just in time for mango season.
I began offering pies for sale by the slice or whole (text 305-342-7356) with part of the proceeds benefiting Meals on Wheels, feeding the elderly across our community. It felt important that the act of giving stretch beyond my own kitchen. To pie it forward, if you will.
Sunny Slice isn’t just dessert. It’s embodied memory, made edible. A way to honor my Abuela’s legacy. A bridge between Havana’s and Miami’s sticky-sweet summers. A reminder that home is something we can keep remaking—with licked fingers, with slow dances, with open door policies, and especially when we share a kitchen.
And in the end, it’s a simple dessert that says:
there is always enough to share.


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