Most years I bring an entree because it's easy for me to make it and have access to a full kitchen to finish it off. I've brought casseroles, pork carnitas with all the fixin's, Caribbean Curried Chicken with Rice..you name it. I try to jolt the taste buds of "ketchup in a spicy condiment" crowd out of complacency.
Last Christmas season was the first without my parents. I finally had full possession of my Mom's legendary recipe collection. Ironically, my Mom didn't really like to cook, she left that to my Dad. She'd joke that she loved three ingredient recipes, especially if two of those ingredients were salt and pepper. She was a good cook and made some wicked good pot roast, gravy, popcorn and cookies. But she would leave the creative and heavy lifting food prep to my Dad, who was a devoted recipe-follower and excellent cook. I learned my mad skills from him at his side from childhood. He would measure and scoop and weigh and eyeball. If the recipe called for some obscure ingredient, he would go out and find it and use it rather than substitute another ingredient or leave it out. We had a running joke that when my Dad would, on the rare occasion, tinker with a recipe (adding 4 more grains of salt, for example) he'd proudly announce he'd "gussied it up."
But my Mom's passion was accumulating recipes. She had binders and filing envelopes and shoe boxes full of clipped recipes. Often recipes would be clipped in a magnet clamp on the side of the microwave or fridge. Those were recipes that sounded good and were awaiting a test run. Those in boxes were recipes that sounded good but maybe too exotic or made too many portions for just the two of them. In their hall closet, there were no less than 50 assorted cookbooks, from '50s recipe pamphlets to Joy of Cooking and Moosewood and Restaurant Recipe Knock-Offs. Stacks of Bon Appetit and Cooking Light and Midwest Living were tucked into bookshelves and baskets. The cookbooks were categorized by type; Taste of Home lined up neatly by year, Chinese, Japanese and other Asian inspired cookbooks lined up alphabetically by author (maybe my Mom was a frustrated librarian. I should take a closer look, there may be Dewie decimal numbers on the spines!) and other cookbooks lined up in assorted organized systems known only to her. Oldest to newest. Most used to least used. Repaired and beat-up to never opened with the Barnes and Noble receipt tucked into the pages.
The treasure of this collection is a brown accordion pleated filing envelope that's the length and width of an office envelope. The edges have been taped and repaired over the years, the binding ribbon replaced with two large rubber bands and the organization tabs inside identified by carefully typed and taped labels. This was my Mom's dearest recipe collection. These were jewels of her collection. Recipes handed down from her Mother, her Aunts, her Sisters, her dear friends and me. Well-tested and tweaked, shared and copied, recipes made for parties, holidays, celebrations and funerals. Recipes of the heart and home, recipes that evoke certain memories. Comfort food in an unassuming brown accordion pleated filing envelope. Each recipe in this file, save one, had earned an important designation, in the top right-hand corner was a notation in her hand-writing; A+ or VG. Of course, A+ was the highest honor bestowed on a recipe that exceeded all expectations for taste, preparation, presentation and acceptance. VG was right behind it, but perhaps someday would warrant the coveted A+ with the proper "gussying up."
During my Mom's final days, when I was caring for her as she was slipping away and giving her life over to God and cancer, she and I spent an afternoon going through this brown accordion pleated envelope. My Dad, not in much better shape, sat nearby. We shared memories around those recipes. Who gave my Mom that recipe, what event she made it for, who's house she first had it, how it had been passed from sister to sister and where they were when Aunt Julie made that shrimp recipe or how every year at Thanksgiving, that dessert was the first to disappear. We laughed over the recipe without the A+ or VG designation that my Mom deemed God awful but Mom never had the heart to get rid of it for sentimental reasons. We cried over that brown accordion pleated filing envelope. I held her and told her I would treasure those recipes and share them with others whenever I could.
As I sit this Saturday morning wondering what I'll make for the Holiday Potluck, I think I'll spend spend some time finding an A+ or VG recipe from my treasured brown accordion pleated envelope. I think it's time to start sharing. Here's to you Mom.
Great post. It brought back memories of my Grandma. I have possession of her recipe cards. It's one of the few things I wanted. Sometimes I just like to go through it so I can see her handwriting...
ReplyDeleteI didn't know that about your mom. My mom had a similar system, but her holder was a wooden recipe box. I think my brother has it.
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