My Mother's Recipes . . . That Will Not Be Passed Along by Carol Wells
Some families pass recipes down through the generations. "These cookies are a recipe of my great-great aunt, but the cake is something my grandmother was famous for!" Carol admits being unable to brag about such a thing until somehow uncovering a genealogical link resulting in having Betty Crocker as part of the family tree. This will not be easy since Betty Crocker is a fictional person. Carol shares about crossing off the list any hopes of her mother's recipes passed along through the family.
My mother prides herself on being a 'pinch here and a dash there' type of cook. You can reason out for yourself if people adopt this method of cooking to excuse taking taste samples during the process of creating a final product. However, a result of using this method is that many of my mother's recipes became collected in her head and not on paper.
For example, the day after Thanksgiving, my mother would use the leftover turkey meat to whip up a large potpie that could, to use a colloquium, feed an army. This delicacy almost looked forward to, by the members in my family, as the formal Thanksgiving meal itself. My mother also enjoyed making this dish as it would make enough to feed everyone for the rest of the holiday weekend so she could take a brief respite from cooking.
My sister, after her marriage, came over to visit and rummage through the drawer where mother had her collection of recipe books. "Mom? Where is the recipe for the for your turkey potpie? I was thinking about trying to make one for supper this week."
"Oh," my mother perked up, happy to hear someone wanting her to share a recipe. "You won't find it in there. I never wrote it down."
My sister ceased her search through the drawer's contents. "Ok," she went over to the counter to get a pen and the pad of paper. "Do you remember how to make it?"
"Well you need turkey, a bit of the broth, peas, corn, green beans, carrots, potatoes, onion, salt, pepper, onion, cornstarch, butter, and milk. Dollop some biscuits on top and let it bake until done," my mother helpfully replied.
My sister's hand paused, waiting for a few moments while waiting for my mother to continue but the older woman did not add further details. "Around how much turkey do I need?"
"How ever much it is that you have on hand."
"Ok, how much broth?"
"Oh, you don't need much broth. After all, if you use too much grease the potpie will not taste right. Just enough to blend in with some corn starch and milk."
My sister signaled defeat by setting down the pen. "Perhaps if I watched you make it," my sister suggested. "Then we can figure out the recipe that way."
"That might work . . . except . . .."
"What?"
"I don't have any turkey."
A week later, my sister stopped by my mother's for a visit. "How did the turkey pot pie turn out," my mother asked, anxious to know how my sister's family enjoyed that meal.
"Uh," my sister tried to keep a guilty look off her face. "I decided not to have that after all, sounded like too much work."
"Humph! Your family certainly won't be happy sitting at the table every night with you thinking like that about cooking," my mother chastised.
About This Story's Author:
© 1999-2006 Carol Wells
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