Looks Like We Made It

My mother was many things-- a super duper cook was not one of them. There were, however, great exceptions to this rule. Her lasagna and spaghetti were things for which I made certain I wasn't late. This, especially with four large and hungry older brothers, would have resulted in perhaps a single noodle serving. Her post-Thanksgiving turkey soup was also award-worthy, as was her spit pea. Fortunately, with a bit of culinary expertise on my part and memory of watching/helping, I can easily replicate all of these with ease, customized and tweaked where inspired.

Then comes the baking. Food chemistry not being my strong suit, recipes for baked goods are required. I can tweak, but bottom up from scratch just isn't going to happen (and, yes, even after having worked at a bakery). There was one type of cake, for example, that without her recipes would require quite a bit of work. They're souffle-like, in nature, and particularly yummy. There were 3 flavors in our household-- lemon (with 7 lemon trees on-hand, it was the most often created), cherry (served once a year on Washington's birthday) and chocolate (served all of once, as my mother found it far too rich and, likely, too expensive, especially for a family of 9).

There were also the "hockey pucks" (for which I don't have the original recipe, but thankfully was able to recreate for a friend's birthday recently with a combo of "Google fu" and picture-perfect childhood memory), chocolate chip cake (which, in truth, is likely somewhat terrible in the eyes of a pastry chef in its density, but I still loved it), and "stained page brownies" (thus aptly named for the page in the eventually-destroyed cookbook).

In planning for a summer-themed pot luck, the lemon cake came to mind. In that same moment, I realized I didn't remember having seen my recipe box since I'd moved. While I can remember detailed, yet completely inane, conversations from a decade ago, remembering a day or two ago can present a bit of a challenge at times. This stirred up a bit of a panic at the thought of losing those few precious recipes. I haven't even used any of them in recent years, but it's always a comfort to know they're there (and I really do want the lemon cake).

The logical place for them, in my head, is on my kitchen window sill. It's not there.

As I googled in sadness, finding similar recipes but being unsure which was closest to my mothers, I tried to tap my brain for further information. I then decided that, as it was easy to forget my hard-to-pack my x-rays and MRI films, there's no way I wouldn't have packed one of my most precious kitchen items.

Prompting a trip to the kitchen, I looked atop my fridge. There, behind the cereal container, I spotted the telltale flash of blue, my recipe box. Of COURSE I'd have moved them from the window last summer-- it's a metal box! My kitchen, again, feels like home. Of course, her secret to doubling (and I'm thinking quadrupling) the delicate recipe wasn't there, but I think I can probably handle that part.

As a complete side note, as I was typing this and beating myself up (again) for having lost my films (xrays, etc) in the move, it occurred to me the "safest" (and only, really) place for me to have packed them. Sure enough, I went straight to the unopened box containing some old art work and such... yep. I really was that smart. I now have all of my brain scans (the irony is not lost), back films, etc.

A high IQ is really nothing without a good sense of recall ;)