The pages are tattered and yellow. The binding is loose and if you are not careful in picking it up, some pages will fall out. Her recipes did not come from a cookbook, but from her mother’s cooking. Written in ways only she could understand. Many do not include the exact amounts and instructions are vague. But I can look at these recipes and recall the smell and taste of each one.
She passed away when I was 16. I had spent a lot of time with her in the kitchen baking cookies, stirring the sauce, prepping the vegetables, setting the table… I could have learned so much more from her; I could have asked her so many questions.
It’s been over 30 years now.. I won’t give away my age 🙂 I have made her recipes and tweaked the ingredients to get the right taste. Baking is more difficult as it requires exact amounts she rarely wrote down, but I have managed to recreate these as well. While the years with her were not as long as I would have liked, memories of her stay close to me through these recipes.
I love being in the kitchen. Early mornings, soft music, a hot espresso. Easing into the preparation of delicious meals. Glancing through cookbooks, gathering inspiration and planning my day. I look forward to the cycles of the seasons, the pleasures of tasting and savoring and sharing this with those dear to me. Weekends are special to me as my week days are often rushed, but still I create the ambiance, light the candles, set the table and uncork the wine.