Recipes

At a certain age, one begins to take note of all the "stuff" that has accumulated over time and asks, "Who the hell is going to deal with all this crap when I'm gone?"  So, like many a fellow Baby Boomer, I am trying to downsize, a little at a time.  Making decisions about what to keep and what to get rid of is no easy task, but there is a gleeful reward of having lightened one's load.  Until, of course, you find yourself needing that thing you got rid of.

Today's task was one I'd been putting off, but I found it to be much easier than I'd anticipated.  Recipes.  Two wooden boxes plus a bulging file folder, crammed full of recipes culled from magazines, newspapers, Internet cooking sites, and delivered by friends.  The last is a result of wanting to compliment people on their cooking.  How many times have I said, while sampling the dishes at a party, "Oh!  This is SO GOOD!  Can I have the recipe?"  (Too many.)  And how many times have I actually prepared that recipe?  (Maybe once.)  Time to be realistic about which of these recipes I am ever going to use.

My chore was made easier by a couple of factors.  Many of the recipes were from the 70s, the years of quiche, cheese fondue, and things made with lots of mayonnaise.  Discarded.  Most of the recipes were meat dishes.  Having given up meat several years ago, it was quite easy to get rid of those.  Gone.  And since all those magazine clippings predate home Internet access, the realization that I can easily find a new recipe for New England clam chowder or mint brownies (if I should ever need one) allowed me to get rid of even more.

So what did I keep?  Not much.  But I should explain.  My kids and I each have a copy of a cookbook that I put together a couple of years ago.  It contains all the "family recipes," the dishes that my kids grew up on, the special recipes for holiday dinners, and the recipes handed down from my mother and grandmother.  It is also a photo album, decorated with every picture I could find of my kids with food.  (There were a lot.)

But sorting through all those recipes today, I came across ones that were handwritten . . . by people whom I have loved and lost.  My grandmother's cabbage salad.  My mother's recipes for banana bread and "Tote 'n Eat Chicken."  Pete's scrawled instructions for making polenta or enchiladas.  Peggy's bacon water chestnut appetizers.  JoAnn's sour cream pastries. Their handwriting makes these more than just foods that I have prepared and eaten.  They are memories.  They are reminders of the single most important ingredient in any dish, that which makes home cooking preferable to convenience foods or restaurant meals, and that which stirs the brain to recall not only taste but the labor and effort behind any good meal.

You know what that ingredient is.  Stir it in generously.