But back to the move from her apartment. My brother and sister and I met there to remove Mom's belongings, a tedious and emotional task. While my sister and I sentimentalized over certain items, my brother was intent upon getting the job done. But when I watched him throw her recipe box into the garbage, I couldn't hold back. "No!" I yelled, retrieving the box. Soon after, my brother gave up the effort and left. I took my treasures home with me.
After my mother died, I took out the box, but was too overwhelmed to do anything with it. And so it sat on a shelf for the past seven or eight years. Until today.
I am intent on downsizing, getting rid of "stuff" that has collected in this house over thirty years. This morning, I cleaned out my own "recipe box," and then remembered my mother's. I will not get those two hours back, but I did get an idea for this blog. Here we go . . .
Although I didn't count, I would guess that there were probably a few hundred recipes collected in that big yellow box. And my guess is that my mother might have tried about 5% of them, if that. My childhood does not recall my mother being a good cook. Meals consisted of ground beef patties (no hamburger bun), a canned vegetable, and boiled potatoes. The only fish we ever ate on Fridays was Mrs. Paul's Fish Sticks. I have no memory of fresh vegetables. Thanksgiving had a turkey; that was exciting.
After my father died and her children had flown the coop, my mother became interested in cooking. Hence, the recipe box. There are still a few of her recipes that I have preserved and still use, like her "Make-Ahead Mashed Potatoes" or her "Baked Ziti Spinach Bake." I sat down at the kitchen counter to go through the yellow box in hopes of finding some other gem that I'd since forgotten.
When you need a recipe today, what do you do? You google it, of course. And then you have your pick of a gazillion ways to prepare stuffed mushrooms or eggplant rollatini. Well, the Internet has not always existed, right? Back in the day, everyone had cookbooks. Also, recipes were clipped from magazines, like Woman's Day or Family Circle. Or from newspaper columns like "Hints from Heloise" or "Ann Landers" (and who can forget her famous meatloaf?) Or shared on cute little index cards handwritten with some recipe that was served at a friend's party to high acclaim.
And then there was the Betty Crocker Recipe Card Library or McCalls Recipe Collection or some other subscription service that mailed you some recipe cards every month. (The box was free.) My mother fell for it. Her well-organized yellow box had all kinds of magazine and newspaper clippings mixed in with the glossy cards that she'd paid for. I went through them one by one, and drew some conclusions:
~ Most of the recipes were meaty, saucy, high in carbs and calories. A lot of chicken, like maybe 150 ways to prepare it. Mayonnaise was an ingredient in anything designated "salad." And most of the dessert recipes called for Jello or Cool Whip or boxed cake mixes.
~ Trends were evident. There were at least a dozen quiche recipes. (Remember the best-seller Real Men Don't Eat Quiche?) Mom had quite a collection of the "Impossible Pies," marketed by Bisquick. And Bumblebee Tuna moved to the head of the class.
~ Despite the dozens of recipes for salmon, I do not think my mother ever purchased salmon or cooked it or ate it. I guess she had her dreams, but her wallet denied her that exotic delicacy. She did eat a lot of canned tuna, though.
I was fascinated by the recipes that caused me to wonder, "What was she thinking?" Like "Oatmeal Turkey Loaf" or "Hamburgers in Bordelaise Sauce." Although she might have once baked a "Fruit Cocktail Cake," I am fairly certain she never tackled "Mrs. Kantor's Fabulous Noodle Kugel." And even though the recipe does not call for alcohol, why would anyone want to prepare "Hot Punch - in a Percolator?" And most assuredly, my life-long Democratic mother would never prepare or eat "President Reagan's Macaroni and Cheese." And yet, she clipped the recipe.
Among the "Miscellaneous" recipes was one for a natural laxative. Hmmm. And one clipping titled "How to Fold a Fitted Sheet." I saved that one for my daughter Jenna, for whom I have folded more fitted sheets than I can count, as she claims incompetence in that skill.
My mother has been gone for nearly eight years. This morning, I contemplated her handwriting, her prized Underwood Typewriter, her magazine subscriptions, her organizational skills, and the dreams she must have had in which she was a gourmet cook. For a few hours, she was there in my kitchen with me. I enjoyed the memory, and then I placed all the recipes into a brown paper bag to take to the recycling center next week.
And I'm okay with it. My mother was no Betty Crocker anyway. She was just my mom, and she made a great baked ziti. With Ragu.
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