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Intangible Ingredients
When Mother and I cooked in her kitchen, we often referred to Granny’s recipe cards. Frequently, though, the cards just listed the ingredients without exact quantities; and all too often the recipe’s vague language frustrated me.
“Mother, what does use enough flour to make stiff dough mean? How much is a pinch of salt? What is a scant of this? Exactly how much is a spoonful? And, what does simmer until it smells heavenly mean?
“Recipes aren’t meant to be precise; they’re merely meant to jog the memory of how to make those dishes.”
“Well, if the recipes aren’t accurate why do you use them. Besides, you know the recipes by heart so why do you keep the cards?”
“True. Granny’s recipes are inexact and slightly out-of-date. And, yes, I can make most of her recipes with my eyes closed. I guess,” she murmured blinking back the tears, “I just don’t have the heart to throw away the recipes.”
“But why?” I insisted.
“I just can’t explain it to you.” She turned away from me and continued cooking.
All too often I watched Mother take out a single recipe card and just linger over it. I soon realized that perhaps the knowledge the cards evoked wasn’t limited to the information contained in their instructions. Maybe Mother just wanted to hear Granny’s voice and remember the past. Perhaps holding Granny’s recipe card while she stirred and sifted allowed Mother to remember her own mother. Maybe the cards helped her recall family and the precious intangible ingredients with which the finished product would be imbued.
old recipe cards
smell of long-ago spices
stained, dog-eared, imbued
Copyright ©
Sara Etgen-Baker
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