Mom’s Recipes
Photo Ann Cook
What’s on my mind?
I always thought of my mom as an excellent cook, probably because she loved collecting recipes. She’d cut them from magazines or copy them from library books onto index cards, even if she already had a dozen similar ones. She owned the Time Life Cookbooks of the World series, though I don’t remember her ever cooking from them. And Julia Child was Mom’s hero. But what I remember most is the four-drawer file cabinet in the living room of our single-wide trailer. Inside, she built a massive recipe file system, from appetizers to desserts, from dinner party menus to cocktails, and so much more.
Growing up, my diet was anything but gourmet. It was Instant Breakfast Drink and toasted cinnamon Pop-Tarts for breakfast. Lunch was bologna and flat cheese on Wonder bread, Snack Pack, and carrot sticks that ended up in the trash. Dinner was hamburger patties, baked Tator Tots, canned peas, and more carrot sticks. I was not a fan of carrots. Snacks were Space Food Sticks and Oreos, easy, no baking involved. Sometimes we had TV dinners, or Mom picked up a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken. My favorite dessert was Jello 1-2-3.
We didn’t have family dinners except for Thanksgiving or Christmas with grandparents. Dad worked on the California Aqueduct, and when he got home, he just wanted to unwind with a cold beer and salted peanuts. The real cooking happened after my brother and I went to bed. That’s when Mom brought out her recipes, and she and Dad made gourmet meals like fresh lobster, anchovy pizza, BBQ steak, stuffed pasta shells, and sometimes Mexican food. They loved guacamole. They’d sit on floor cushions, eat dinner paired with wine, and watch a symphony or Masterpiece Theater on PBS. Sometimes it was hard to fall asleep with those smells drifting through our trailer.
When Mom passed away, I inherited all her recipes in a file box. I haven’t used any of them, but I can’t bring myself to throw them out because I know how much work she put into collecting them. Sometimes I look through them and find comfort in her handwriting, the same handwriting from birthday cards and the letters she sent me at boarding school. I remember the recipes she copied onto index cards just for me when I got married: Dutch Pancakes, Easy Beef Stew, and Glazed Carrots. And there were those carrots again!
Looking back, I’m pretty sure Mom was an excellent cook, but she mostly cooked for one: my dad. I don’t blame her. My brother and I were picky, so she probably didn’t want to waste a perfectly good recipe on us. Most of the time, we just ate what was easy in an age of convenience. It took moving halfway around the world for me to finally try things other than ultra-processed foods. Maybe one day, I’ll finally cook from Mom’s recipes and find out what I’ve been missing all along.
