Please Pass the Mashed Potatoes

Remember that favorite stuffed animal or fuzzy blanket you had to take to bed with you when you were little? Our boys both had quilted blankets that were in tatters by the time the youngsters no longer deemed them necessary.

Our food favorites, judging by FaceBook, appear to be the "great blankie” for us in the 21^st century. That’s not to say that we all eat for emotional reasons, although many of us do. But the aroma of a favorite dish is bound to set the taste buds dancing. I can remember going back home for a visit with my family and my mom would fry bacon for breakfast. That delightful fried bacon smell woke me quicker than her call up the stairs that breakfast was ready.

Eating with a healthy appetite was not an unusual attribute when one grew up on a farm. One reason for the appetite was strenuous work that burned a lot of calories. Another reason was the women of the house were generally fantastic cooks.

I come from at least two generations of such cooks/bakers and the ability likely goes back further as my grandmother and her sister undoubtedly learned to cook from their mother, etc. Unfortunately, the culinary gift skipped me (although I was always able to feed my family satisfactorily and put on a “company dinner”) but enabled our son, whom I’ve nicknamed Chef Jeff. Interestingly enough, Jeff’s culinary concoctions often borrows from various Asian cuisines, none of which any of his grandmothers would even recognize.

But I digress. Recently, I read an article in a Sunday news magazine about recipes belonging to one’s mother and the thoughts they evoked. That brought on the food reminiscences in my mind—the yummy, asparagus-egg-cheese dish Mom would make for the family get-togethers, the buttery rolls that came from my Aunt Dorothy’s oven, and the interesting salads that Grandma T. would bring to such meals. I think she was the most adventurous  cook out of the four. Then, if we we were lucky, my Aunt Anna (Grandma T's sister) would bring an angel food cake for dessert. This was the cake I always requested for my birthday if we were going anywhere near her house during that time. Later, I discovered it took 8-12 eggs--of course she used her hens' eggs-- to make that cake which was lighter than air and wonderfully sweet.

All of these master cooks have passed on but have left some of their recipes behind. The interesting thing about many of these recipes, particularly my Grandmother’s is that only the ingredients are listed, but not many exact measurements. Perhaps in many cases, the way the batter or the dough handled (because of the humidity factor—this was the Midwest and they DO have noticeable humidity) governed the amount of flour or liquid used. At any rate, trying to re-create my grandmother’s recipes would be difficult, and my mother’s  or aunt’s, time-consuming. Unfortunately, none of Aunt Anna’s recipes made it to me, although I’m sure some were borrowed by other cooks in the family.

I must be content to remember those wonderful meals which were accompanied by laughter and many stories after the serious business of eating was finished. For my money, my mother was the best all-round cook--also the messiest but that’s another story. Her pie crusts were nearly as delicious as the fillings. In her later years, her cinnamon rolls were the star attraction. The time she forgot to add the cinnamon and sugar told us that an era had finally come to an end.

Remembering those wonderful culinary offerings and the words on a piece of paper from which they emerged is all a part of nostalgia. A recipe is a little like a magic carpet ride—it takes you back to a fondly remembered past and a host of wonderful aromas and delicious tastes and textures. And to think—there are no calories involved!