I went through our kitchen cupboards last night, trying to organize before the move. I have enough linen napkins for 50 friends, And three bags of lentils. And millet. And singed birthday candles. And my Babcia's recipe box.
I've been stuffing clippings into this box too, and haven't had much of a chance to go through it. It was supposed to be a family movie night, but I turned out to be a missing member. I was settled into the kitchen, going through the plethora of paper, among other things. Things such as a commemorative pin of Pope John Paul the II. Or, a photo of my Uncle Ben as an adorably chubby two year old. It was sincerely overwhelming.
I looked at my own recipes, not expecting any nostalgia, but it was there anyway. A recipe for spicy pecans that I used to woo Aaron with when we were just starting out. My Magic Pretzels that have become a Christmas Gift tradition. Baby food recipes from when Claudia was refusing to eat with a spoon.
One of the greatest gifts I ever received was a handwritten book of recipes from a friend. She spent hours going through her own favourites to make them into my own, no doubt enduring finger blisters along the way. There is something so special about seeing a recipe written out by its owner. Oily finger prints and splatters of batter make them even more so.
The recipe from above is for Krusta, a flaky fried cookie that gets dusted with icing sugar. The only word I understand in there is Wudky - which is Vodka. But, I know the recipe all too well, having spent many years by Babcia's side, helping her make it. I knew that she trusted me as a cook when she let me roll the cookies out to an appropriate thickness and fry them until they were perfect. It's a good memory.
I've been stuffing clippings into this box too, and haven't had much of a chance to go through it. It was supposed to be a family movie night, but I turned out to be a missing member. I was settled into the kitchen, going through the plethora of paper, among other things. Things such as a commemorative pin of Pope John Paul the II. Or, a photo of my Uncle Ben as an adorably chubby two year old. It was sincerely overwhelming.
I looked at my own recipes, not expecting any nostalgia, but it was there anyway. A recipe for spicy pecans that I used to woo Aaron with when we were just starting out. My Magic Pretzels that have become a Christmas Gift tradition. Baby food recipes from when Claudia was refusing to eat with a spoon.
One of the greatest gifts I ever received was a handwritten book of recipes from a friend. She spent hours going through her own favourites to make them into my own, no doubt enduring finger blisters along the way. There is something so special about seeing a recipe written out by its owner. Oily finger prints and splatters of batter make them even more so.
The recipe from above is for Krusta, a flaky fried cookie that gets dusted with icing sugar. The only word I understand in there is Wudky - which is Vodka. But, I know the recipe all too well, having spent many years by Babcia's side, helping her make it. I knew that she trusted me as a cook when she let me roll the cookies out to an appropriate thickness and fry them until they were perfect. It's a good memory.
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