The Cookbook In My Head

My grandmother’s cookbook was a 3 x 5 inch spiral notebook with recipes that she wrote in broken Italian-English. Here is one of them in its entirety:
2 fico
la flour
12 egges
1 patata bollita

Before my grandmother died, she instructed me to go to her house and take anything I wanted before the vultures got there. (Those were her exact words, not mine.) I didn’t want anything except that cookbook. I thought I would find the secret recipe to my favorite cookie in there – the one that she made for me every Christmas. It was a cookie made with a soft dough in the shape of an empanada and filled with sweetened ricotta and tiny chocolate chips. I had asked her for the recipe many times but she never gave it to me. Instead, she would tell me to come and watch her make it. I thought she was holding out on me, but, in reality, she didn’t have the recipe written down. It was all in her head.

My mother’s best recipes are also written in her head. But, luckily, I grew up watching my mother cook, so her recipes have been passed down through my genetic code and my personal observations. I enjoyed being in the kitchen with my mother. It was our place, the one place in the house where the men in my family kept out. As a child I would stand with my nose level with the counter and watch her methodical chopping. As a teen, I would help her with the chopping and mixing, not realizing that I was also learning to cook. The meditative rhythms were soothing and, inevitably, we would open up and talk about anything and everything. There was no conversation that was off limits in the kitchen. It was there that I learned some of the family secrets that only we women would share.

Like my grandmother and my mother, my favorite recipes are also in my head, but I’ve written down a few too. When my boys went off to college, they asked me for a cookbook of recipes that they had eaten all their lives – the ones in my head. I put one together for them, as best I could, in my own language. It consists of a list of ingredients (measurements are approximated) and my instructions, which are more like essays rather than directions. They know a good cook doesn’t follow someone else’s directions. A good cook works with their senses by seeing, smelling and tasting. In a lot of ways, my boys have already surpassed their teacher.

I listen in rapt attention as my son, James, explains how he roasted a chicken in fresh herbs and played with a white wine basting sauce to produce the most succulent meat that fell off the bone. My son, Peter, amazes me with his robust tomato sauce with lots of “meats” in it. And even my youngest son, Paul, surprises me when he produces his favorite meal: breaded chicken wings with white rice. Who knew the kid was paying attention to my activities in the kitchen?

My husband is another story. He wants to learn, and he may be my biggest challenge. He insists on measuring and timing everything according to the recipe. I tell him cooking is not a science, it’s an art. We read the recipe and then we do what we want. But nothing ever tastes exactly the same, he argues. That’s what makes life interesting, I counter. It’s a basic philosophical difference between us. He likes assurances, I like uncertainty. He likes consistency, I like excitement.

I guess he doesn’t want a repeat of the time when I was having 15 people over for my mother’s birthday celebration and I ruined the rice. I calmly instructed my sister-in-law to hold the back door open and I walked the pot of rice across the yard and dumped it into the garden. I then proceeded to throw together one of the best serendipitous pasta dishes with a creamy mushroom sauce. We were having leg of lamb and the recipe I threw together was actually a better choice for the menu.

The recipe for “Mushrooms in Sour Cream” was taken from The New McCall’s Cookbook by Mary Eckley, Food Editor of McCall’s. (Yes, I measured everything) The book is out of print, but I will share the recipe with you now. This recipe has a lot of liquid, so I thought I would stretch it by pouring it over a pound of pasta. It was delicious! It would be a complete meal with some leftover lamb added to the mushroom recipe below. The entire dish only takes about 20 minutes to prepare.

Mushrooms in Sour Cream

3 Tablespoons butter or margarine
1 cup chopped onion
1 ¼ lb fresh mushrooms, sliced ¼ inch thick
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon paprika
½ teaspoon pepper
¼ cup chopped parsley
1 cup dairy sour cream

1. In hot butter in medium skillet, sauté onion until golden – about 5 minutes.
2. Add mushrooms and ½ cup water; simmer, covered (adding more water, if necessary) until mushrooms are tender – about 15 minutes.
3. Add salt, paprika, pepper, 2 tablespoons parsley, and the sour cream. Heat very slowly, stirring until thoroughly hot. Before serving, sprinkle with rest of parsley.
   Makes 6 servings.
   
   Other ingredients you can add to kick this up a notch: frozen peas, cubed leftover lamb, or cubed leftover London broil, some fresh minced garlic.
   
   Boil a pound of linguini (or other pasta of your choice), drain and toss with Mushrooms in Sour Cream and any or all of the above ingredients. Serve with some crusty Italian or French bread and a salad.