Don’t let a recipe tell you how many chocolate chips to use. You do you, girl.
My Mom was a wonderful home baker. Her cooking? Ummm… not so much. I mean we didn’t starve but meals were pretty much meat ‘n potatoes, Midwestern style. I didn’t even have spaghetti until I was married with kids of my own and bought a cookbook.
Remember cookbooks? Before every recipe known to man was on the internet? Have to admit I’m guilty of store housing my recipes in folders in cyberspace. And remember recipe cards? I do miss the tactical feel of a recipe card. When I helped my Mom and Dad go thru a lifetime of things in their home preparing to move to a retirement apartment I came across Mom’s very old, falling apart wooden recipe box, full of handwritten recipes of hers, my aunts, maybe even my grandmother. She said, “Oh just toss that; no one wants that.”
“Mom! I do! This is priceless!”
“Ok, it’s yours.”
But I digress. My Mom baked the best cinnamon rolls. Charlie requested them every time we visited. Kringla – a Norwegian kind of shortbread thingie – was a staple in our house.
She made the most delicious pies – with crusts created with lard – the old school way. Cherry pies with the lattice top. Lemon meringue with the perfect meringue. Rhubarb… omg my tongue twitches with the tartness of the yummy rhubarb freshly harvested from my Aunt’s garden. Pumpkin pie every Thanksgiving.
She made a frozen ice cream cake – chocolate cake with ice cream in the middle, then rolled, frozen and sliced off. Omg. Yummo. And the most moist and delish carrot cake with cream cheese frosting.
My younger son is the one who inherited the real baking gene. I mean, he’s a fancy pants baker man who could probably be on a baking show. I’m not the baker Mom was but I do enjoy baking. I love trying new recipes and am happy when they turn out.
When Mom passed I collected some of her better known and loved recipes, matched them with some photos of Mom and put together a book for my siblings, my sons and my nieces and nephews. It was challenging because most of Mom’s recipes were in her head so it was “I think this is the measurement… not sure, ”Not sure what she meant by ‘a handful’ but good luck.”
I never really understood why I have this thing for baking. Maybe it’s Mom living thru me. How lucky I am to be her daughter.
