A box of memories
A small metal recipe box is among the treasured items I've inherited from my grandmother. This was just one of several she had, as she was an excellent and prolific cook and baker, and she loved trading recipes with her neighbors and Wednesday Club members.
The truth is that I hardly ever use the recipes from this box. My family's meals are vastly different — we don't eat red meat, our salads are based on leafy greens and almost never include Jello, and we try to limit our sweets. But just seeing her recipe box when I open the cupboard brings me joy — a wave of happy memories of my grandmother, and a reminder of how her tasty dishes and delicious desserts were visible signs of her love for us.
The recipes in this box are like a time capsule of South Dakota's eating styles, diet preferences, and cultural traditions from the 1940s through the 1970s. Where else would you find a recipe for hamburger soup? Or sorghum drop cookies? Or tangerine snowballs using Tang for the flavoring? One of the recipes is for molded mints, a required item at weddings, anniversary parties, and baby showers at the time.
Almost all my grandmother's recipes are handwritten on small recipe cards, the ones spotted in grease or water-stained are presumably the most well-loved and often used. Most of them include the provenance – who took credit for the recipe or passed it along. For example, Terrell Hart's Almond Cake, Lois's Escalloped Salmon, and Polly's Chili are there. I'm delighted to find a recipe for cheesecake from my high school best friend Wendy and another for my Grandma Jensen's cinnamon thumb cookies. I understand the importance of being credited with a recipe. It's a sign of recognition and appreciation, and it still makes me feel good when someone requests a recipe from me.
Looking through the box, I chuckle over some recipes, like the Lo-Calorie Hot Dish that uses six cabbage wedges topped with layers of browned hamburger, onions, and raw rice. I guess the cabbage made it a low-calorie dish! And then there's the boiled cookies recipe. Umm… I don’t think so. And I love my grandmother's note on the recipe for Yum Yum Spice Cake that it was "good" but not yummy.
The box includes recipes in my great-grandmother's, my great-aunt Ardis's, my mother's, and even my own teenage handwriting. Several recipes have my grandmother's notes about modifying or improving them according to what she and our family liked. She frequently increased the amount of onions called for, and I recall her saying that one of the worst cooking mistakes you could make was to make something "tasteless." Bland was never acceptable to her.
Some recipes contain ingredients I'm not sure we can even purchase anymore, like the Milnot in the Miracle Cheesecake recipe or the oleo in several recipes. Is Tang still made?
It tastes like home.
Our taste buds become accustomed to the unique characteristics of the way our moms and grandmothers made their recipes. For us, our favorite dishes have the perfect blend of spices and seasoning (even if we can't describe them), from the pumpkin pie to the Thanksgiving stuffing to the goulash that tastes like home. I don't think anything can compare to the marinara sauce my husband remembers from childhood. He says he vividly recalls the smell of the all-day simmering pot on the kitchen stove. For me, cake never tastes as good unless it's made with buttermilk. And it's only my mom who can make a potato salad that tastes "right" to me.
I'm still trying to recreate the whipped cream my grandmother would make — the perfect blend of heavy whipping cream, vanilla, and sugar. No doubt this has more to do with the memory of how my grandmother would indulge me: when the rest of my family was having a small dab of whipped cream on their pie, I got to have my requested big bowl of whipped cream for dessert.
It’s not just the recipe.
And that's the thing — it's not really about the recipes — it's more about the memories they bring back for us. The comfort of the familiar. The smells we cherish. The times we were allowed to help in the kitchen that brought us closer to our moms, grandmas, and aunts. For me, it's also the sense of place of my grandmother's kitchen: the pan of frosted chocolate cake that was a regular fixture on the counter, the always full refrigerator, and the candy drawer she kept for the grandkids (with maybe an occasional treat for herself).
Sadly, recipe boxes seem to be a thing of the past as we have transitioned to beautifully illustrated cookbooks and "best-loved" recipes online. But I'll hang on to my treasured recipe box because it's so much more than the faded cards inside. It's a box of precious memories that keeps my grandmother's nurturing spirit alive.
What’s your recipe memory?
I'm sure you all have a treasured recipe that’s been passed down in your family. Tell me your favorite and what memories it conjures for you. Do you still have a recipe box?