Family Recipes
When we eat, the past is always present. The flavors and patterns of childhood linger on our palates thereafter, shaping every desire and every creation. Both overtly and under the surface, our memories play a huge role in the way we experience food.
As children, the adults in our orbit establish our food experience. The question of who does the cooking is only one aspect. Does everyone eat together? Who is everyone? Who cleans? Where do the recipes come from? Where in the world are we? Is our community agricultural or far removed? Whatever the specifics, all roads lead back to grandma.
Most evenings, my mother cooked for our family. Her recipes came from her mother, my father’s mother, and a host of neighborhood cookbooks. Some of her cookbooks were commercially published, yes, but most were self-published collections from community groups - the PTA, the church, the squadron (Air Force brat, remember?). And guess where all the members of those groups got the recipes they shared? Grandma: the OG food influencer.
My first professional food job was baking for a little shop in Minneapolis called Bordertown Cafe. We made classic coffee pairings - muffins, cookies, scones, quick breads - nothing laminated. Once the lead baker took my training wheels off, I began having thoughts like “what kind of cookie do I want to make?”
Muffins and scones are great for learning because they’re all templates: insert any combination of nut, chocolate, and fruit with little alteration to the underlying structure. Cookies are a bit trickier. I wasn’t quite ready to invent my own. Then I thought “would grandma let me make Coconut Chews?”
The Coconut Chew was my grandma’s signature cookie. Something my sister and I had been eating (and then craving) all our lives. There’s a difference between making something and making something to sell, so I went over to grandma’s house to ask if that would be alright. She opened the wooden box and gave me the recipe card.
Recipes aren’t strict rules. Mac and I feel pretty strongly about this. We read cookbooks for guidance, and we write recipes to be used loosely. But there are always exceptions. Resist the urge to “chef up” old family recipes. One time, Mac tried to reimagine his mom’s hamburger casserole by swapping the canned tomato soup and Kraft singles for homemade tomato sauce and aged cheddar. Needless to say, it sucked.
We love tweaking ingredients, using old recipes for inspiration. But sometimes, we must defer to ancestral wisdom. It’s the only way to summon the taste you remember. This week we’re celebrating our yearly deluge of summer squash by serving Mac’s Nana’s zucchini cake with cream cheese frosting.
One thing about meals at grandma’s house: no one ever saw her eat. She worked the whole time. Serving, stirring, refilling, checking, stirring again. One Thanksgiving, long after dinner had ended and we had all retired to the couch, I walked into the kitchen and saw her sitting at the side table, tapping the crossword puzzle, eating a dinner roll. It felt like I was seeing the wizard behind the curtain.
Just last weekend, I hosted my own barbeque. After I’d served the majority of the food, done a preliminary squaring-away of the kitchen, and rechecked the food, I sat down with my friends for a minute. “You should eat something, too,” I heard, as I scanned the tables, only half listening. “Oh, I’ve been eating the whole time,” I said, without thinking. Only just then did I really put the pieces together. That was her show, her time to share and pass along what she knew. Then I jumped up mid-conversation to go check on the chicken.
We’re glad you’re cooking with us.
Cheers,
Sten and Mac
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