Throughout my younger years, I remember pulling down my mother’s box of index cards, browning around the edges and with various streaks of sauces across the fading writing. The recipes were beginning to merge with the cards themselves, but my mother mainly only needed the numbers to remember the amounts. Everything else she could remember by memory and feel.
My mother was always a good cook, but she was particular with her recipes and the way in which she made things. So the recipes in the box were the favorites of the favorites. The ones made for holidays and special occasions. And they were never just made once. I remember thinking as a little girl that one day I would have my own box of recipes, not out of necessity but out of reminders.
As I grew older, college and small apartment spaces left little to do cooking with. More so, it seemed like my significant others were more interested in eating out than washing dishes and doing grocery runs. So I hardly had the excuse to cook. It didn’t keep me from saving recipes, bookmarked in all various folders on my laptop, that I hoped one day to try.
So my apartment is small and not quite the best for cooking, but I’m going to do it anyway. I’m going to start my own index card recipe box. It might be ridiculously hard and more of a science experiment than edible results, but I’m going to get going. There’s always an excuse these days to leave older traditions behind, but this one I want to have for me. If I want cake, I’m baking cake. Maybe I’ll share, or maybe I’ll just keep eating until it goes stale.
So to give me a reason beyond ‘just because’ I’m going to spend each day December 1st to 25th in my kitchen whipping up some recipe that might have potential. The best of the best will make it into my own recipe collection. The rest, well at least I’ll know. What I love most about my new tradition is that it takes something special from my own past holidays and infuses it with something new, blends them at high speeds and leaves spoons for licking.