kitchen journal of my own making
Grandmothers, aunties, my mother, my sister and friends have shared delicious dishes, recipes and kitchen wisdom that I'm always grateful to receive. A few of these gifts have been written down, an actual recipe. Others have been shared with the casualness of one who's made it countless times and hasn't needed the recipe since before I was born, so, a long time.
If my imagination could rewrite this story my mother or one of my grandmothers would have gifted me with a aged volume with all of their combined wisdom and tidy recipes collected inside. That's the storybook version.
In reality, from where I'm standing, I have the challenge of remembering, hunting and gathering from what I've been told, the scraps of recipes scribbled for me and those I've scribbled while watching and listening.
The part of the storybook version that I insist on keeping is the book. It won't be handed down to me but I can make it. I am making it.
I will fill the pages with simple things like how to boil an egg, roast a chicken and bake my favorite cookies. I will fill it with my precious treasures, memories of people who shared their time and recipes and love of cooking with me.
And now and then while filling these pages I'll enjoy the idea that someday, in a time far away, I will give this book away to be a part of someone else's story.