Over the last month, I have spent my “spare” moments taking this huge, unruly, disorganized, decades-old binder of treasured recipes and loading them all into an app.
. . .
I’ve organized them and categorized them and attributed them to the people who passed them to us. Gramma Zdenek’s recipes for dumplings, sauerkraut and kolacky are all in there, along with Nana’s dill dip and bishop pie and Alison’s dad’s baked beans and my own dad’s garlic salad dressing, and Mom Rinker’s pumpkin apple muffins and holiday cheese spread... and hundreds of others, including my own recipes for the things we love, like meatballs and gumbo and paella and hot pretzels and apple coffee cake. . . .
In the aftermath of my mother’s death, this felt important — and healing. Someday, these recipes will go to my sons and their families, part of their own history and story. My 14yo is already the heir-apparent to the culinary genes; I imagine and hope that, someday, cooking some of these things for his own children will bring back good memories of this time and space.
. . .