By Lorry Myers
Everyone’s family has at least one favorite they count on every year. Sometimes it’s a secret, handed down from one generation to the next until one day, someone forgets, and everyone realizes.
No one wrote down the recipe.
Like the homemade noodles my grandmother and now my sister, makes for Thanksgiving. Lindy knows the recipe by heart and finds no need to write it on a card. When I asked her for details she rambles on and on about flour and shortening and rolling pins until finally, my eyes glaze over.
I’m not much of a noodle person.
Then there is the Caramel pie recipe my sister, Sherry learned from my Aunt Gete. This sugary goodness is created from just that, sugar. Somehow you boil it and whip it and bake it in the oven until the top is golden brown. It sounded easy, so I tried it. The pie boiled over catching my oven on fire which made it interesting to cook the rest of my Thanksgiving meal. I love that Caramel pie though, and at family gatherings, I will take some first in case we run out.
I wish I had a piece right now.
You can see that I am not the family cook, so the secret to the oyster dressing or the special ingredient in deviled eggs has never been shared with me. Even with that, my eggs would still be questionable, and oyster dressing would not be the same if you forget to put in the oysters.
Sometimes even a recipe doesn’t help.
When there are dinner rolls that need to rise, somehow, they never do. Lumps are not expected in the gravy but tend to appear as if they are part of the recipe. The harder I try to make something remarkable, the less remarkable it will be. I dream about baking that apple pie and not throwing it out. I love that cole slaw with the toasty ramen noodles that I managed to scorch and the Jell-o salad that doesn’t know it’s supposed to gel.
I can’t be responsible for everything.
Don’t tell me to throw in a few handfuls of flour or a pinch of parsley. I need specific measurements not just “salt to taste”, “red pepper to season” and “corn starch for thickening”.
Those directions never go well for me.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard
