This story jogs. Starting with almond flour cake, it grabs winter 1955. A story of yellowed index cards, scraps of paper, blended with today. It touches on loss. and pieces left behind.
Cooking is my pleasure. My aim is for the just right in the food I make. After several iterations my almond flour, raisin, toasted almond, spice cake made it to nearly just right. With the discovery of adding apple got the moisture it was right.
Ahh, a cake the sweetness came from raisins and freshly ground spices. I made again and wrote the recipe down in a iPad recipe app.
But, my app search continued. I chewed my way through four more apps until I found one I liked. …threw the old apps out and deleting my recipe.
Now was that two or three tablespoons of water, and did I settle on three eggs or two? What shine does the batter have when it’s just right. …lost details.
Battered Tattered & Creased
In Michigan, sixty years ago, we lived overlooking a river valley. In winter snow we took sleds, toboggans, and scraps of cardboard to the hill. We careened down then staggered home cold and looking for tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.
Mom was a fine 1950s style plain cook. Beef stew, pork chops and sweets… Thinking of my lost recipe I retrieved her recipes. I marveled at the use healthy margarine and Karo syrup.
I kept mom’s index cards. But, I lost my almond cake recipe. I decided that I’d copy the cards and scraps paper to an app I’d not delete.
The app makes importing digital recipes from the New York Times or All Recipes a couple key strokes. Write your own, comment on the results.
My story calls a smile, angst, and a wish. Gratitude for a life that included tomato soup and a snowy hill, angst from from growing pains, and a wish I knew more of the people who raised me.
What’s your story? Are we kin? Did you live a harsh start or supported beginnings?