I have a confession to make; I am a foodie who is obsessed with creating the perfect bite. John would say, “That’s not bad. I love it when you come out with a new taste sensation”. My problem is I don’t know when to stop. Literally! My mind turns over and over a list of ingredients with a never-ending curiosity of how something might taste, say if I use apples and avocados together.
I have cookbooks, recipes on my computer, and files on my external drive. I have soft copy recipes in binders, or waiting to go into binders. I now have to branch out and have subcategories so that I can find the recipe that I know I crafted but can’t seem to find. In the creation aspect it is fun, but in the organization part, not so much.
I hate to say this but I’m reminding myself of my mother. She was an excellent cook. As kids, we couldn’t wait for dinner. But, then again, sometimes we could because she would go off on these tangents where we are eating green noodles with corn chips. Later on I found out green noodles are made with spinach, but as a kid you are looking at the concoction on your plate and mother is saying, “Try it. You’ll like it”. Sometimes when I had a friend visiting and she wanted to stay for dinner I would say, “Wait, I better check what mom is making first because I don’t know how wild she is getting tonight”. Like I said, she was an excellent cook and very creative.
I thought as a child that when I became an adult I would only make hamburgers, steaks, and potatoes, because we rarely had anything “normal”. Then when I was around 13 and mom would work second shift as a nurse, it became my job to do the cooking. I found out just how fun it was to put ingredients together, stir them around, and then discover what a taste sensation it produced.
When mom passed away, my brother discovered mounds of recipes up in the attic. Old, yellow, and faded. A lot of them had big X’s to show that she already made that particular recipe because she rarely cooked the same thing twice (unless it was one of her recipes like beef stroganoff). Those recipes she kept in a small wooden box with her barely legible handwriting on little index cards. I hereby confess my recipe obsession and I do believe I am becoming more like my mom everyday. I guess that isn’t so bad. Miss you mom.