Meatloaf and Memories

I think everyone has a stash of food-stained cards, scraps of paper ragged with age, and handwritten instructions stashed away in a kitchen drawer, cabinet or cupboard. Recipes passed down from Grandparents, Mothers, Sisters and friends from years past. Whether a complex description of how to properly prepare a prime rib or a two-ingredient concoction to satisfy a sweet tooth, they are all treasured by the lucky beneficiaries of these morsels of knowledge. 

We have all heard success stories about those who unexpectantly happened upon a secret recipe. Ruth Wakefield, who ran the Toll House Inn, in Massachusetts, added broken pieces of a chocolate bar to her cookie dough expecting them to melt evenly. Instead, they remained as chips, and the Toll House Cookie was born, becoming an American classic.

 Robert Cobb, owner at the Brown Derby restaurant in Hollywood in the 1930s, tossed together kitchen leftovers for a late-night meal. The salad became a star in its own right-loaded with chicken, bacon, avocado, blue cheese, and crisp lettuce. 

Caroline and Stephanie Tatin, two French sisters who owned an Inn outside of Paris accidently came upon the elegant upside-down apple tart, called Tarte Tatin. While preparing dinner for guests, Stephanie forgot to put a pie crust on the bottom of her apple pie. After realizing her mistake, she put the crust on top instead and flipped the dessert over to discover a perfectly caramelized apple topping.

One night, while Rhonda and I began our daily discussion as to what dinner would be, we mutually decided upon meatloaf. I had come upon the recipe years before and we both had enjoyed it over a period of several years. She asked me to retrieve the recipe from our secret stash of cards, papers and tidbits of magic potions. I pulled the box from the cupboard and began thumbing through the mess of papers, trying to find My Special Meatloaf Recipe. I was not having much luck and after about fifteen minutes, I suggested we grill burgers instead. Rhonda did not like this suggestion, so she began thumbing through the mess of papers and cards as I had just done for fifteen minutes. I took that moment to suggest that later, I would take the box of recipes and organize them. Maybe even digitalize each recipe and categorize them so that every recipe could easily be pulled from the computer based on whether breakfast, lunch, dinner, dessert, snack, etc. As I was explaining what I could do, she patiently kept thumbing through the box. She pulls a scrap of paper, food stained and wrinkled from age. She says, “Do you know who this recipe is from?” I shake my head no. She placed the piece of paper in front of me. She says, “That was the Bran Muffin recipe, your college roommate’s mother gave me forty years ago.”

 I picked up the recipe and read it. It was written in elegant cursive and even though it listed the ingredients and detailed instructions there was also a simple note of appreciation for the friendship she had shared with us over a weekend while she visited her son. It was signed Elaine Hyder.

 Rhonda retrieved another recipe, and once again, placed it in front of me. It was handwritten as well but was on a business letterhead piece of paper. Like the other, it was stained, folded, and the corners were ragged with use. I read the ingredients and instructions. It was signed by a dear friend from twenty years back, Janet Cooper.

 By the time I finished reading the last recipe, Rhonda handed me another. It too, was written on a scrap of paper, brown with age and in cursive. 

It said: Preheat oven to 475. Salt fowl & rub with margarine over his or her breast. Put in roaster with one qt. water at 9am and cook 1 hr. Turn oven off and DO NOT OPEN, until Ralph gets up. 

I held the piece of paper and realized it was written by Rhonda’s mother, Betty. I also realized that her reference to Ralph was Rhonda’s father. Both Betty and Ralph had long passed away but their memory had always held a special place in my heart. 

Rhonda finally finds my meatloaf recipe and retrieves it from the mess of papers and cards. She says, “That’s why I want to keep this box, just as it is. Not digitalized, not categorized, but requiring me to continually review each recipe. They’re more than recipes; they are our memories.