There are cooking shows on PBS in our area every Saturday. I was waiting to watch a string of them when I happened on a new-to-me reality show called The Great American Recipe. Home cooks from around the country compete for a top prize and the coveted title of “best home cook in America.” The eight contestants were diverse, representing where they came from and/or their ethnic roots. Contestants represented Germany, Mexico, Africa, China, Italy, El Salvador, the American South and Alaska—a literal melting pot of food. Their assignment was to make their signature dish—something they could make from memory—that defined their style. Several contestants said they learned their recipes in their grandma’s kitchen or commented that the dishes they made “tasted like home.”
I thought of my family and the various dishes that “taste like home” to me. Some of the dishes were part of a regular rotation. If we were headed for Grandma’s on Sunday, I could count on a beef roast with Yorkshire pudding, for example. Other more complicated dishes were reserved for special occasions. We are a family of good, but basic cooks.
Among my family’s kitchens Grandma was known for her pies. My mom churned out dozens of crispy potato pancakes and made homemade noodles that she dried on tea towels in the dining room. My mother-in-law specialized in Weiner Schnitzel and huge meatballs covered in marinara sauce. My brother’s wife makes homemade ravioli for Christmas and has a signature simple Italian salad that I love.
The men in my family cook too. What I wouldn’t give for a plate of my dad’s fried chicken or barbecued ribs. My brother and nephew grill kalbi ribs and a delicious elk loin that I’d take any day over a restaurant filet mignon. Our younger son has a fancy smoker that turns out delicious beef shoulders that he often serves with collard greens stewed with pork belly and onion. He also makes the best shrimp and grits this side of the Mason-Dixon Line. Our older son cranks out jars of homemade salsa—mild for me, hot for the rest of the world. My husband gives me a break from cooking every Friday when he makes the best buttered popcorn for dinner.
And what’s my signature dish? I have no idea. In the warmer months I make big dinner salads. My husband grills meat and I serve simple sides like cucumber salad, baked beans, vinegar and oil cole slaw, potato salad, local sliced tomatoes and sweet corn on the cob. In cooler months I love to make one-pot meals like chili, stew, pot roast and root vegetables, German kielbasa and sauerkraut, lentil soup, meat sauce for pasta. On an ambitious day I might make my mother-in-law’s Weiner Schnitzel with homemade spaetzle.
I have two Pinterest boards. I use one when I cook for our son in Arizona in the winter. It’s heavy on fish and seafood—cioppino, shrimp fra diavolo, smothered shrimp and andouille on smoked Gouda grits. He will eat anything I fix, but always asks for my pozole and various curry dishes. He teases me about my kitchen shortcuts like serving microwaved Bob Evan’s mashed potatoes, but they are delicious and make sense when you’re cooking just for two.
Every family has their own version of signature menus. My mom almost scared my husband off when he first visited our home back in 1967. She was serving fried turtle and Finnan Haddie, a cold smoked haddock cooked in milk.
I still remember the first meal I cooked as a newlywed. I made a salad, pork chops, baked acorn squash and green beans. My husband asked who was coming to dinner when he saw the amount of food I cooked. I watched as he took a bite of the squash. It seemed to get bigger in his mouth until he couldn’t swallow it. I quickly learned his likes and dislikes. He will eat most fish, but not cod. He’s never tasted a shellfish or most berries. The only fruits he’ll eat are apples and melons. He loves salads (as long as they are drenched in dressing), but most cooked vegetables are eaten first like medicine that he needs to get out of the way so he can eat the good stuff.
At this stage of life we eat very little. I’m still trying to pare back the amount I cook. Thankfully, my husband doesn’t complain about leftovers and is a good sport about my interest in trying new things. Last night I made a Chile Relleno casserole. He said it was fine. I thought it was “meh” and we have a lot left. It won’t stay in my recipe collection in its present form. I make something the first time following the recipe. After that, the recipe is just a suggested list of ingredients and I tweak it. My husband calls this technique “Ala Jacqueline.”
I guess if I had to define my cooking style, it would be eclectic. I like novelty. I’m hoping there’s something in my repertoire, however, that my kids and grandkids will think “tastes like home” and I hope it’s not the Bob Evan’s mashed potatoes!
Crows Feet Chronicles 