Dear Mom,
I’ve
had a hard time writing anything worthwhile—even to blog. I’ve written every
day—mostly journaling, and well, who really cares how much time I spend writing
on any given day? I know I write. Some days more than others. I also know I
can’t NOT write… otherwise they’ll haul me away and throw away the key.
While
cooking for Thanksgiving I’m reminded of how I tell this story at the feast I
prepare each year… the one where I’m trying to perfect sweet potatoes—the sweet
potatoes that I had one year at a friend’s house. Not really sure if he was my
friend because he wouldn’t give me the recipe. He stated, “Oh, I just add a
little of this, and a little of that.” I can still picture him waving his arms,
prancing, all giddy. He knew these sweet potatoes were, well, sweeeeeet. He
wouldn’t even say what was “this” and “that” but since I’m not the dumbest rock
in the box, I figured butter and brown sugar were key.
These
sweet potatoes haunt me every year, and this was BC – Before Children. I was
dating the soon-to-be dad of my three children. He was living with this
friend—the same friend who made the yummiest sweet potatoes I’ve ever tasted.
The same friend who wanted to date me after I got divorced. Had I been
thinking… maybe had I dated him I’d have that sweet potato recipe.
However, 30 years later and I’m still at it. Still trying to make the sweet potatoes the
way he did. Who says I’m a quitter?
At my own Thanksgiving dinner, I hear, “These are the best sweet potatoes.”
or “I don’t really like sweet potatoes, but these are good!” That’s when I step
on my soapbox and rant about my saga of the sweet potatoes. I look up and curse
Billy Bob (made up name) because bless his soul, he’s deceased and he took the
recipe to his grave. Think of the pleasure he could have given many and the
honors he’d receive in his name. When I’ve mastered it, I will share it with
the entire world! But it will be my
recipe, not Billy Bob’s.
That
got me thinking about recipes… do you share recipes? I mean, I get how
certain businesses can’t share, but what about just an ordinary person? Take
for instance when my niece was married—her husband's grandmother was Italian whom
supposedly had the best tiramisu. I wanted an authentic recipe to enter a
work-related dessert contest. I had to swear on my life that I wouldn’t share
the recipe with anyone. Not a soul. I’m sure my niece did lots of begging just
in order for me to have it. Seriously, he almost did not share it. And no, his
grandmother didn’t own some sort of bakery.
I
don’t know what all the fuss was about because the recipe wasn’t all that
great. (Sorry Grandma Whatsyourname.) I lost out to a cheesecake, and I haven’t
made tiramisu since. And no, I won’t share the recipe because I promised I
wouldn’t. I will share any of my recipes, but mostly they’re from someone else or a cookbook.
Oh,
but you can bet I’ll share the candied sweet potatoes once it’s mastered.
Hopefully that’ll be some time in the next 30 years.
Have a Happy Thanksgiving and may you walk away with recipes that you
love!
