Recipe box yields interesting finds

I was going through my recipes the other day, in a spurt of motherly concern that my daughter won't have these priceless family dishes before I die, which I was tearfully anticipating after seeing one of those inspirational TV commercials by The Foundation For a Better Life, where the mother and grown daughter are sitting on a swing holding hands and you can totally tell the mother isn't "all there," if you know what I mean. Or, maybe it was an ad for Miracle Ear, but either way, I'm just saying.

So, I was feverishly trying to ensure that my grandchildren would remember me, if in no other way than by savoring Gaga's Cheerful Chili or Fantasy Fried Chicken or Breathtaking Brownies now and then. (I decided that naming them would give the children an additional legacy.)

First, I took out my little green recipe box -- the one my aunt gave me at one of my wedding showers, way back when people actually got married before they lived together, before they had sex, before they had children, and even before they owned a car! (Yes, there were cars back then, you little ...)

I even had several of the original recipe index cards that came with the box, that had tiny flowers along the top border, and a line that said "Recipe" and one that read "From." I settled on the couch with paper and pen, regarding my neat little recipe box proudly, and began.

The first recipe, under A, of course, was for chicken liver pate. I had written "Mother-in-Law" after the "From" designation. (I never called her anything but that ... we were very close.) This was from the '70s, my friend; it calls for so much mayonnaise, cream cheese and butter that just reading it could harden arteries for miles around. And, as a newlywed, I'd put a little dollar symbol in the top corner, meaning we couldn't afford this recipe. I never made it; the card is pristine. I was just trying to be nice, but honestly, my mother-in-law's only "signature" dishes were her meatloaf and her tuna salad, which is so amazing -- although more work -- that everyone should try it once before they die ... (sniff).

I put the recipe back in the box. Louise won't ever make this. Who makes chicken liver pate these days, especially with three little ones who would croak at the mere mention? Moving on, I skip the rest of the A's (except for my friend's Yum-Yum Sauce -- for asparagus -- it's just alcohol, and my daughter already has reason enough to drink), skim the B's (breakfast) and C's (Christmas, save for last) and flip through the next few recipes quickly, discarding the ones with dollar symbols, and those with X's in the corner, not to mention the ones with two or three X's, since those designate the more difficult ones, in the order of hard, harder and what are you, stupid?

Since I no longer eat meat or poultry (another inspirational commercial in 1994), I automatically copy down the easier meat recipes for my daughter, because she can only cook on the fly. (She has become really good at checking a roast as she runs by the oven chasing one child or another, whipping casseroles in and out, and even frosting a cake with one leg wrapped around a child's waist.)

Plus, the kids eat lots of chicken, which is good because it's cheap, and I have lots of chicken recipes because my kids were born during the Nugget Revolution, so I used the nugget in everything, although they did draw the line at chicken nugget'n'green Jell-O (trying to get that all-important "green" into their nutritional menu was fairly excruciating, so I often used the 'n' to jazz it up a bit).

So, I pass along the Mommy's Meatloaf. (Hey, why should I give my mother-in-law the credit? She's gone now; she's got bigger fish to fry ... ha ha.) And the Ta-Ta Tuna Salad, which Louise might make someday when the children are old enough to spend the day -- and night -- somewhere else. I give her the fried chicken I grew up with, and the sauerbraten, and the pot roast and beef stew. I send on the marinated flank steak and the Grandpa's Lamb with Mint Jelly, the ham'n'cheese casserole and the sweet'n'sour pork.

Now, back to the C's. This is where I keep all the good stuff -- cake, cookies, candy (please, like I ever made candy after the invention of the Heath Bar ... or before, really) as well as pies, fudge, breads and, of course, couscous. I figure Christmas is the only time I bake all this stuff ... and where else can you put couscous? This is the true gold mine, the C's.

That's next week. Get your index cards -- and a physical.

Vicki Wentz's column, which appears here on Sundays, is published in newspapers across the country. She is a high school teacher who lives in Chapel Hill, N.C. Readers may contact her at vwentz@mindspring.com.