The Upstory

I don’t particularly like to cook, but I can.

I need a good reason: A party needs appetizers. Someone is having a birthday. It’s Christmas and time to make The Fudge.

Making food for events is so much more fun than making meals. Event cooking is a leisurely, solitary affair that involves the use of sugar, lots of measuring, no (ugh) chopping, and a festive platter to showcase the end product. Meals, however, are a forced march that happens when you’re tired and distracted and everyone else is starved and asking you when is dinner?

Also, I don’t believe you have to cook to eat. I have all the food I need in the freezer. It’s called ice cream.

Anyway, moving along, here are some food follies and tales from the kitchen.

Recipe Cards
I mostly use recipes that people have given me after I’ve tried something they made that was so incredibly good that I asked for their recipe. You have to be careful about asking people how they make their food.

I found this out when I once asked a woman how she made her cheesecake squares. She stared at me like I’d asked her to donate a kidney and said, “I’m not giving you my recipe.”

Fortunately, other people were willing to part with their state secrets and I have a well-worn collection of recipe cards. I also have recipes on my phone, thanks to my daughter who got the cooking gene and is an enthusiastic and skilled cook who loves to try all sorts of dishes.

The thing I like about a recipe card is that it reminds me of the person who gave it to me. It’s in their handwriting and seeing a friend’s penmanship makes me feel like they’re there with me. And that’s powerful, especially when it’s someone I’ve lost.

*Scroll to the end for my Recipe Hall of Fame.

Recipe cards and dating
When we were long-distance dating, I couldn’t demonstrate my cooking skills to Glenn. Instead, I sent him copies of my recipe cards.

He was in love and I don’t think he noticed that all my recipes were for appetizers and desserts. His Mom was watching out for him, though, and she wasn’t convinced that this foreigner in his life could cook. So, she asked him to ask me if my recipes were “tried and true.”

Of course, I was offended. Yes, they were recipes for food I’d made! Why would I be showing these to him if they weren’t? Glenn smoothed things over and Future Mother-in-Law didn’t say anything about how none of the recipes was for food that could be considered a nourishing, balanced meal.

Feeding a new husband
When we were married, I tried, I really tried, to cook dinner every night. I didn’t mind cooking breakfast, although I wasn’t a breakfast eater. Breakfasts are easy and almost fool proof.

Dinner was a different matter. Dinner was always more work. Plus, I didn’t eat dinner either. In fact, I didn’t eat balanced meals at all. Instead I grazed all day long at Salt River Project’s Horn of Plenty.

In the morning there would be bagels, doughnuts and muffins left over from early-bird meetings. Or the so-called Corporate Bakers would show up with banana bread, carrot cake, and Sticky Buns (raise your hand of you remember making these buns). We often had a crockpot of chili con queso plugged in by the printer along with a bowl of tortilla chips. Mark Estes regularly treated us to his Mean Green guacamole, and that was the breakfast of champions! Birthdays were a celebration of just about every food group. Fundraisers spiked the quantity and variety of good things we had to eat and everyone skipped lunch on the day of the annual Pumpkin Bake Sale.

Needless to say, I was not in the least bit hungry when I would come home at the end of the workday. But I wanted to do right by my new husband who was hungry.

I could have happy hour while I cooked so I’d open a bottle of Beringer’s and start something from scratch using one of the cookbooks we’d been given. Suzy Rourke’s cookbook “Tried & True” was a definite crowd-pleaser. An hour or two later Glenn would be eating a nice dinner and I’d be on my third or fourth (who’s counting?) glass of White Zin.

This went on for several months and then it stopped. The honeymoon was over. I had other things to do than stand in a kitchen drinking wine and trying out new recipes. But Glenn still liked to eat so we worked out a deal whereby we both made dinner. We simplified the process, reduced the prep time, and lived happily ever after.

Recipe fail: Gumbo becomes jambalaya
I’ve had to throw out fudge that turned into concrete or has the consistency of frosting. I’ve scorched soup, ruined pancakes, and turned ingredients into inedible messes. But the weirdest fail I’ve ever had was to make jambalaya from a gumbo recipe.

I blame the recipe which was from a tourist-shop placemat.

Gumbo, properly made starting with a roux, takes time. If it’s okra gumbo the okra has to be cooked down for hours, if you like it the way Enola, my mother-in-law made it. Otherwise just chunk up the okra and throw it in the pot where it becomes goo. Then, if you’re like me, avoid it and eat around it when it’s in your bowl.

Anyway, Glenn was missing his mom’s gumbo and I thought I’d whip up a batch using the placemat recipe. I should have used his mom’s recipe. Enola told me how to make her gumbo and I faithfully wrote down her directions. But I do best with measurements. Cup. Teaspoon. Ounces. Enola’s measurements were based on her favorite cooking spoon (“I use a spoon of butter”) and her instinctual understanding of how much to add with the flick of a wrist. 

So, I opted for the placemat recipe which had measurements. I spent the better part of a day making Glenn’s gumbo. He spent the better part of the day waiting for it to be done.

Finally, it was ready to serve and I set the table. Glenn sat down expectantly and asked for a spoon instead of a fork. The moment of truth had arrived. The gumbo smelled good and tasted good but it had the look and consistency of jambalaya. The liquid had cooked away so there was no need for a spoon. Once the rice was added you needed a fork.

I can’t really describe the expression on Glenn’s face. He stared at his bowl for awhile until finally hunger overcame disappointment and he picked up his fork.

Recipe fail 2.0: Muffins become desktop ornaments
I baked the infamous 1978 Flood Muffins during a frantic period when steady rains and heavy runoff were causing downstream flooding in the Valley. SRP was in emergency mode and we were working in shifts around the clock.

I got home late one night, hydrated with a few adult beverages, and then decided to do some baking. I made zucchini batter, filled several muffin tins, and put them in the oven. Then I took a nap. The smoke alarm woke me up.

It turned out that I had set the oven for 250 degrees (instead of 350) and I hadn’t bothered to set the timer. Google says it takes millions of years to create coal using heat and pressure. I did it in one night. I created a muffin-shaped bituminous coal product.

I took them to work anyway and they went like hotcakes. Every desk sported a coal muffin, which just shows you how punchy we all were.

My Recipe Hall of Fame

Aurora Gonzales’ cabbage soup

Enola Orgeron’s shrimp patties

Barbara Hakenjos’ carrot souffle

Janey Dyson’s Denver potato pie

Cheryl Crame’s peanut butter cup brownie bites

Aunt Mary Landry’s custard tart (more formally called a Tarte au la Bouillie)

Rita Schmidt’s shrimp chowder

Suzi McElroy’s spring rolls

Debbie McElroy’s sour cream enchiladas and NAU granola

Terry McElroy’s Martha Washingtons

Robyn Becher’s honey-baked chicken

Renee Bourg’s praline sweet potato casserole

Deby Steele’s pumpkin roll

Dotty Tihkan’s almond bark

Donna Baarstad’s chocolate bourbon pecan pie