When friends ask me for a favorite recipe, I have to admit I only know the approximate measurements. Even though my siblings and I have labored to chronicle the family recipes we still find ourselves smelling and kneading our way to the finished product. It isn t unusual to wake in the morning and immediately know what I will cook. Some subliminal cue has been given and I am powerless to resist it. Extraordinary as it sounds, it isn t unusual to call my sister or mother and find that they have made the same meal that very day.
Cool weather brings with it the desire to make Italian chicken noodle soup and fresh bread.
The pungent aroma of new fallen leaves calls for apple pie, and the first snow for pot roast and mashed potatoes. We serve no other main course on Thanksgiving except turkey, and Easter demands a fine ham. It is a tradition that cannot be broken. My family sat around the cherry-wood table in my mother s large dining room and laughed at the absurdity of it. All of us try to reproduce our mother s recipes and improve on them.