Discovering Treasure

I’ve mentioned in previous posts some of the touchstones I have for this recipe-box project, points of influence and inspiration that set me on this path. I’ve been generally thinking of this as a five-years-or-so evolution sparked in part by an event I spoke at late 2019.

But really, as I was reminded recently, the genesis goes back nearly 17 years. That’s when I rediscovered the beat-up recipe folder of my mom’s and really began exploring it with fresh appreciation and curiosity. My mom had passed away in the fall of 2001 and in the course of all that sorting and organizing that happens, it was I who brought my mom’s recipe folder home.

That folder certainly held value for me back then, I was very happy to be its new caretaker. But I guess it seemed more like a memento of my mom’s to cherish as such, rather than the source of inspiration, memories, connection for me to draw from today.

So I brought my mom’s recipe folder to my house, tucked it in a high cupboard above our refrigerator, and didn’t think about it for seven or so years. Until that refrigerator died and—in the course of the messy clean-up and fridge replacement—I ventured into that high cupboard again. The subsequent re-aquaintance with the folder set off a stream of reflections and resulted in a blog post that I wrote about the experience.

I just reread that post from 2008 for the first time in ages. I’m struck by a few things I mention there that echo themes that have come up in recent conversations about the treasure of recipes boxes and the richness (sometimes mysteries!) held in those collections:

++ it wasn’t a recipe, exactly, but I reference notes found in the folder that my mom made on the back of a receipt for an event my parents attended; archival family history, right there among the recipes

++ I have no idea who the “Helen” is to whom my mom attributes the banana bread recipe she baked for so many years; I’ve heard from so many about similar unrecognized names sometimes credited in family collections

++ the fact that cookbooks sometimes become defacto “recipe boxes” with other recipes hand-written, or clipped-out recipes taped, on inside covers or other available space in the book, maybe even just recipe cards tucked among the pages

++ and the sheer delight of being made to realize I had that treasure all along and just needed to make it more accessible, more present in my cooking life to keep it from being forgotten ever again.

It ends with a statement that feels quite poignant and even more meaningful to me now (italics are my emphasis here):

But this little present it’s given me, this forgotten trove, the echo of my mom’s voice through these recipes and notes? It’s the serendipity that can come
from a broken down refrigerator.