When a Tablespoon is Something Else

Recipes are wonderful things.  A step by step guide that, when followed to a T, allows you to reach the desired outcome.

It never fails to amaze me that by following those instructions and combining specific amounts of listed ingredients, suddenly, as if one is possessed of a magic wand, those plain (and often boring ingredients) miraculously turn into culinary delights our family and friends oohing and ahhing over.

Yes, I love cooking and I grew up following recipes my mother inherited from her mother as well as recipes my father’s mother passed on to me.
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Why I’m Typing Up My Recipes

A little over 36 years ago, I purchased a hard covered notebook.  A5 in size, it wasn’t anything special, or fancy, but it was somewhere I could write down recipes.

Some belonged to my mother, some belonged to her mother and other’s belonged to my father’s mother.  Some recipes were given to me by friends, other’s stolen from magazines in patient waiting rooms, the sound of paper tearing not quite discussed by coughing.

There are even recipes within its pages that are of my own creation, as some of you well know by now.
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