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"The Fannie Farmer Cookbook," Marion Cunningham
I have mentioned before, though perhaps not here, that there is a division among cooking families. It may not be quite as contentious as the Hatfields and the McCoys, or the IHOP/Waffle House dichotomy, but it is real, and it is the Joy of Cooking versus Fannir Farmer debate. Most people who are familial cooks - taught by a parent, who learned from a parent, and so on, fall into one or the other camp, and most are extremely loyal.
I am part of a mixed household, now - I tolerate the copy of Joy that my husband brought into our joint household - but I was raised with Fannie Farmer. My mom used her copy often enough that I don't remember it ever actually being put away, and the copy I got when I left home (a cheap paperback version, which is what I could afford at the time) was used until it split in half. I've since been gifted with a hardcover copy, but the battered paperback is still the one I reach for, out of nostalgia if nothing else - there were several years, in college and early grad school, when it was one of maybe half a dozen cookbooks that I owned, and the only source for simple recipes in just about any area.
I had been debating with myself on how to use it in this project. There are a bunch of staple recipes that I make from it; on the other hand, part of the point of this project is trying new things. But when I found out that the wedding I went to this weekend was open for people to bring food, I knew what I had to make.
While I was in college, mostly broke and mostly cookbook-less, there was one recipe that I managed to perfect. I don't know quite why I first decided to make peach cobbler; I think it was probably because my friends' pantry had a can of peaches in it, or something equally shallow and practical. But it was an easy enough recipe, and made almost entirely of pantry staples - sugar, flour, butter, milk, and eggs. It didn't call for any equipment fancier than a bowl, a spoon, an 8" pan, and a stove. And it was surprisingly yummy.
So over the course of several years, it became my go-to dessert. Gaming sessions, birthdays, dinner parties, any occasion that could possibly justify baked goods, meant peach cobbler. I think it was this that eventually started me on my path to becoming Dessert Lady, but at the time, it was the one thing I was good at making, and the one thing people asked me to make on a regular basis, and sang the praises of.
And two of the friends who were part of that social circle, whose kitchens I cooked in, who played in those gaming groups, celebrated their wedding yesterday. I had to make cobbler for them.
It had been a while since I made it, somehow. I've found other recipes I love, and on the occasions that I do make cobbler I've been experimenting with other versions, but for this occasion I had to go back to the original. And not just any version of the book, either, but the split-in-two, stained and battered one. Baking it was like traveling back in time. The kitchen may be different, but I still have the same bowls, and the same wooden spoons, and my hands remembered the texture and feel of the batter, and just how much nutmeg to add, and when everything was mixed just enough, and the smell as it baked was just right.
It felt.... very good to be able to share such a memory with two people who mean so much to me, and to each other. And somehow, it felt right to use a recipe from a cookbook that's been shared within my family for so many generations. Food really *is* love.
I have mentioned before, though perhaps not here, that there is a division among cooking families. It may not be quite as contentious as the Hatfields and the McCoys, or the IHOP/Waffle House dichotomy, but it is real, and it is the Joy of Cooking versus Fannir Farmer debate. Most people who are familial cooks - taught by a parent, who learned from a parent, and so on, fall into one or the other camp, and most are extremely loyal.
I am part of a mixed household, now - I tolerate the copy of Joy that my husband brought into our joint household - but I was raised with Fannie Farmer. My mom used her copy often enough that I don't remember it ever actually being put away, and the copy I got when I left home (a cheap paperback version, which is what I could afford at the time) was used until it split in half. I've since been gifted with a hardcover copy, but the battered paperback is still the one I reach for, out of nostalgia if nothing else - there were several years, in college and early grad school, when it was one of maybe half a dozen cookbooks that I owned, and the only source for simple recipes in just about any area.
I had been debating with myself on how to use it in this project. There are a bunch of staple recipes that I make from it; on the other hand, part of the point of this project is trying new things. But when I found out that the wedding I went to this weekend was open for people to bring food, I knew what I had to make.
While I was in college, mostly broke and mostly cookbook-less, there was one recipe that I managed to perfect. I don't know quite why I first decided to make peach cobbler; I think it was probably because my friends' pantry had a can of peaches in it, or something equally shallow and practical. But it was an easy enough recipe, and made almost entirely of pantry staples - sugar, flour, butter, milk, and eggs. It didn't call for any equipment fancier than a bowl, a spoon, an 8" pan, and a stove. And it was surprisingly yummy.
So over the course of several years, it became my go-to dessert. Gaming sessions, birthdays, dinner parties, any occasion that could possibly justify baked goods, meant peach cobbler. I think it was this that eventually started me on my path to becoming Dessert Lady, but at the time, it was the one thing I was good at making, and the one thing people asked me to make on a regular basis, and sang the praises of.
And two of the friends who were part of that social circle, whose kitchens I cooked in, who played in those gaming groups, celebrated their wedding yesterday. I had to make cobbler for them.
It had been a while since I made it, somehow. I've found other recipes I love, and on the occasions that I do make cobbler I've been experimenting with other versions, but for this occasion I had to go back to the original. And not just any version of the book, either, but the split-in-two, stained and battered one. Baking it was like traveling back in time. The kitchen may be different, but I still have the same bowls, and the same wooden spoons, and my hands remembered the texture and feel of the batter, and just how much nutmeg to add, and when everything was mixed just enough, and the smell as it baked was just right.
It felt.... very good to be able to share such a memory with two people who mean so much to me, and to each other. And somehow, it felt right to use a recipe from a cookbook that's been shared within my family for so many generations. Food really *is* love.
