The Perfect Recipe

My Grandmother resided in a small country town much like the one I’m living in now. I would visit her every school holidays as it was my favourite place in the world to be. It was over these holidays that my Nan taught me to cook.  She would stand at her kitchen bench and oven each day, baking sweet treats for my Pop to return home from work to; treats that could be smelt for miles across scorched paddocks and down beaten tracks.

I remember standing on a stool besides her, pestering to stir the ingredients with a wooden spoon that was far too large for my little hand. The combination of the items added together would look so tasty that I could never resist the urge to run my finger around the edge of the bowl, collecting just a little of the goo that would be quickly licked from my finger.  My favourite part was watching Nan place the contents of the bowl into the pan and then into the hot oven.   I would sit on the floor directly in from, close enough for the heat to warm my face without burning myself.  With all the patience in the world, I would wait and watch as that ever so tasty goo, transformed into an even tastier treat; biscuits, cakes and slices, you name it, and she could bake it.  

Her cooking talents came from her vast collection of recipe books. Upon each visit, I would spend hours flipping through the books, looking at the illustrations and dreaming of how they would taste on my tongue. Her collection included fancy looking recipe books from chefs who had made a name for themselves around the world, specialised ones and even some that were just for kids. There was one book in particular that I was never interested in looking through; a little brown notebook. This book had no pictures that would entice any one to want to cook; it only contained pages and pages of my Nan’s illegible handwriting.

It was not until I was older that I came to realise that what I thought was a book of scraps, was actually something very dear; a book that contained my Nan’s favourite recipes. Many of these recipes we had baked together and then there were some that she had cleverly created herself. I no longer find this little brown notebook to be dull and boring, more than I ever, I am able to find relevance within its pages. Thanks can be given to one particular recipe that pertains to the life that I am living now, the life that at times, I struggle to understand.

And there you have it, the perfect recipe for living life the good ole country way.

I think its time I learnt how to cook, all over again!