A Little Something for the Girl Children

I took a culinary Journey Through The Past over the weekend. Today begins the last five days of my full time job, before culinary school starts next Monday, and I want to leave a little something with the two wonderful young women who've worked with me during the last eventful and traumatic year. We realized (in the minibus, on the way back to Vienna from Salzburg, where we went to hum "Sound of Music" songs after a particularly drama-filled association meeting) that they are the same ages as my two sons. We agreed that they could be my Girl Children. So it seems appropriate (to preserve familial fairness?) to give them each a gift I made for the boys: a cookbook.

I received a phone call from Adam shortly after he began attending Cal State Long Beach. He was inside the vast Ralph's supermarket, cruising the aisles. "Where's the chutney?" He was making stuffed baked potatoes. (Answer: in the ketchup aisle.) Both boys called frequently during college, once they had kitchen facilities, to review ingredients or menus or cooking methods. After I married their step dad, when they were both in elementary school, it seemed important and natural to eat together as a family at the table. As Joe and Adam grew older, our evening meals became a matter of tradition and a point of pride. A home cooked family meal was certainly not the norm for most of their — or our — friends. I enjoyed the challenge of putting together dinner after working all day. The boys helped. They didn't get enough time with me, I'm sure, and the kitchen was one place where adolescent angst and parental pressure subsided, at least until it was time to do the dishes. David and the boys were an appreciative audience and encouraged my experimentation. I bought cooking magazines, and more cookbooks, carried on a side obsession with Delmonico's, got a KitchenAid mixer. Of course there were some meals that failed, recipes that got tossed right into the trash, but we began to develop a repertoire of favorites.

That's what the boys called about. How do you make the Best Potatoes in the World? Or minestrone? Or chicken wings? So I put together a book for each of them, filled with the essential recipes. It's been four years since I went through that exercise. I have the recipes in files on my laptop; I printed them out, cut, and inserted them into the clear pages of a 4x6 photo album. Seemed pretty straightforward to make two more little books for the Girl Children.

The actual process, though, was more emotionally complicated than I expected. Memories of the boys as children. Adam making a spun sugar "cage" for our dessert, after watching Jacques Torres on public television. Hosting dinner for Joe and his friends before the Junior Prom. The All-Chinese Super Bowl Menu. Sending the boys off to my brother's bachelor-party weekend with raspberry brownies, which apparently became breakfast. ("Good with beer"??)

I'm hoping my Girl Children will enjoy some of the recipes -- there's lots of stuff to bring to work potlucks (like Candace's Basil Cheese Loaf) or to make for a party (Four-Cheese and Sausage Pasta Bake is big and filling). Some of the recipe headnotes are specifically directed to the boys (regarding Sage-Roasted New Potatoes: "We had these about once a week for a while, remember?") I thought about replacing them with more generic comments, but it's all about pretending. If they are my Girl Children, they will remember Sage-Roasted New Potatoes: Lindsay will refuse the bacon strips if she's in a vegetarian phase, but Megan will be more than happy to eat her "sister's" share. I've stayed connected to the boys through the Girls, in a fun/funny way. Spending time with them keeps me somewhat culturally fluent and not totally lame. More than once, I've enjoyed a meal or a city with the Girls and thought about how much Joe and Adam would enjoy the experience, and how much I'd love to have them with me.

Hopefully my pretend Girl Children will follow the example of my boys and phone me up for cooking advice. Then I'll know my work there is done.

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CHUTNEY CHEESE POTATOES

4 baking potatoes
4 ounces Cheddar cheese, grated
2 teaspoons chutney
1 celery stalk, finely chopped
4 tablespoons (1/2 stick) softened butter

Preheat oven to 375°F. Bake the potatoes with their skins until tender, about 45 minutes. Let cool slightly. Remove a 1/2-inch slice from the top flat side of the potato. Scoop out the inside of each potato to within 1/4-inch of the shell. Do not pierce the skin. Place the potato flesh in a bowl. Place the potato skins in a shallow roasting pan.

Combine the potato flesh, cheese, chutney, celery, and butter. Beat with a wooden spoon until thoroughly mixed. Spoon the filling into the potato skins. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes, or until golden brown.

Serves 4.

From San Francisco Encore, edited by The Junior League of San Francisco. New York: Doubleday, 1986.