Hungry memories

When I was just a lower case Ohh there was only one cooking show I knew of. It was called The Galloping Gourmet. The chef was named Graham Kerr. My mother watched this show religiously, wrote down the recipes on cards, then put them in a box so they could easily be found later. She cross indexed them by protein, ingredients, nutrition, and whether their preparation would attract the attention of mythical creatures. It was amazing.

The thing is she never made any of them. We existed on tomato soup and mac-n-cheese. Back then I thought a hamburger was the epitome of gastric excellence. Once, when I was home from school sick, I watched the show and asked why she didn’t make the promoted Squid Bug-larva Paste Tartare in a subtle Poison Ivy broth with boiled Chicken Beak Spiced Turnip Balls? Hey, that’s what I remember. Also, Graham did drink a of bit wine while he cooked, so who knows?

Her answer was simple, “I’m saving these recipes for a special occasion.” That special occasion never arrived. If company came over, mom went straight to spaghetti because it served a lot of folks easily. Not complaining. It’s that I might’ve liked to try some of that fancy stuff.

That was then This is now

Fast forward to two weeks ago, my mother was moving. She told me that I had to come over right away. It was an emergency. Her tone of voice led me to believe she had an infestation of Bulgarian fruit bats. Or perhaps she discovered body buried in the cellar. Maybe even proof of the missing evolutionary link between man and turtles. Who knew?

Either way, I hightailed it over there. Much to my chagrin, everything was fine. Frankly, the body thing intrigued me. I mean, we always wondered what happened to that encyclopedia salesman who showed up at the door every week when I was five and six. But I digress. No! she told me she found the gourmet recipe box, and she wanted me to have it. What??

My first thought was, “Why Me?” But that’s not what I said out loud. What I said was, “I’m honored but surprised. I don’t cook much. Wouldn’t this be a better gift for any of my four sisters who do?” No, she was giving it to me because she remembered me asking about it once when I was seventeen, and thinking about a career in food. Look, I was working at a burger joint at the time. Graham’s poison ivy broth was probably looking pretty good to me after all the fast food I was consuming.

Anyway, I accepted the gift in the spirit it was given. All though, I admit, I did recheck the basement for bat guano and turtle fossils. You can never be too sure.

I took it home and my lovely wife asked the same questions. I told her there might be a recipe I’ll use someday. Unlikely, but stranger things have happened.

What the heck is that?

The thing is, nowadays there’s lots of celebrity chefs, with TV shows and lots of recipes. Most have cookbooks as well. How does a person decide? And it’s not just TV personalities. I’ve actually seen recipe books from middle earth, where hobbits and elves live, the death star, with favorites of the Star Wars emperor, and Hogwarts, where Harry Potter himself tells you how to make a dragon steak. When I saw that, I was intrigued. Not about the food mind you. I wanted to know where I was supposed to get dragon meat.

Then again, unicorn ribs are probably easier to locate than some of the stuff you see on TV. Gordon Ramsey constantly talks about something called, Crème Fraiche. What the hell is that? I actually asked for it in my local market. They thought I was nuts. The guy I asked had no clue what I was talking about. On the other hand, he did know where to get a dragon steak. He reads cookbooks too.

Undaunted, I continued my quest. I tried the local organic store, the whole food store, and that silly little specialty place which charges you twenty bucks to walk through the door. None of them had it. I did find out that if I couldn’t find it, sour cream was a good replacement. Hey, I’ve done some silly things in the past, but I just found out that I spent two weeks, a tank of gas, and my wife’s last nerve, looking for sour crème. Not my finest moment. Curse you Chef Ramsey, wherever you are!!

I shouldn’t have said that

When I told my strange brother about mom giving me the box. He was overjoyed. I’m not sure why. Perhaps, it was the fact that he thought it was lost to time, but more likely he was jumping for joy that he didn’t get it. Either way, he decided to pick out a meal for us to make and share. He chose something with an Indian flair. That was fine, I like a good curry. Sadly, that wasn’t his choice. What he decided on has a long strange name, it’s something like R-a-g (ink splotch) u-k-l (small tear in the paper) g-h-u-p (stain that looks like blood) a. What kind of a name is that??

The problem was the box and cards were forty-plus years old. I couldn’t read half of the ingredients. When it came to the procedures, every other line was, “Add a little bit more white wine.” Apparently, Graham’s cooking philosophy was something like, “With enough alcohol, you’ll love it, whether it has flavor or not.” I begged my brother to stop this culinary madness, but he refused to yield. He was going to make this concoction, come hell or high water. I just sighed and reread the card.

Now, my brother likes to cook, and his spice cabinet is pretty well stocked. I’d hoped we wouldn’t need anything. Nope. The card called for something called lakadong. What the heck is that?

I’ll find it or else

When I couldn’t find it, I asked the all-powerful-Google. Apparently, it’s a variety of turmeric. Okay, no problem, we’ll just use store bought cumin and it’ll be fine. Sadly, my brother’s weirdness came through. He refused to allow such a travesty. I told him no problem. The moment he finds lakadong turmeric, I’ll come over to make that stuff, whatever it’s called.

I still haven’t, but he’s very hopeful. He ordered the spice from Amazon but neglected to read further down the card. We also need jakhiya seeds. This is some form of Indian wild mustard. Wild mustard? Are you telling me there are folks running through the woods like fairy creatures searching for wild mustard plants? I doubt it. Maybe they can look for some wild ranch dressing plants while they’re at it.

Else

No! If you can buy it on Amazon, somebody’s growing it. If somebody’s growing it, it’s not wild. I learned that in college. Either way, it’s supposed to arrive soon. I’ll endeavor to prepare this forty-year-old meal from a severely damaged and faded card. The problem is I’ll never know if I did it right.

I haven’t got a clue what it’s supposed to taste like!!