Mom's Secret Recipes

MY MEMORIES of growing up are filled with recollections involving my mom's home cooking. Dishes that evoke memories of home, comfort, and family celebrations. Recipes that come from the tattered pages of Relief Society collaborations of wards past, or old recipe cards stained from years of use. It is only natural that after leaving the nest and building one's own family, you would want to learn how to make these cherished morsels so that you could continue to enjoy them and share the experience with your new family. However, it seems that they never come out "quite how mama made them." Some may say that's because Mom's put that extra bit of love into everything they make. Nay, NAY! It is because they leave out key ingredients, steps, or give you the wrong recipe entirely. I give you,

EXHIBIT A: Potato Soup
I loved my mom's potato soup. We ate it on cold days, warm days, sick days, or just because days. One day last year I had a sudden craving for THE potato soup and emailed my mom for the recipe. I made it and was sorely disappointed in the result.

Me: Are you sure those proportions were right on the recipe you gave me? It came out much more watery than I remember.
Mom: Let me look...that is a lot of water but this isn't the recipe I use.
Me: But I asked for YOUR recipe.

EXHIBIT B: Several other soup recipes

Mom: Oh I don't have a recipe for that, I just add the ingredients till it tastes right, but I can tell you what's in it.

EXHIBIT C: Peach Cobbler
This recipe has 5 ingredients, and my mom said it's a very easy recipe, which on the surface it is.

(After looking at the recipe) Me: Mom doesn't this have nutmeg in it? There are no spices listed here.
Mom: Oh yeah! The recipe doesn't call for it but I usually add some cause I like the taste. I should probably right that down, huh.

The first time I made this peach cobbler I got half way done when I realized there was no cooking time listed, merely "bake until brown." I put it in the oven, I watched, and removed when it had a Golden brown color on the top. The cobbler looked beautiful but scooping into it revealed uncooked mushiness.

This week I made a second attempt at the "very easy" cobbler and let it cook until it was good and brown, the edges bordering on burning. As it cooled, it collapsed, apparently still not quite done. "Chef Ramsay would kick me out for my cobbler," I sighed. At least it still tasted good.
Maybe mom has a magic oven, either that or mine is plotting against me.