Grandmother's recipes mostly have sentimental value

In a short-lived fit of spring-cleaning last week, I was dusting a kitchen counter and wiped a layer of accumulated topsoil off of a couple of small wooden boxes that sit in a back corner.

These boxes remain on my counter solely for sentimental reasons. They are filled with recipes — many handwritten — from my maternal grandmother, a woman who died in the early 1950s, long before my existence was ever even a consideration, much less a twinkle in anyone’s eye.

I never use these recipes, but more on that in a moment. I keep them simply because I don’t have many things that belonged to my grandmother. Every time I consider moving them off the counter, I open the boxes and then melt into a sentimental puddle.

But I also cringe.

Because these recipes … oh, my.

Let’s just say that tastes have changed a little in the many decades that have passed since cards were scrawled with Roma’s spidery writing.

Roma was my grandmother’s first name, and that’s what I have always called her since I never got to know her as a grandma.

She became a widow in the Depression when her husband — the sole family breadwinner — died suddenly and unexpectedly from cardiac failure while only in his 30s, leaving her with three young children.

I’m not sure how much Roma enjoyed cooking and housekeeping prior to that life-altering event, but I do know from my mom’s stories that Roma’s life turned into one of working long hours at jobs that she scrambled to get in an era when jobs were scarce even for men.

Funds were always slim, but her children never went hungry. My mother and her two brothers got to grow up fast, taking on extra chores and odd jobs anywhere they could during a time when the whole nation was struggling.

Organ meats — which were dirt cheap back then — were a staple in the family diet. My mom loved liver, heart, and tongue, was lukewarm about kidneys, didn’t care for brains and positively despised (gag…) lungs.

Back to the two recipe boxes. One has the following tabs to divide the different sections: beverages, breads, cake, cookies, canning, cereals, chafing dish (I’m baffled, too), pastry/pies, desserts, and frozen desserts.

The other box has a card at the front labeled in thick dark letters, “Meats.” Most of that box is filled with the following handwritten sub-sections: lamb, beef, veal, pork, ham, bacon, liver, fancy meats, ground meat, and pork sausage.

But it’s the recipes that get me.

“Meat Cakes DeLux.” “Meat Loaf with Bologna.” “Bacon and Creamed Carrots on Toast.” “Liver Loaf.” “Creamed Liver.” “Turkey Shortcake.” “Rice and Frankfurter Casserole.”

The recipe for brains — deceivingly titled “Ragou” — suggests boiling a couple of pounds of gray matter for 15 minutes, then draining and cutting small. But save the broth. You’ll want two cups to add back to the browned onions and mushrooms before you simmer it all down, add parsley, and serve over toast or “hot biskets.”

Should you go looking, that recipe is filed under “Fancy meats.”

Lest you think they never ate vegetables, there are a few veggie recipes tucked all the way in the back of the box.

Here’s one from a card titled “Peas dishes:” “Mold peas in unsweetened lemon jelly. Serve cold with mayonnaise.”

But it’s handwritten by grandmother.

And that means I will keep it forever.

Betty Williamson suspects she will never be invited to another potluck. Reach her at:

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