Write A Recipe
I started creating recipes years ago when I was newly married. My mom always cooked growing up, and I wanted to recreate her dishes in my own kitchen. The only problem was that she was terrible at writing recipes. She didn’t really need to be good at it—she just knew what to do to make a dish taste the way it should.
One time when I asked her for her homemade eggnog, she emailed me back with a list of ingredients and a note that said, “I sort of just wing it.” Thanks, Mom.
It took me years of practice and tweaking to understand how to make some of her dishes. After she passed away, knowing how to cook her pineapple chicken or Autumn Chowder felt even more essential. Preserving her recipes helped me preserve a piece of her. And in the process of learning to cook as an adult and trying to replicate my childhood favorite dishes, I realized that writing recipes stretched me creatively and nourished not just my body, but my soul.
“Every real thing is a joy, if only you have eyes and ears to relish it, a nose and tongue to taste it.”
Callie Feyen introduced me to the story of the women of Terezin a while ago, and I’ve thought about them often since. Terezin was a Nazi concentration camp during World War II, and in this place, with death looming at every turn, a group of women created a cookbook. Their work, preserved in the book, In Memory’s Kitchen: A Legacy From the Women of Terezin, offers recipes for strudel and vanilla cake, asparagus salad and Viennese dumplings.
Remembering dishes they made before the war was an act of defiance, a conscious refusal to let their spirits give up, despite bodies ravaged by disease, starvation, and unfathomable oppression. “Recalling recipes was an act of discipline that required them to suppress their current hunger and to think of the ordinary world before the camps—and perhaps to dare to dream of a world after the camps” (from the Foreward, page xvi).
To be clear, I am not comparing anything I’ve gone through to the horrific suffering of these women. But I think the women of Terezin teach us something about the beauty of creativity, food, cooking, and even recipe writing.
When they recorded their recipes, they weren’t even cooking them—just remembering the ingredients, tastes, and flavors of their dishes and choosing to hope they’d one day make them again. “But a cookbook, even if only imaginatively, offered possibilities for ‘preparing’ foods that were more culturally and psychologically meaningful. While written recipes might not feed the hungers of the body, they might temporarily quell the hungers of the soul” (pages xxxi-xxxii).
Creating recipes may at times feel indulgent or superfluous. Why bother when you can Google what to make for dinner in less than ten seconds? But sometimes, this practice can be a way to feed our souls. It’s an act of creative expression that reminds us to taste beauty and hope in the midst of the grief, loss, or heartache. It can help us preserve memories of loved ones or establish new traditions as we try new dishes. Sometimes, it can simply get us out of a rut in the kitchen or challenge us to use a new technique or interesting ingredient.
Whatever the reason and whatever the recipe, the art and science of writing recipes can stretch us creatively, nourish our souls, and (hopefully) put something delicious on our tables.
“I am more modest now, but I still think that one of the pleasantest of all emotions is to know that I, I with my brain and my hands, have nourished my beloved few, that I have concocted a stew or a story, a rarity or a plain dish, to sustain them truly against the hungers of the world.”
Creative Exercise
So here’s to your task: Create an original recipe. It could be a cocktail, entree, easy side, baked good, or anything else that sounds inspiring.
There’s nothing new under the sun, so your recipe could be a dish you grew up on that you don’t have written down but want to replicate. Or you can try using another recipe for inspiration. The ingredients should be changed enough to call it your own, the instructions should be written in your own words, and if you do adapt or find inspiration from another dish, credit that person by writing “inspired by” or “adapted from” in your recipe.
Everyone’s process for creating recipes is different. But if you’re not sure how to get started, I’ll give you a snapshot of what I do. Say, for example, I want to make some sheet pan chicken. Here’s (generally) how I’d go about creating the recipe.
First, I’d jot down ideas and flavor combinations I’d like to try. Maybe I have lemons on hand and want to use fresh herbs. I write down generally what I want to create (like a sheet pan chicken dinner that requires only a few ingredients) and a rough recipe outline.
I am not a professional chef by any stretch, so usually I have to do some research on the actual cooking process. At this point, I turn to good ‘ol Google to find answers to questions I might have about cooking that dish. For the chicken I’m using as an example, I’d reference other recipes to see what they recommend for cooking times and temperatures. I do have to be careful in this process, because looking up others’ work can influence my own too much sometimes, and I don’t want to copy them. I also generally find in my research that what I thought was “such a unique idea!” is already all over the Internet. Do not let this deter you. There’s nothing completely original, but you can always put your own spin on it or change it up to fit your preferences. (For example, often what I try to do is simplify recipes. If it’s made with 12 ingredients, can I make it with seven ingredients while maintaining flavor?)
After some research, I redo the rough recipe I wrote down in step one. Then I cook, taking notes of cooking times, changes, seasoning adjustments, or ingredient swaps I make along the way.
When the cooking is done, I taste and see if I’d like to adjust anything else next time, taking notes so the next time I can make those adjustments. Sometimes at this point, I bring in taste-testers I trust to get their honest feedback.
I test my recipes a number of times before sharing them publicly (although as a family we eat everything I make, even the not-so-great first attempts). I usually don’t redo recipes immediately, because who can make three batches of sheet pan chicken in one afternoon? Some food bloggers can do that, or sometimes you can make half the chicken one way and the other half another way. But most often, I just remake the recipe with adjustments at a later time. Chicken didn’t turn out crispy enough? I make a note of that, do some research on how to make it better, and then plan on trying again when I can.
A Few More Tips
If you're just creating a recipe for your own use, you can jot down brief notes like my mom used to do. But if you want to share your recipes online or with others, it definitely helps to have clear, thorough, and properly formatted instructions.
For guidance on how to write recipes, check out this post, “How to Write an Original Recipe or this post from The Kitchn, “How to Write a Recipe Like a Professional.”
Additionally, the Food Network has a number of “mix-and-match” recipes, and these are a great way to get started with recipe writing. You can follow their template to create your own version of things like sangria, salsa, baked pasta, or quick bread.
P.S. Did you know we have recipe cards created just for you? Click here to download this beautiful printable!
Reflect
How did it go? Did you find the process easy, or did it stretch you creatively? Did the dish turn out as well as you hoped? What would you change the next time you make it?
If your recipe didn’t turn out, don’t worry! Let go of perfectionism and let yourself learn. Just because you see food bloggers sharing photogenic food on Instagram doesn’t mean they didn’t go through four rounds of failed versions before that. You usually don’t see the overcooked chicken, cake that didn’t come out of the pan, or dry muffins posted online. But I guarantee that they happen, and mistakes make great teachers.
Take to heart the words of Julia Child:
“I don't believe in twisting yourself into knots of excuses and explanations over the food you make. When one's hostess starts in with self-deprecations such as "Oh, I don't know how to cook...," or "Poor little me...," or "This may taste awful...," it is so dreadful to have to reassure her that everything is delicious and fine, whether it is or not. Besides, such admissions only draw attention to one's shortcomings (or self-perceived shortcomings), and make the other person think, "Yes, you're right, this really is an awful meal!" Maybe the cat has fallen into the stew, or the lettuce has frozen, or the cake has collapsed—eh bien, tant pis! Usually one's cooking is better than one thinks it is. And if the food is truly vile, as my ersatz eggs Florentine surely were, then the cook must simply grit her teeth and bear it with a smile—and learn from her mistakes.”
Photo by Becca Tapert on Unsplash.
