What is your secret ingredient?

It’s no secret that I love to cook. I also love to eat. I read cookbooks and watch Food Network like porn. I love to see what friends are cooking and more than a few of my recipes are tried and true favorites from family and friends.

My mom and Big Susan liked to cook. Nothing got them going more than planning the Friday night dinners before the mitzvah of one of Susan’s grandkids. Or a Jewish holiday. Or Thanksgiving. They shared menus. They prepped, peeled, sliced and basted. They set tables, taste tested and shooed many a kid out of the kitchen. At the beach, lunches often included massive bowls of tuna and egg salad while dinners included my mother’s infamous “beach chicken” – a foul concoction of chicken roasted with French dressing, onion soup mix and apricot jam. I can assure you, I am not making that.

As I was cooking for this last Passover, I really wanted to make roast chicken. But, not any roast chicken – I wanted Big Susan’s roast chicken. It looked just right – skinless, boneless chicken pieces nestled in a bed of roast onions (onions must always be on the side – one her boys does not like them!) Everything was the perfect roasty color – the seasoning just right. Years ago, I asked Big Susan for her recipe. Much like my mom, she didn’t follow one. She just did it. I watched, I tried to remember. If I took notes, I’ve long since lost them. I’ve tried to recreate and I’ve failed. This year, I asked her daughter. Her response was exactly the same as her mothers, which was of no help to me. I tried again and while it was okay, it wasn’t Big Susan’s roast chicken. I don’t even think about attempting her chicken salad.

Food brings back memories. One time – one single time – one of my sisters remarked that she liked

my stepfather’s homemade BBQ sauce and mom’s coleslaw. You can bet they made that all the time for her - long after she stopped liking it. One of my sisters likes to keep her cooking healthy and we have mocked her more than once – tofu cheesecake just isn’t the same. Once, that same sister and I made a pie that required freezer time. When taking it out, we discovered that a small, very frozen, Cornish game hen had fallen into said pie and frozen in the center. You could literally pick that frozen bird up and the whole pie came with it. Cornish game hen banana pie. We still laugh about it.

Cookbooks are my scrapbooks

Now, many of my friends are very good cooks. T makes wicked good meatballs and her hot fudge sauce is sublime. M taught me how to make sopa and is my go-to when I have questions about making biscuits. L follows a good recipe and will always share but whenever I make good Italian – I must call and tell her so that she can share with her mother – a New York Italian if ever there was one. Another friend makes this meatball thing that my daughter loves – one of those crazy three ingredient things that are always a hit. So when I bring a slow-cooker full of meatballs to a gathering – we can thank her for the recipe. Now, my dear friend N also loves to cook and we rarely plan our Jewish holiday menus without checking with each other for something new and different. Her broccoli soufflé has graced my table – and that of my sister. Her zucchini soup is a favorite (and a great way to use all that summer squash!) An old friend made a kugel every year for the holidays and it was delicious. I begged for that recipe and for years she would not share it. She finally did. I make it and like I promised – I don’t share that recipe.

My sister-in-law is a very good cook and many of her recipes have graced my table – triple-chip cookies, black bean shrimp salsa and pork tenderloin salsa verde all came from her kitchen. My sisters have also contributed to my recipe book. I so loved the meatball soup that S used to make - I learned to make it for mini-me and her turkey meatloaf is the bomb. My other sister doesn’t love to cook but she sure turns out a mean fruit crumble (strawberry-rhubarb is my fav) and her well-seasoned salmon made Mini-me a fish lover at a very young age.

Each time I use a recipe from a friend or family member, it’s a bit like spending time together. It always makes me smile and “remember when.”

This year, Mini-me has taken to baking. I taught her to make my dad’s favorite Crescent Cookies – little moon-shaped shortbread cookies with tiny bits of pecan and dusted with powdered sugar. They are melt-in-your-mouth good! While we baked – and I told her they were Grandpa Bob’s favorites, she asked questions about him and I told her stories. Some she may have heard before but she graciously listened as I waxed nostalgic.

Side story: Mini-me is not a picky eater. Never has been. But, she does have some food she absolutely dislikes and has never liked. Every one of those foods are the same foods my father disliked. They never met. She has his palate completely – including her love of dark chocolate (from a very young age), her utter disgust at cream cheese, mayonnaise, most jams/jellies and ranch dressing, her preference for not-too-sweet desserts and good ice cream. Genetics people. They are strong.

Back to cooking. Now, T’s hubby is also a good cook and I’ve started to gather some good recipes from him. A stew with sweet potatoes and peanut butter is perfect on a cold night. And the lettuce wraps from old friends still shows up on those hot summer nights. My sister’s Chinese chicken salad is the best ever and my brother does a mean rub for grilled meats and can always be counted on for a cocktail recipe. His eggnog should be illegal and his Sangria is delicious….and the Moscow Mules never suck nor do his Bloody Mary’s. Years ago (think early ‘80s), his go-to recipe was soy sauce chicken cooked in the wok. I remember being so impressed. My cousin B is also a great cook, something he inherited from his folks. The family recipe of a roast cooked rock salt will be tried in my house this year – I’m determined!

Mom & Jack's handwritten recipes

Sure, I pull recipes from online, magazines and such – but there is something special about a recipe from a friend or family member. I have recipe binders – full of clippings and copied recipes. There are some in there I’ve never tried – but they’re in my mom’s handwriting so in the binder, they will stay. I have a curated collection of cookbooks. I do periodically weed it all out but these are some of my favorite reads. Each time I try a recipe, I note the date and any important notes or changes or ideas. When I later go back to them, it’s nice to see….and remember.

All of my family and many of my friends live so far away. We rarely cook together and I want to cook with them – with you. So, I am asking you. Send me your favorite recipe – maybe it’s one that’s been in your family and maybe it’s a new one you just tried. Tell me why it’s your favorite. I promise to try and live up the expectation and hope it will be as good as yours. I want to make that recipe – it will be like spending some time together. You can send your recipes to WhoIsYourBigSusan@gmail.com.

Bon Appetit!

Making Room AKA My Big Susan Got Engaged

The phone call came when I was asleep – just like in the movies.  I had been sleeping for more than an hour. When I saw her name on the phone I knew – either someone died or…“The One just proposed!” I could hear her smile. I sputtered my true congratulations with a sleep-laden voice. I could tell she kept looking at her finger (uh, BFFs for 25 years means I can tell you many, many things about her and I have here and here and here.) In year that had barely started and already felt like a lifetime, this was welcome and joyous news. And then she said it, she said those words I knew were coming, “He’s right here. Do you want to talk to him?” Of course I did – he’s a great guy and he’s landed the best of the best. I wanted to wish him congrats and let him know how thrilled and excited I was for both of them. I also wanted to threaten him within an inch of his life if he ever hurt her.

It was a short call. They were away for the weekend and she needed to tell someone immediately. I am so lucky it was me. I hung up with tears in my eyes and joy in my heart. But I won’t lie – those tears were more than just joy.

My Big Susan was getting married. They’ve been together for 2-1/2 years so it’s hardly a surprise. The drift had started and I had already been feeling that odd kind of fracture that happens when one person within the friendship has someone so amazingly special in their life that their go-to person changes a bit. We live in different states so there have always been others but we always knew, day or night, who to call for those big talks….or to discuss what the hell was whats-her-name wearing to the Oscars and “oh my God, can that [insert politician’s name] pull their head out of their ass moments. I knew during these last 36 months that I wasn’t the first to hear her fears, joys and worries – but I knew they were being heard and it was as it should be. There is great comfort in that.

I did not meet him until last Spring. I was the last of the friends to do so. They came to visit for a long weekend. Major kudos to him for his willingness to a.) stay in a strangers home, with a cat (he’s allergic) and a 12-year old with a healthy dose of snark, b) knowingly visit when there is a major horse show and one whole day will be spent in a dusty, smelly venue, which if it’s not your thing is a bit like watching paint dry and c.) know that as the oldest friend and likely the most sarcastic, he could be walking into the proverbial lion’s den. I thought of what my sister told a boyfriend who came for dinner long ago, “Just don’t talk to my sister. She’ll rip you a new asshole.” I don’t say that with pride at all and thankfully, I’ve learned to control my tongue over the years. It’s the look on my face that can be equally telling.

These last few months have been full of wedding plans, wedding dress shopping via text pictures (there were stunners, some weird boobs and a jaw-dropping final choice), the email confirming the date. I’ve listened to bands online, looked at venue pictures, and florist websites. Thank God for the internet.

We’ve also gone weeks without talking – a first for us. The One has moved in and it’s taken some time to adjust to man things….and kid things. The One has three little darlings and Neiman has a whole new maternal role (have to admit – so much of this makes me laugh!!). It’s a life change – a wonderful, amazing, but still challenging, life change. For those of us are parents and came to the role with infants who roared, we all had our own ways of adjusting, but we called the parenting shots. For Neiman, she has had to gracefully step into the role of step-parent. An often thankless role that is easily full of all of the guts and little of the glory (I say this as a stepchild who was blessed with an amazing step-parent and one a bit more challenging.) I know her head is reeling and she is overwhelmed-- I hear what she does not say.

So, this weekend, she is coming to visit. Just Neiman. The One is staying home and Mini-me is off at camp and it will truly be a girls’ weekend. There will be a spa, shopping and no doubt, wine and whine. There will be talking, laughter and sharing. I know it will be like it always is. I have no doubt that we will slip into the familiar roles of best friends.

I have much to learn here. I have friends who married long time partners – partners that I have known for years and years so there is an established relationship even if I remain closer to one than the other. I have married friends where I met both people at the same time and we’re all good friends. I have old friends who I have reconnected with on Facebook and never met their spouse – but we live far apart so there is no opportunity to really develop those partner relationships.  And, I have friends who have or had spouses who well….the less said, the better. This is a new one. I don’t expect that he and I will become the kind of friends who communicate or connect away from Neiman, but I wonder—will our relationship grow into any kind of friendship? Does it have to?

I know when I got pregnant (she was my second call after the first disastrous one) and became a mother – she was there and promised to be there no matter what. She has held, changed, worried (likely been annoyed), laughed and loved my Mini-Me. She supported me no matter whacky-ass parenting decision I was making at any given time. She embraced this new part of my life with a kind of grace that is uniquely Neiman. But I know that this fundamental change in my life changed our friendship. There have been moments of grief – and guilt – that I have not been as present or available for things. Her gracious understanding means more than she will ever know.

I know friendships change over time. Life happens and creates bumps – those ups and downs remind us what and who matters. I want to believe – no, I do believe –that this is just a new chapter in the story of our friendship. It’s just my turn to return that unquestionable love and support, that shoulder and that ear, that gracious (fuck, have I ever been gracious?) understanding in that safe place called friendship. After all, if my mother and the original Big Susan could get through their entire lives with nary a bump, this should be nothing.

Just as Neiman has to learn to navigate her new life, I know that I have to learn to adjust to the shadow that is The One – always there even when he is not.  And, I’m certain he will adjust to the role that only a bestie can fill. He’s a good man – a lucky man. I like him a lot. I love that he makes Neiman’s heart so full. But I will still fucking shiv him if he hurts her. Best friends are like that.