On cooking for two

I am a retired farmer’s wife. I cooked for one husband, seven children and various others. Now the horde is gone and I’m left helpless. I don’t know how to cook for two. I can’t gauge the amounts of anything it seems. We have left-overs from the left-overs.

It’s a malady, I’m sure. The symptoms begin when the first child leaves home and worsens as one by one they leave, until Ma and Pa are left gloating; “Now they’re gone! We get to eat what we want: Liver and onions, broccoli, sauerkraut, lutefisk, pickled herring and so forth.

But suddenly the pots and pans are too large, and I can’t divide by the guess and b’gosh method of little of this and a smidgeon of that. My married daughters ask for recipes. How can I tell them when I don’t know. My recipes are in my head, using the aforementioned method for forty years now.

My mother made her own salad dressing. It was delicious. She couldn’t tell me how to make it. After some experimentation on my part, I concocted a reasonable facsimile – serving twelve.

My daughters wanted the recipe and my sons insisted on mom’s salad dressing. Wives, pen in hand called, “We must have that recipe.”

Like a chemist, working on a formula, I repaired to the kitchen, properly aproned, with all the ingredients at hand. I set about carefully measuring and writing down each amount until it tasted just right. The carefully calculated recipe served four. Then I lost my copy.

Son number five just brought his bride home with the admonition, “Get that recipe.”

The formula maker and her helper cloistered themselves in the kitchen. I measured, I added, I tasted; she transcribed. Voila! Perfect. She has the recipe. I forgot to keep a copy.

I’m back to square one. I must use recipes again but I have to catch myself – I don’t have to 4 x’ every recipe anymore.

The Kids Have Left Home Syndrome has a cure. It’s called Eating Out. I like that. I never was very good with math or formulas.