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This padlet is for us to share our food narratives with one another.  ************************************
Directions:
-Please revise your draft and post your recipe memoir as a pdf file with a fun, unique title.
- Enjoy reading about fellow classmates' stories and maybe even dare to try out a new recipe!
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The Assignment:
Begin by finding a favorite family recipe (call home, look in your family recipe box, or remember a meal that you or a family member prepared regularly and write it in recipe form with the help of some online research).

Once you’ve found your recipe, place it at the beginning of a new document and think of it as a starting place—the first few lines of a memoir you will write of your experiences with this food.

What does the recipe mean to you? What memories does it bring up for you? Use this recipe to tell your audience something about you.

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Peanut Butter Fudge

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Courtnie Angeli

Lisa Packer

English 1010

Recipe Memoir

Famous Chocolate Chip Cookies

Growing up I had three sisters, and I was the oldest. Cassadee and I were exactly two years to the day apart. Her and I were complete opposites, though we loved each other and for the most part got along. Caitie was my second sister who was bossy and let’s be honest most of the time just flat out mean to my sisters and I when we were growing up. Then there was Celsie, she was always sweet and my sisters and I always adored her. She never could do anything wrong. My sisters and I were always best friends and when it came to anything at home, we always were playing, crying, laughing, or fighting. I have always loved having three best friends at any given moment.

When I was a child my mom would love to bake with us. One of my favorite things that she would make with us was chocolate chip cookies. My sisters and I always looked forward to the day when we came home, and she would have gone grocery shopping. It would mean that she would have bought chocolate chips. Cassadee, Caitie, and I would come in the door up to the kitchen and would see the chocolate chips waiting for us on the counter. My two sisters and I would race to our rooms to put our backpacks and coats away, then race back to the kitchen. Celsie was still not in school, chocolate chip cookies were her favorite treat. I sometimes have wondered if was the reason for us getting to bake chocolate chip cookies each week.

When we got back to the kitchen we knew exactly which Tupperware containers needed to come out of the pantry. I being the oldest was always in charge of getting the flour, since it was the heaviest and biggest. Celsie always would get the vanilla, salt, and brown sugar. All four of us had our duties and we knew what they were, and it was one of the times we never would fight.

Once the ingredients were all out on the counter my mom would get out the mixer, and the big chocolate cookie mixing bowl. I could always feel my mouth watering craving the cookie dough, my favorite part. We would begin by putting two sticks of butter in a bowl in the microwave to soften. Cassadee and Caitie always did the white sugar and the brown sugar. I was the oldest which means I could pour the vanilla, which was always a dangerous task. I would then get to put the salt in the bowl, another task that I could do instead of my siblings. This was a time I loved being the oldest. I could do things that my siblings could not do. My mom would always crack the eggs, this was something that my sisters and I would never attempt, it was a risky task.

Once the butter, salt, vanilla, baking soda, eggs, brown sugar, and white sugar were all in a bowl it was time for mixing. We each got to take a turn mixing, I would always try and sneak a taste of the cookie dough at this point. It was so sweet; it would dissolve in my mouth. Sometimes my mom would see and would just smile at me.

After everything was mixed, it was time for the flour the final piece of the cookies. Mixing in the flour always seemed like a daunting task, one that always would take forever to get the end. I remember each time we would pour in flour and start the mixer; seeing a giant cloud of white dust that would come up. My mom would always use a smaller measuring cup so that we could help. We would mix and mix and mix some more. Once the flour was mixed came the best part. The chocolate chips! We never would use the mixer; we did not want risk the chocolate chips breaking. My sisters and I would take turns hand stirring in the chocolate chips, while grabbing finger fills of cookie dough. We never thought mom saw us, though she did. She would always tell us that we were going to get sick, and most of the time we did. Though it was something we were all willing to sacrifice. Then we would put several spoonfuls of cookie dough on the cookie sheet.

Once in the oven we would watch anxiously in the oven window, waiting in excitement for the timer to go off. All while our mouths were watering, smelling the cookies baking in the oven. Once they were out, we would have to wait for them to cool, it never seemed like we were going to get the finished product. Then finally we would get a cookie! I remember eating the cookie, warm in my mouth, the chocolate chips melting in my mouth. The wait was finally over.

Now I have my own children Laila who is six, Emerie who is three, and Aiden who is one. I have carried on the tradition baking my mom’s famous chocolate chip cookies. My girls see the chocolate chips and know, that we will be making cookies. My girls wait in anticipation like I did as a young girl, for the chocolate chip cookies.

Chocolate Chip Cookies

1 tsp. vanilla

1 tsp. baking soda

2 eggs

1 tsp. salt

2 cups chocolate chips

1 cup butter

¾ sugar

¾ brown sugar

Preheat oven to 375 F

Combine: Butter, sugar, brown sugar, eggs, vanilla in bowl until creamy. Add salt, and baking soda. Gradually add flour. Drop spoonfuls onto cookie sheet. Bake 9-11 minutes.

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Alaina Phibbs

Professor Packer

English 1010

1/9/18

Seasoned memories

Potato salad is always something that I’ve loved from my family’s recipe book. I remember when my mom taught me how to make the ‘super-secret’ recipe for the sauce, I was thrilled. It was the 4th of July and the heat was sweltering. So much so that nobody wanted to really help my mom besides my older brother and myself. When my mom seemed to float around the kitchen, my brother chopped up the ingredients. She would smile at me and patiently teach me how to mix everything together, her blue eyes lighting up with pride that her daughter could finally memorize the recipe. It made me feel like an adult at a time when I couldn’t even reach the counter, and everyone was so much taller than me. I was just eleven years old, but she still trusted me to make it, the thing that would pull all the ingredients together and make it so tasteful and tangy. Of course, that was the only thing I was allowed to make, I was too young to cut the potatoes or the eggs, and I wasn’t allowed near the near the stove, even though I was too short to even reach it. But the sauce was what I did. I made the most important thing of the whole dish. I was helping and making my favorite holiday better and making something that would bring everyone together around the table. From then on, whenever my birthday would come around, I would ask my mom to make me potato salad, and I would get to help. I’d always eat it, three cups at each meal, filling me up and making me feel happy. Then the time would come, two years later and still my dad was a stranger to me after the divorce. I was fourteen, I would need to teach my dad how to make it. This would be the first time that I would really bond with him. Up until then, he had just been a stranger who I had to go visit so my mom wouldn’t get in trouble. But teaching him how to make this dish would be a way for us both to cope with the divorce and bond. No longer would I see him as my dad, but he would be my Father. He would finally be my Father figure. I wouldn’t have to have awkward weekends with him anymore, now we would open up to each other more and laugh. I would teach him how to make the potatoes in the right way, boiling them to the right consistency, not so soft that they would be mush, but not undercooked either. Cooked to perfection. “Of course its important Dad, it’s in the name after all!” I had told him while I mixed the ranch with the rest of the sauce. He had just laughed, “Well, I was just asking, this is a lot of potatoes for you, me, and your brother.” That dinner, we felt more like a family than we had in the past, the three of us. From then on whenever we had any family function, like a family reunion, we would spend the night making potato salad, and that would be our big dish for everything. Everybody at these reunions would love the way that the season all added that slash of spice, garlic, onion and salt to it. It wasn’t like your normal potato salad that used sugar, no ours was special! The tang it has isn’t something that you find in any store bought container of potato salad, and half of those don’t even have pickles or olives in them either. No, the way that we make the ‘super-secret’ sauce is what makes it special, and why it’s ‘super-secret’. Still, every time I make this dish the taste reminds me of good times, but even making it would remind me of the fun time I’d have with my family making it. Plus I would get to eat all of it, three cups at a time, over the week.

1/2 Jar of pickles

7 potatoes

2 small cans of sliced olives

6-7 eggs

3 table spoons of mayo

2 ½ table spoon of mustard

1 squirt of ranch or ¾ of a ranch packet

2 teaspoons of season all (or add to taste)

Salt and pepper to taste

2 pots, 1 large bowl, 1 small bowl, 1 knife big enough to cut potatoes, 1 spoon and one more large spoon to mix with.

Start by getting a pot big enough to boil your potatoes without bubbling over, and another pot to put your eggs in. Fill those with water and set them on the stove, heat the water until it’s hot enough for the potatoes and eggs. Let them boil while you start to cut the pickles and olives into bite size chunks. Leave them in the large bowl. Get your small bowl and add the mayo, this is the base for your sauce. Then add the mustard. Mix the two of them together, then add the ranch accordingly. Next add seasonal to the mix. Keep an eye on the things on the stove! Taste the sauce to see if it’s the way you like it, and then let it refrigerate while you cut the potatoes and eggs into bite size chunks. Leave the yokes in, and add them to the large bowl. Next, take your sauce mixture out of the fridge and pour it evenly (as evenly as you can manage, it’s okay if it isn’t perfect!) over the things in the big bowl. Now mix it all together! If you feel like you don’t have enough sauce, you can always make more! Add the salt and pepper after to your taste. Let it sit overnight to let the ingredients settle, or eat it now, whatever you please!

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Sara Wright

Professor Lisa Packer

English 1010

January 15, 2018

Home Away From Home

Ever since I was a little girl my family and I would drive up to a quaint cabin in Ashley National Forest every year to escape. I yearned for that escape from the real world to take in fresh pine and morning views of the glistening lake. From all the many cabins to choose from, we always found our place in Cabin 7. Two sandy bedrooms, a shared kitchen and dining area, and a bathroom that would be better described as a closet you can shower in. The size never bothered me for the world was much bigger to my small mind.

Before I could take to the beach and venture out, I would have to crawl out of my cozy sleeping bag to wake up my half-asleep sister and encounter the brisk, mountain air. Before the cold air could ever bother me, the sweet aroma of breakfast swept me off my feet. I could hear the bacon popping and sizzling from the bedroom and the freshly brewed coffee my parents would sip on. Once my and my sister’s feet found their way into their slippers, they dragged themselves into the kitchen.

The sight was glorious for my growling stomach. The hash browns were getting golden while the bacon stacked high on a plate taunted me. My mother grabbed half a dozen eggs and cracked them flawlessly. Shells are never welcome. After whisking them with her trusted plastic fork, she would dice up the bacon and pretend to not notice when my adolescence fingers reached out and devoured bit by bit. The sizzling grew louder as she poured the savory yellow liquid over the hash browns.  The bacon followed shortly after and the dance of ingredients began. Once the eggs set, it was my favorite part: the cheese. My mother always used it sparingly but as for myself, I demanded at least one fist full of cheddar on each serving.

The dish always made me feel so comfortable. I suppose that is why they call it comfort food. It is food that is a slice of home. It was always made with love and takes time. Every step in the process was thoughtful and right. There, in the mountains with my family, I would stare off into the distance and eat myself into bliss. Surrounded by aspens and pine, playing with water and hummingbirds, miles away from Salt Lake City but never closer to home.

Hobo Skillet

1 32 oz package of hash browns

6 fresh eggs

10-12 strips of bacon (meatier the better)

Shredded Cheese (to preference)

Tsp Salt and Pepper (more if desired)

Directions:

Cook bacon on med-high heat and set aside

Brown hash browns until golden

Whisk 6 eggs and pour over potatoes

Stir and add your crumbled bacon

Cook until eggs are set

Add cheese and turn to low heat

Cover until ready to serve

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Jennie Buttars
Lisa Packer

English 1010-210

Recipe Memoir

January 25, 2018

Frog Eyes

“Oh, I remember when I was a kid and my mom cooked all kinds of yummy food.” I’d come home from school and the whole house would smell of breads baking, roast cooking.” That isn’t a memory I grew up with. Family recipes are not an easy topic for me to talk about. I didn't grow up with a mom that cooked home cooked meals all the time or ever for that matter. In fact I wasn't even raise by my mom. My dad raised me and he worked a lot of the time mostly swing shifts so dinner usually consisted of something my older sister could make like hamburger helper, mac-n-cheese, and cereal, items like that.

Every once in a while my grandma would help out and cook something for us. This was usually a meal that wasn't very appealing like gamey deer meat that you could chew and chew and chew and never breaking down. You also had your choice of sauerkraut that tasted of warm, mushy, rotten cabbage smothered over sausage or hot dogs this is a meal that only a person with hypogeusia would love. Me and my sister would always look at eat other and giggle while trying to hide our food under mounds of ketchup.

Over the years and being married I had to learn for myself how to cook something other than hamburger helper, mac-n-cheese, or anything that came out of a box. I have come a long way and still have a long way to go. I have started to make a recipe called Frog Eyed Salad. I’m hoping this recipe will become a food that the whole family have fond memories of gathering together.

It’s nothing too fancy but I feel it’s somewhat unique as far as parties with family and friends go. It's not a dish that I see often. It has become a tradition for me to be the one to make Frog Eyed Salad for any family party that we have. It’s funny, I’m not sure how it started but I do remember making Frog Eyed Salad for the first time and I had gotten the recipe off the back of the acini pasta box. From the very first bite I was hooked. The sweet marshmallowy goodness covered with the sweetness of cool whip and vanilla pudding. You then have the soft little balls of pasta that just slide around on your tongue the tangy taste of pineapple and the juicy citrus taste of mandarin oranges topped with shredded coconut. Ooh lah lah! Absolutely heavenly but at the same time evil because you just can't stop once you start!

One time when I was asked to make Frog Eyed Salad which was before it became a tradition. I went to put everything together and the box of pasta no longer had the recipe on it. Oh no! I’ve never made anything without following the recipe exactly. What am I going to do!  At that time, I’d say about 15 years ago it wasn't that easy to just hop on the internet and look up a recipe and be able to find numerous recipes for what you were looking for. So I had to try and go off of memory and put it together.  With doing that I have added and taken away different items through the years to develop the Frog Eyed Salad to be a special family recipe that hopefully one day will be passed down to my kids.

I’m sure there are similar recipes to mine but the fun part of the recipe is that I don't measure anything out so each time it taste just a little bit different but my family still seems to love it cause after 15 plus years I am still asked to make it. Below I will do my best to write out the recipe with measurements to the best of my knowledge.

1 Box French Vanilla Pudding

1 Large Can Pineapple Tidbits

1 Small Can Crushed Pineapple

1 Cup Coconut

½ Cup Heavy Whipping Cream

1 8oz Cool Whip (unfrozen)

1 10 oz Marshmallows

3 6 oz cans Mandarin Oranges

¾ 16oz box of Acini Pasta

In a large bowl mix together the vanilla pudding, pineapple juice from the cans and ½ cup heavy whipping cream. Place in the fridge. In the meantime, boil ¾ box of pasta, cook till soft. Rinse with cold water.

Pull out the pudding, mix and stir in the pasta. Then add the remaining ingredients except the mandarin oranges. Stir well. Then add mandarin oranges and lightly stir them in.

Place in fridge 2 hrs-1 day serve cold.

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English 1010

Jacob Clark

Professor Lisa Packer

January 16th, 2018

Mama’s Breakfast

Thinking back to my childhood I can’t remember a time with a few exceptions that I would enjoy waking up in the morning. Every morning dad would wake us up to have prayer, and watch tv half asleep until mom finished with making breakfast. Every once and a while we would wake up to the smell of sizzling butter and the beautiful smell of mama’s homemade pancakes.

In the Clark home life was very interesting because most of the kids were homeschooled up until middle school. That being said every morning we had time in the morning to eat breakfast together. Most mornings mama would make Oatmeal, or this interesting substance that is fairly similar to oatmeal that we called “Mush”.  Whenever we ate mush we would always put some sort of berry in it and/or raisins with milk. Despite how nasty the substance looked as a child it was surprisingly very good while it was hot.

On days we were good, or mama was just feeling extra nice she would make pancakes for us.  Mama’s pancakes were not just any pancakes. Mama’s were homemade. As a child I remember eating them with a variety of different toppings like honey butter, or just strait butter or honey, berries, mango’s, peanut butter, chocolate chips, cheese, and so many more.

The sweet foggy memories of years past of Family prayer, “Curious George” and hot Pancakes are now gone but will always live inside. Waking up in the mornings is still hard and will never be as sweet to the taste as Mama’s breakfast ever is. Thanks for the memories Mama.

Wheat Mush:

Ingredients-

1 cup of Coarsely ground wheat

3 cups of Water

A dash of Salt

Directions-

Put the 3 cups of water in a saucepan. Add a dash of Salt. Add 1 cup of ground wheat. Bring to a boil, then turn down and cook on low until all the water is absorbed(around 15-20 minutes)

Pancakes:

2 cups pancake mix

2 cups water

2 eggs

Add water  to desired consistency

May add desired toppings

Pancakes Mix:

¼ cup Baking Powder

4 teaspoons Salt

¼ cup powdered milk     3-4 Tablespoons brown sugar

2 cups white flour

8 cups wheat flour

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Soraya AzpilcuetaProfessor Lisa PackerEnglish 10101 January 2018Peruvian fried Jalea with leftover egg shells.         Imagen growing up to certain dishes, that’s how I grew up. This dish is called a Jalea it’s a Spanish Peruvian seafood dish. My family would have this dish for every holiday you can think of. Yes, I know there’s lots of holidays. We would have this for any nice fancy dinner, which means for my family any holiday we got to spend together as a family. I remember when I was four, I wasn’t allowed to touch the food. I would sit on the brown tall chair in the kitchen, and see my mom and my two older sisters cutting the fish. You must fry the fish, which always made the house smell greasy and oily. My mom couldn’t stand a dirty house. The second we finished cooking, my mom would pull out all the cleaning supplies you can think of and just clean the whole house. Hoping that got rid of all the smells in the house before anyone showed up to the party.  First, they would drop the fish or the shrimp in a bowl that had a couple of eggs in there scrambled, that seems like it always had left over egg shells in there, that was partly my fault. Second step would be to drip in white sticky flour bowl, and last of course the messy bread crumbs bowl. I saw my mom getting burn by the hot greasy oil so many times. She would play it off like it didn’t touch her. You could always see her hand after, you would see all the red marks that the oil burns made. Finally, I grew up to the next stage of the kitchen. Which meant I got promoted to the cutting, just no frying yet.      My mom is clearly a superstar, this dish is just one of the many we grew up with. I had it so often that now I crave It all the time. Which fried food isn’t the best for you so that’s probably not a good thing.  The thing I loved more about anything is the connection I grew with my mom. She would tell us stories about her growing up in Peru with her family. She felt like she would be living her memories with us by cooking the recipes her mom and dad made with her. My mom is my best friend, so when we almost lost her about 5 years ago to cancer it was the worst nightmare of my life. Almost no homemade meals for two years, it wasn’t normal. She got better and starting cooking right away. She would always tell us about how she dreams of owning her own restaurant. I would always imagen going in there and listening to loud Spanish music and helping around. My mom in the kitchen of course cooking, because I have never meant someone who loves cooking as much as she does.        I know this is just food but its more then food for me, it was always a lesson. I learned so may new things cooking in the kitchen with my mom every day.   I learned about my culture, I learned more about my mom and her history.  My favorite stories by far is when she would tell me about her dad and their cooking adventures together. I know I will never be as half as a great chef as my mom, but through our cooking adventures I became the true person I am today. JaleaIngredientsquarts peanut, canola, or vegetable oilcups all-purpose flour, dividedbaking powder to mix in with the flourKosher salt and freshly ground black pepper Paprika to mix in with the flour1/2 pound skinned and boned firm white-fleshed fish, such as halibut, wild striped bass, or cod, sliced into 1 1/2- by 1-inch pieces1/2 pound shelled and deveined large shrimpDirections For the Fried Seafood: Preheat oven to 400°F. In a fryer, medium pot, or wok, heat oil to 350°F, don’t put the heat to close or get to close. Have three bowls, eggs try with no shells in there, flour mixed in with salt and pepper and paprika, bread crumbs & baking powder.Drip the fish in the flour transfer it to the eggs then back to the bread crumbs with baking powder. Increase oil temperature to 375°F, adjusting heat to maintain temperature. Repeat dredging and battering process with shrimp and fish fry until golden. Put in a plate with napkins let the napkins take all the oil off the fish and shrimp. 

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Soraya AzpilcuetaProfessor Lisa PackerEnglish 10101 January 2018Peruvian fried Jalea with leftover egg shells.         Imagen growing up to certain dishes, that’s how I grew up. This dish is called a Jalea it’s a Spanish Peruvian seafood dish. My family would have this dish for every holiday you can think of. Yes, I know there’s lots of holidays. We would have this for any nice fancy dinner, which means for my family any holiday we got to spend together as a family. I remember when I was four, I wasn’t allowed to touch the food. I would sit on the brown tall chair in the kitchen, and see my mom and my two older sisters cutting the fish. You must fry the fish, which always made the house smell greasy and oily. My mom couldn’t stand a dirty house. The second we finished cooking, my mom would pull out all the cleaning supplies you can think of and just clean the whole house. Hoping that got rid of all the smells in the house before anyone showed up to the party.  First, they would drop the fish or the shrimp in a bowl that had a couple of eggs in there scrambled, that seems like it always had left over egg shells in there, that was partly my fault. Second step would be to drip in white sticky flour bowl, and last of course the messy bread crumbs bowl. I saw my mom getting burn by the hot greasy oil so many times. She would play it off like it didn’t touch her. You could always see her hand after, you would see all the red marks that the oil burns made. Finally, I grew up to the next stage of the kitchen. Which meant I got promoted to the cutting, just no frying yet.      My mom is clearly a superstar, this dish is just one of the many we grew up with. I had it so often that now I crave It all the time. Which fried food isn’t the best for you so that’s probably not a good thing.  The thing I loved more about anything is the connection I grew with my mom. She would tell us stories about her growing up in Peru with her family. She felt like she would be living her memories with us by cooking the recipes her mom and dad made with her. My mom is my best friend, so when we almost lost her about 5 years ago to cancer it was the worst nightmare of my life. Almost no homemade meals for two years, it wasn’t normal. She got better and starting cooking right away. She would always tell us about how she dreams of owning her own restaurant. I would always imagen going in there and listening to loud Spanish music and helping around. My mom in the kitchen of course cooking, because I have never meant someone who loves cooking as much as she does.        I know this is just food but its more then food for me, it was always a lesson. I learned so may new things cooking in the kitchen with my mom every day.   I learned about my culture, I learned more about my mom and her history.  My favorite stories by far is when she would tell me about her dad and their cooking adventures together. I know I will never be as half as a great chef as my mom, but through our cooking adventures I became the true person I am today. JaleaIngredientsquarts peanut, canola, or vegetable oilcups all-purpose flour, dividedbaking powder to mix in with the flourKosher salt and freshly ground black pepper Paprika to mix in with the flour1/2 pound skinned and boned firm white-fleshed fish, such as halibut, wild striped bass, or cod, sliced into 1 1/2- by 1-inch pieces1/2 pound shelled and deveined large shrimpDirections For the Fried Seafood: Preheat oven to 400°F. In a fryer, medium pot, or wok, heat oil to 350°F, don’t put the heat to close or get to close. Have three bowls, eggs try with no shells in there, flour mixed in with salt and pepper and paprika, bread crumbs & baking powder.Drip the fish in the flour transfer it to the eggs then back to the bread crumbs with baking powder. Increase oil temperature to 375°F, adjusting heat to maintain temperature. Repeat dredging and battering process with shrimp and fish fry until golden. Put in a plate with napkins let the napkins take all the oil off the fish and shrimp. 

# data[].attributes.headline
Soraya AzpilcuetaProfessor Lisa PackerEnglish 10101 January 2018Peruvian fried Jalea with leftover egg shells.         Imagen growing up to certain dishes, that’s how I grew up. This dish is called a Jalea it’s a Spanish Peruvian seafood dish. My family would have this dish for every holiday you can think of. Yes, I know there’s lots of holidays. We would have this for any nice fancy dinner, which means for my family any holiday we got to spend together as a family. I remember when I was four, I wasn’t allowed to touch the food. I would sit on the brown tall chair in the kitchen, and see my mom and my two older sisters cutting the fish. You must fry the fish, which always made the house smell greasy and oily. My mom couldn’t stand a dirty house. The second we finished cooking, my mom would pull out all the cleaning supplies you can think of and just clean the whole house. Hoping that got rid of all the smells in the house before anyone showed up to the party.  First, they would drop the fish or the shrimp in a bowl that had a couple of eggs in there scrambled, that seems like it always had left over egg shells in there, that was partly my fault. Second step would be to drip in white sticky flour bowl, and last of course the messy bread crumbs bowl. I saw my mom getting burn by the hot greasy oil so many times. She would play it off like it didn’t touch her. You could always see her hand after, you would see all the red marks that the oil burns made. Finally, I grew up to the next stage of the kitchen. Which meant I got promoted to the cutting, just no frying yet.      My mom is clearly a superstar, this dish is just one of the many we grew up with. I had it so often that now I crave It all the time. Which fried food isn’t the best for you so that’s probably not a good thing.  The thing I loved more about anything is the connection I grew with my mom. She would tell us stories about her growing up in Peru with her family. She felt like she would be living her memories with us by cooking the recipes her mom and dad made with her. My mom is my best friend, so when we almost lost her about 5 years ago to cancer it was the worst nightmare of my life. Almost no homemade meals for two years, it wasn’t normal. She got better and starting cooking right away. She would always tell us about how she dreams of owning her own restaurant. I would always imagen going in there and listening to loud Spanish music and helping around. My mom in the kitchen of course cooking, because I have never meant someone who loves cooking as much as she does.        I know this is just food but its more then food for me, it was always a lesson. I learned so may new things cooking in the kitchen with my mom every day.   I learned about my culture, I learned more about my mom and her history.  My favorite stories by far is when she would tell me about her dad and their cooking adventures together. I know I will never be as half as a great chef as my mom, but through our cooking adventures I became the true person I am today. JaleaIngredientsquarts peanut, canola, or vegetable oilcups all-purpose flour, dividedbaking powder to mix in with the flourKosher salt and freshly ground black pepper Paprika to mix in with the flour1/2 pound skinned and boned firm white-fleshed fish, such as halibut, wild striped bass, or cod, sliced into 1 1/2- by 1-inch pieces1/2 pound shelled and deveined large shrimpDirections For the Fried Seafood: Preheat oven to 400°F. In a fryer, medium pot, or wok, heat oil to 350°F, don’t put the heat to close or get to close. Have three bowls, eggs try with no shells in there, flour mixed in with salt and pepper and paprika, bread crumbs & baking powder.Drip the fish in the flour transfer it to the eggs then back to the bread crumbs with baking powder. Increase oil temperature to 375°F, adjusting heat to maintain temperature. Repeat dredging and battering process with shrimp and fish fry until golden. Put in a plate with napkins let the napkins take all the oil off the fish and shrimp. 

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Soraya AzpilcuetaProfessor Lisa PackerEnglish 10101 January 2018Peruvian fried Jalea with leftover egg shells.         Imagen growing up to certain dishes, that’s how I grew up. This dish is called a Jalea it’s a Spanish Peruvian seafood dish. My family would have this dish for every holiday you can think of. Yes, I know there’s lots of holidays. We would have this for any nice fancy dinner, which means for my family any holiday we got to spend together as a family. I remember when I was four, I wasn’t allowed to touch the food. I would sit on the brown tall chair in the kitchen, and see my mom and my two older sisters cutting the fish. You must fry the fish, which always made the house smell greasy and oily. My mom couldn’t stand a dirty house. The second we finished cooking, my mom would pull out all the cleaning supplies you can think of and just clean the whole house. Hoping that got rid of all the smells in the house before anyone showed up to the party.  First, they would drop the fish or the shrimp in a bowl that had a couple of eggs in there scrambled, that seems like it always had left over egg shells in there, that was partly my fault. Second step would be to drip in white sticky flour bowl, and last of course the messy bread crumbs bowl. I saw my mom getting burn by the hot greasy oil so many times. She would play it off like it didn’t touch her. You could always see her hand after, you would see all the red marks that the oil burns made. Finally, I grew up to the next stage of the kitchen. Which meant I got promoted to the cutting, just no frying yet.      My mom is clearly a superstar, this dish is just one of the many we grew up with. I had it so often that now I crave It all the time. Which fried food isn’t the best for you so that’s probably not a good thing.  The thing I loved more about anything is the connection I grew with my mom. She would tell us stories about her growing up in Peru with her family. She felt like she would be living her memories with us by cooking the recipes her mom and dad made with her. My mom is my best friend, so when we almost lost her about 5 years ago to cancer it was the worst nightmare of my life. Almost no homemade meals for two years, it wasn’t normal. She got better and starting cooking right away. She would always tell us about how she dreams of owning her own restaurant. I would always imagen going in there and listening to loud Spanish music and helping around. My mom in the kitchen of course cooking, because I have never meant someone who loves cooking as much as she does.        I know this is just food but its more then food for me, it was always a lesson. I learned so may new things cooking in the kitchen with my mom every day.   I learned about my culture, I learned more about my mom and her history.  My favorite stories by far is when she would tell me about her dad and their cooking adventures together. I know I will never be as half as a great chef as my mom, but through our cooking adventures I became the true person I am today. JaleaIngredientsquarts peanut, canola, or vegetable oilcups all-purpose flour, dividedbaking powder to mix in with the flourKosher salt and freshly ground black pepper Paprika to mix in with the flour1/2 pound skinned and boned firm white-fleshed fish, such as halibut, wild striped bass, or cod, sliced into 1 1/2- by 1-inch pieces1/2 pound shelled and deveined large shrimpDirections For the Fried Seafood: Preheat oven to 400°F. In a fryer, medium pot, or wok, heat oil to 350°F, don’t put the heat to close or get to close. Have three bowls, eggs try with no shells in there, flour mixed in with salt and pepper and paprika, bread crumbs & baking powder.Drip the fish in the flour transfer it to the eggs then back to the bread crumbs with baking powder. Increase oil temperature to 375°F, adjusting heat to maintain temperature. Repeat dredging and battering process with shrimp and fish fry until golden. Put in a plate with napkins let the napkins take all the oil off the fish and shrimp. 

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Today was the day. After a long hot summer and some hard work, dad’s project was finished. Now the fun part was about to begin. I sat on a black stool tucked under the island in the kitchen. Mom uncovered the silver mixer and thick dough oozed out. It had grown since I last saw it two hours ago, and now it looked edible. I watched the way she rolled the heaping sticky ball in a flour pile and sliced it into four pieces and again into eight. She took each portion and rolled it into a near-perfect circle. They were laid onto shiny foil coated with sprinkles of cornmeal. She pulled out a container filled with red sauce. A spoon scooped up the liquid and gently spread it until it was painted across the dough. I was mesmerized.

She looked at me. That was the cue. I reached my small hands into a Costco sized bag of mozzarella cheese and dropped it onto the marinara. I spread it out with my fingers and the fleeting thought of licking them passed. My sister opened the fridge and pulled out small blue bowls filled with chopped veggies, sliced meats, and juicy pineapple. It was time to test my artistic skills. Layer by layer we added toppings. I stepped back and stared at our magnificent work and felt a sense of accomplishment.
I went outside and sat on the worn wooden stairs, patiently waiting. Would this really work? My parents peered into a small opening of a fire brick igloo placed on top of a cement slab box. Inside was crackling and the smoke that was exiled through the chimney slowly burned the green tree leaves above. Dad looked at me, “Jo, go grab us a pizza.” I chose the most delectable kind out there.  Dad put it on the metal paddle and nudged it into the center of the soft glowing coals. It had only been about two minutes when he rescued the pepperoni creation. We whipped out the pizza slicer and sampled it. It looked less than perfect. The edges were black, and it looked dirty, all covered in char. I hesitantly took a bite but to my surprise, it was scrumptious. It had a flavor from the wood and the crust was crispy with curled, crunchy pepperoni boats on top. Nothing can compare to a brick oven pizza.
But why was this all so special? These recipes weren’t just any ordinary ones you find on the internet. My Grandpa Clark formulated them and started up his own restaurant called ‘The Pepperoni’. These recipes had gone unused for years but had been dusted off the shelf, a decision not to be regretted. My dad had finished his dream project. He built this brick oven with his own two hands and it is beautiful. Since that day, we’ve had countless family gatherings and parties, not to mention the neighborhood enjoys it too. To say the least, it is the root of cherished memories.

Marinara

1 6 oz can tamato paste

1 15 oz can tomato sauce

1-2 tbs oregano to taste

2 tbs Italian seasoning

½ tsp garlic powder

½ tsp onion powder

½ tbs garlic salt

¼ tsp freshly ground black pepper

1 tsp sugar

Instructions:
1.     Mix tomato paste and sauce together in a medium sized bowl until well combined (all the lumps of paste are incorporated into the sauce).

2.     Add the rest of the ingredients (oregano, Italian seasoning, garlic powder, onion powder, garlic salt, pepper and sugar) and mix well!