When I visited my father in August, I decided to make a peach cobbler and needed a recipe. I should have just turned to this blog, where I have posted a very good recipe for peach cobbler. But I went to my mother’s old cookbooks instead, because my father didn’t have any Bisquick, and my recipe calls for Bisquick.
I opened one cookbook, and a paper fell out. I recognized the handwriting immediately—not my mother’s, but my college friend’s. What could my friend have written that ended up in my mother’s cookbook?
It was a recipe for Chicken Riviera. And I remembered my friend’s mother making that for my family when we visited their home in May 1976, just after I graduated from Middlebury College.
Her mother was a wonderful cook and spent hours making fabulous dinners when I stayed with them during college vacations. The Chicken Riviera recipe was one of these Cordon Bleu level dishes.
My mother must have exclaimed over the Chicken Riviera, and my friend’s mother offered the recipe. Why did my friend write it instead of her mother? Probably because her mother cooked in Portuguese. She was Brazilian, and was more comfortable reading Portuguese. So my friend translated the recipe as she wrote it down.
I don’t remember my mother ever making Chicken Riviera, though I didn’t live at home much after 1976. I’m tempted to try it now, though it involves rich ingredients and many steps. Lots of butter and cream. You cook the chicken once, then you put the sauce on it and cook it again. It sounds like a lot of trouble, and I’m more of a fifteen minute cook.
I asked my friend after I found the recipe whether I could substitute margarine for butter and Half & Half for cream. Her response: “How should I know?” She’d never made the recipe.
Neither of us is the cook our mother was.
Both of our mothers are gone now, and their skills along with them. But our memories take us back. Our taste buds would bring the memories even closer. If only we were brave enough—or tireless enough—to follow the trail our mothers left behind.
What foods do you remember from your childhood that you never eat now?
You can substitute half and half but not margarine. (Theresa, how could you even think such a thing???) Have Al make it for you! I’m told this is what husbands are for.
Oh, but Al would follow the recipe to a T. “You can’t get the same result if you don’t follow the recipe.” How many times has he said that?
Theresa
A family friend and I are contemplating creating a Shutterfly-like cookbook of recipes we’ve shared over the years for our kids. We’ve created fine New Year’s Eve dinners together for 30+ years, shared many Thanksgivings, brought dinner over when each others’ babies were born… Unfortunately we never took pictures but we figure we can recreate some, and hand-written, food-slopped recipe cards can provide some visuals. The kids may never make any of those dishes but we’re pretty sure the book will evoke some memories. And in any case, my friend and I will have a good time putting it together.
Linda, this will make a great memento for your family.
Theresa
My mother always made Yorkshire Pudding when she cooked a beef roast. Yorkshire Pudding, as many of you may know, is not a pudding at all; it’s not a dessert. I guess one could call it a dinner popover. It’s a British staple although my mother was not from the UK (she was born in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada…close enough). When she made roast beef and gravy, Yorkshire Pudding, and mashed potatoes, it was always called, “The Works.” If she told us we were having the works for Sunday dinner, we knew exactly what we were in for: a fabulous, fabulous meal.
My friend’s mother, the Brazilian cook, also made a wonderful Beef Wellington and Yorkshire Pudding. She was a great cook in any culture.
Thanks for the comment reminding me of this.
Theresa
Theresa, I love this post! If any of the followers of your blog make my mother’s recipe, please let me know. I’d love to come over and have a taste!
Thank you, Sylvia.
And so, readers, now you know that Sylvia is the college friend whose mother made this recipe. So if anyone makes it, let us know how it turns out! (Sounds like Cecilia, Sylvia’s sister, may try it.)
Theresa
Oysters! My mother made me try one and it refused to go down. Needless to say, my father wasn’t pleased with the gagging sounds that transpired at the dinner table. To this day, I won’t touch an oyster, no matter how it’s prepared.
Oh, Jill, I have bad memories of oysters, too! On my 15th birthday, my dad fed me a raw oyster. I was up all night. But I’ll eat oyster stew. Just not raw.
Theresa
Theresa, thanks for this recipe and the memories it invoked. I didn’t have this one and now that I do, I will try it!
Cecilia,
Sounds like Sylvia is leaving this one for you. I hope your rendition turns out as well as your mother’s did.
Theresa
My mother didn’t cook very many things that required a lot of effort but your story made me think of my grandmother.
Grandmothers are the source of many wonderful memories . . . and recipes.
Thanks for reading, Robin.
Theresa
Theresa I see this happening here too. The skills of baking, knitting and crotchet are my mothers skills and I try to do them but do not have the passion nor the gifts. I think it is a sad thing that we do not carry on these skills, so I try to teach my daughter, with my Mum’s help. She is eighty now but even with arthritis she still crotchet’s a mean blanket.
Yes, knitting and crochet are also lost arts if not taught. My grandmother crocheted many things. I just saw a tablecloth she gave my parents for their wedding. Sadly, no one uses such things any more.
Thanks for reading,
Theresa