Inspired by a question over at Slashfood, I’m going to tell you the story of the first thing I ever cooked.
Oh, the first thing I ever baked was probably a cookie of some sort, out of my mother’s 1970s edition of the Betty Crocker Cookbook. I used to read that thing for fun, which is how I knew last Christmas that it contained a recipe for fondue.
But the first thing I ever cooked was tortillas.
Grandma had to mix up the dough, but to keep all five of us cousins busy while she did the hard work of rolling them out, she gave us each our own ball of dough to roll out into tiny tortillas, or roll up into snails or make other odd shapes, which then she would put on the griddle and judge when they were finished, or, if it was one of those rare occasions where only one or two of us were staying at Grandma’s, we would get to step up to the griddle ourselves with the spatula dug out of a cupboard (Grandma used her fingers to flip the tortillas, but that was Advanced Tortilla Making 201).
This winter I’ve found myself making tortillas a lot more frequently. And I have YET to crack the code of how Grandma got hers to stay so fluffy. I think it’s a combination of hydration, thickness (I still can’t roll the bloody things out ‘right’), and Grandma-ness.
But I’m going to keep working on it.
In other news, after a six month hiatus, I’ve rediscovered my camera. So this blog will probably see more action as I find food writing much more fun when I can point to the pictures and go, “See?! SEE WHAT I DID!”