Autumn is that time of the year when, walking through the streets, you can smell countless different smells everywhere, wafting from the kitchens of the houses of the old town. If the smell of cinnamon and cloves and mulled wine are harbingers of winter, autumn with the smell of chestnuts is not only a winter overture, but a class of its own in the culinary realm of flavors and images. It's a time when the tables are full of goodies, and homemade strudel calls for researching old grandmother's recipes and looking for that little, mysterious, great thing that brings even distant moments from the past back.
Probably almost everything grandmothers they enjoy our affection their recipes and boast with a reputation as excellent cooks, because they are the ones who do more an imperial prisoner so good that you could eat a plate with it. I must say that my grandmothers were also good at playing with cooking recipes, secrets and magic, that stunned you before you even walked through the door. And if they both lived in today's time, they would be with theirs culinary blogs certainly exceeded all expectations regarding the number of visitors to it, and we would also quickly become enthusiastic about such online portals, which share recipes, advice and, of course, the final images of culinary achievements. But then they had to find their own way, among other things, in addition to the obligatory cookbook, they supplemented all the materials with recipes cut out of newspapers, because they were advice from renowned chefs published in special sections, what to prepare for Sunday lunch.
#192 – City Magazine by City Magazine
The collection was complemented by exchanged recipes of dishes, which were mainly the result of chatting during a stop at the store... Of course, next to each recipe there were notes written in my grandmother's old handwriting (any calligrapher would also praise the beautiful execution of the handwriting), which were mainly her annotations , whose dishes she has already tried and made herself. These recipes and notes are still kept in the old box, next to the notebooks where my grandmother wrote her recipes. This box still smells like those sweet spices, as her kitchen smelled, even though no one has looked at her for a long time. Maybe I'll just decide to take a peek once, but I'll never be good at baking such goodies, that's why homemade apple strudel and potica remain in the domain of another grandmother, who probably already wants us to start spoiling her too.
