More recipes than I could ever devour?


As I was cleaning out the cupboard above the stove in the kitchen, I reached the conclusion that I have a compulsive personality and am in need of serious therapy. No matter how much I have, it is not enough. I want more and will go to any lengths to get it even if I don’t have a place to put it or know what to do with it.

I have that incurable syndrome that is thought to be handed down from mother to daughter, although there have been cases when it skipped a generation or two. There’s even been several studies on the male species, but results have been less conclusive.

I am a recipeaholic, and I am not alone. It is a phobia that affects the rich and the poor, the normal and the not so normal. This is an especially bad time of year for the recipeaholic. With the holiday season only days away, the focus is food, and there is only one thing on the mind of the recipeaholic: “I must have that recipe.”

There is the story about the woman who refused to go into delivery until she copied down the recipe for a chip dip in a year-old magazine she found in the labor room.

I’ve seen women dressed in their gray flannel suits and capable of making executive decisions that affect countless lives and involve thousands of dollars ask the waiter at a corporate luncheon what herb is in the sauce covering the chicken and could she have the recipe.
I’m not the executive type, rather one of those who feels closer to rising dough than to the Dow Jones. I just can’t help myself. Recipes fascinate me. I relish reading through a good recipe book nearly as much as I enjoy a murder mystery.

I have resigned myself to a life of clipping recipes, asking for recipes, sharing recipes and subsequently losing recipes.

If I only had the time to try them all.


Joyce Ore

Joyce Ore writes delightful stories about life with a dose of humor and sprinkle of nostalgia. Her column appears Saturday in the Tribune.

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