Ann Ipock
            Humorist, author, speaker

Georgetown Times Column

Secret recipes have no place in my kitchen

By Ann Ipock March 10, 2004

One of my favorite hobbies is cooking — that is, when the conditions are right. Like, if I have a decent sized group dining at the house (it’s hard to get excited over cooking for two) and, if someone volunteers to clean up afterwards.
During those times you’ll find me at the stove — slicing, stirring and smiling. Just call me Betty Crocker, ’er, make that Ina Garten, my fave “Food TV” guru, and host of “Barefoot Contessa.” Ina is such a sincere soul with a warm-hearted laugh. Who couldn’t love her?
I especially enjoy cooking during the holidays, except for Thanksgiving. I almost always succumb to the “Thanksgiving Hex.” I wrote about this very subject in my most recent book of humor columns — what, with catching my oven (and turkey) on fire; almost serving half-cooked (oops!) Cornish hens; and finding the buffet selections cold and scrappy because the restaurant was closing.
Being in a supper club, coupled with having many gourmet friends, part of our culinary interests involve sharing recipes. We all do it — we’ve all done it — we’ll all continue to do it. But, evidently, some don’t.
A friend told me that she’d met someone who didn’t give out recipes. I was appalled — I mean, that is so not right. Isn’t that a little outdated, and dare I say — selfish? I asked Becky, my friend, to tell me more.

It seems that the woman in question, upon hearing compliments on her dish, perked up. She shook her blonde flipped hairdo from side-to-side, giggled nervously, and with a way-too-wide smile, in a charming voice, said, “Why, thank you, y’all!” batting her eyelashes. But things suddenly changed for the worst, when someone asked her for the recipe. She turned into a monster. Though putrid smoke didn’t exactly pour out of her mouth, Becky said her nostrils did flare a bit. The woman then barked out her refusal, “Oh no, I don’t, I don’t — ” Her shocked audience gasped, their mouths dropped open. Then the transformed half-woman, half-witch with the secret, drew in a deep breath as her eyes narrowed. She held her head high, and with pointed finger and forked-tongue, in a throaty voice announced, “I don’t give out my recipes. ou see, they are family secrets.” Yeah, well I say, so are lots of other unmentionables, but eventually some fool squeals, thereby making front-page headlines — or at the very least, creating juicy gossip. That creature was lucky the stunned group didn’t hold her down and pummel her.
I mean you just don’t NOT give out recipes. It’s part of an unwritten rule of etiquette. Besides, that’s the highest compliment a cook can receive. Heck, not only do want to give out the recipe, I can’t wait to taste it when it’s done. That’s so I can have a night off from cooking — OK, that, and I want to see if theirs is better than mine. This theory is akin to, “Food is always better when you don’t have to cook it yourself.”
I once overheard a woman in a restaurant who didn’t get this. She said to her friend, “Mildred, I’m ordering the crab quiche because I want to see if it’s as good as mine.” And y’all, you just know it was. Geez, it was all I could do not to jump up and scream, “Woman, are you crazy? This is a four-star restaurant in one of the oldest and finest cities in South Carolina, sitting on a street named after an aristocratic Southern family. Of course it will be better than yours!” Women (including me) can be chatty, but we can also be catty.
I love the restaurants that give out their recipes — why do you think I’ve subscribed to Bon Appetit for so many years? I love to collect and prepare them.
When I had company recently, I decided to try out a recipe provided by a trendy local restaurant. To tell you the truth, it sounded a little bland to begin with, calling for only a few simple ingredients. No truffle oil, no saffron, no strange food that you find only in an obscure specialty market. Forging ahead, I cooked the dish exactly as the recipe instructed. We sat down to eat and I was the first to say, “This dish doesn’t have much flavor. Maybe it needs some Worcestershire sauce, thyme, dry mustard...” Sadly, no one disagreed.
I also questioned if an ingredient was missing, either by mistake, or on purpose. You never know. What I do know is that I wrote on the card, “Consider spicing this up — or else, consider throwing this recipe out!” One thing’s for sure — I’ll share it with you, if you just ask.

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