Before I started writing down recipes, I thought I didn’t have many to save. No one in my family really used cookbooks—they cooked from memory, instinct, repetition. But once I started asking questions and paying attention, I realized just how much was there. This post is here to help you do the same: to begin collecting, translating, and preserving the dishes that shaped you—even if nothing was ever written down.

When I first started writing down recipes, I kept wondering if they were “good enough.” Some felt too simple. Others had gaps I had to fill in from memory. A few weren’t even mine, just versions passed between friends and cousins. But I realized: that wasn’t the point. The recipes I kept returning to weren’t perfect—they were familiar, comforting, and full of meaning. That’s what made them worth saving.

You don’t need to be a writer to tell the story behind a family recipe. A handful of details and a bit of memory is more than enough. This isn’t about having a polished essay on it—it’s about capturing what made something matter to you or someone you love. This post is here to help you find your way into those stories, especially if you’re not sure how to start.