“A little bit of flour.” “Cook it until it smells right.” “Just watch me.”

If this is how your family shared recipes, you’re not alone. And you’re not too late to start preserving them.

*My tata (Kálman) holding homemade Erdélyi potato bread in St.Catharines, Ontario, Canada.*

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.

Not Just About the Food

Family recipes are more than instructions—they’re memory, culture, and survival in edible history. When nothing was ever written down, documenting those dishes becomes not just practical, but meaningful. It’s a way of saying: this mattered enough to remember and pass down.

Start With What You Have

You don’t need a handwritten recipe to begin. You just need a place to start.

Ask Yourself:

What dishes remind you of home?
Who cooked them, and when?
What do you remember about the way they were made?

Write down anything—even fragments. “My aunt always made this after church.” “It had cardamon and black currants.” “She used a chipped green bowl.” These details help reconstruct the story behind the recipe.

Talk to the Cooks in Your Life

If you can, ask questions while people are still around to answer them. Don’t worry about having a formal interview. Start with curiosity:

“How did you learn to make this?”
“What did you cook when money was tight?”
“Did you ever change anything in the recipe?”

Record conversations if possible—or just jot down quotes and observations after. As they talk or cook, memories come back—details they might not have thought about in decades, tucked into the smell of something frying or the feel of dough in their hands.

Observe, Then Decode

Watching someone cook can reveal more than words. If they are still in the kitchen, cook alongside them. Take notes. Ask to measure what they call “a bit.” Be annoying—in the most loving way.

Common translations:

“A glass” = usually 200–250 ml
“A spoon” = 10–15 ml (but can vary!)
“A handful” = ~1/4 to 1/2 cup, depending on the hand
“Bake until done” = use your senses (colour, smell, texture)

Test and Tweak Until It Tastes Like You Remember (or Better)

Don’t be afraid to get it wrong the first (or fifth) time. Testing is part of the process. You’re not just recreating food—you’re learning how memory behaves in the kitchen.

Write down every test. What worked? What didn’t? What did your sibling or cousin say when they tasted it? These details matter.

Tools to Help You Start

A notebook or recipe journal
A voice recording app
Your phone camera (to document steps and compare results)
One food memory that feels too important to forget

Last Thought: This Doesn’t Have to Be Perfect

A family recipe isn’t a performance—it’s a conversation between generations. You’re not writing it down to impress anyone. You’re doing it so someone, one day, can make it too. Or at the very least you can!

Start now. Start messy. The rest will come.

How to Start Archiving Your Family Recipes (When Nothing Was Ever Written Down)