My sister and I received this collection of recipes for Christmas 2007. Our mom and dad spent the whole year making our favorite recipes from memory and painstakingly committed them to paper. I’ve taken these recipes and put them on this site for everyone to enjoy. As we come up with new family favorites with our new families, we will add to this site. Below is the original dedication.
David Norelid, Christmas 2019
Dear David and Victoria,
The book you are holding is a collection of recipes and reminiscences from home. Not the physical home, nor the country that home was in, but the home that you will always carry in your hearts, along with the memories, the laughter, the shared moments of joy and sorrow, and the boundless love. As the time approaches to start making your own roads in life, we want to pass on to you the most important of our family traditions: the dinner hour…. It has always been more than eating. It has been about listening, teaching, sharing, and loving. We found this poem which, we feel, reflects what eating at home should be. Turn off the TV, shut off the computer, put away the newspaper, close the books….and really listen to each other…. be it a friend, a spouse, a child; remember to spice your food with lots of love, a handful of understanding, and a bunch of patience.
The Perfect Dinner Table
A tablecloth that’s slightly soiled
Where greasy little hands have toiled;
The napkins kept in silver rings,
And only ordinary things
From which to eat, a simple fare,
With mamma and pappa and children there,
And while we serve, the clatter glad
Of little girl and little lad
Who have so very much to say
About the happenings of the day.
Four big round eyes that dance with glee,
Forever flashing joys at me,
Two little tongues that race and run
To tell of troubles and of fun;
And mamma with a patient smile
Who knows that she must wait a while
Before she’ll get a chance to say
What she’s discovered through the day.
She steps aside for girl and lad
Who have so much to tell their dad.
Our manners may not be the best;
Perhaps our elbows often rest
Upon the table, and at times
The very worst of dinner crimes,
That very shameful act of rude
Of speaking ere you’ve downed you food,
Too frequently, I fear, is done,
So fast the little voices run.
Yet why should table manners stay
Those tongues that have so much to say?
At many a table I have been
Where wealth and luxury were seen,
And I have dined in halls of pride
Where all the guests were dignified;
But when it comes to pleasure rare
The perfect dinner table’s where
No stranger’s face is ever known:
The dinner hour we spend alone,
When little girl and little lad
Run riot telling things to dad.
We will love you forever,
Mamma and Pappa