Mom’s Recipes

Here are some recipes Mom made for us as kids. These are all quick, simple to make meals, and for the most part, inexpensive.
Click the link for the recipe.
Schnitzels (Yugoslavian version of breaded pork chops)
Garbage (Mac & Meat)
Palachicin (Crepes)

The Schnitzel Story

Growing up, my mother often made schnitzels and other simple dishes for us. After our father passed away, money was tight, and these recipes were inexpensive enough to feed a family of five. They weren’t just about stretching the budget though—they were comfort food, dishes she herself had loved as a child during the war, when there was never much to eat. My brothers and I couldn’t get enough of them, so she made them often, always with a smile when we asked.

I used to beg her to write down her recipes. She’d shrug and say, “Oh, just add a little of this and a cup of that.” The problem was, I’d later realize she’d forgotten to mention the pinch of salt, or exactly how much butter went into the cookies. After she passed away, we couldn’t find a single complete recipe written anywhere. My brother Al would often ask, “Do you know how to make Mom’s schnitzels?” I tried, but no matter what I did, they never turned out quite like hers.

Then, one Christmas Eve, we were invited to my brother’s house. To my surprise, there on the table sat two pans of schnitzels that looked exactly like Mom’s. I couldn’t believe it. I snuck one off the tray before anyone noticed and took a bite. In that moment, it was as if my mother were standing right there in the kitchen, cooking for us again. The flavor, the texture—everything was hers.

My brother had finally cracked the code.

Of course, he caught me in the act. As I finished chewing, I looked up to see him glaring at me like I had just stolen the last slice of pie. The look on his face was priceless. I gave him a guilty thumbs-up, and he simply smiled. He knew I was pleased.

I’ve had schnitzels in fine German restaurants, but nothing has ever come close to those pans of schnitzels at my brother’s house that night. They weren’t just food—they were memory, family, and love, all rolled into one.