Saving recipes
Some of the most precious things a family owns aren’t valuable at all. They’re the things that got used.
How a worn 1983 cookbook from Singapore became a gift for my sister and Mum’s friends, and why passing on recipes matters.
Mum’s copy of the ANZA Recipe Book 1983 is one of those. The cover is stained and soft at the edges, the spine is worn, and the pages carry the marks of years in a busy kitchen. It isn’t a fancy book. It was never meant to be.
A cookbook from another life
In the early 1980s, Mum was part of a community of Australian and New Zealand expats living in Singapore. ANZA, the Australian and New Zealand Association, brought those families together, and in 1983 its members put together a collection of their own recipes.
I was born in Singapore and spent the first ten years of my life there. It was a fantastic place to grow up. When I went back in 2023, for the first time since 1989, it still felt like home. Thinking about Singapore always brings Mum to mind.
The book is a snapshot of that time. Home cooking from Australia and New Zealand, made in tropical kitchens far from home, often with local ingredients and a bit of improvisation. Every recipe came from someone’s own kitchen, and many of the names in it belonged to people Mum knew.
A conversation before she died
Before Mum died, we talked about the book. Her copy was falling apart, and I knew that once it was gone, it would be gone for good. I also knew it meant something to more people than just me.
Scanning every page
Before Mum died, I furiously scanned every page. Some pages needed cleaning up so the text could be read clearly. Others I left alone, because a few marks felt like part of the story.
It was painstaking, but it was also a way of spending time with Mum. Turning each page, I’d see a recipe I remembered her making, or a name she hadn’t thought about in years.
Redesigning the cover
The original cover had faded and stained badly, so I redrew it. I recreated the ANZA logo, with the kangaroo and the kiwi, along with the title lettering, keeping it as close to the original as I could. I also added the title to the spine so it would sit properly on a bookshelf.
The aim wasn’t to improve it. It was to make it look the way it did when it was new.
Sharing it
I had a small run of copies printed. One went to my older sister. The others went to friends of Mum’s from Singapore, one of whom had contributed recipes to the original book all those years ago.
They were excited to receive the book, especially knowing Mum had a hand in creating it. It holds special meaning for her two friends from Singapore, and for my older sister, who sadly wasn’t part of that time in our lives.
For them, it wasn’t just a cookbook. It was a piece of a shared life, and a way of remembering Mum.
Passing on the recipes that matter
This project connects closely to one of the cards in our One Day activity: Passing on a family recipe: writing down the recipe that lives in your head, measurements and all. Practical Life & Legacy
So many family recipes are never written down. They live in someone’s hands and memory: a pinch of this, cook it until it looks right. When that person dies, the recipe can go with them.
You don’t need to scan and reprint a whole book. You might:
- Write down one recipe you make from memory, with real measurements
- Ask an older relative to cook with you while you take notes
- Photograph a handwritten recipe card before it fades
- Gather a few family recipes into a simple folder or file to share
It’s a small thing that can mean a great deal to the people who come after you.
When I see the book, I think of Mum in her prime, but also in her weakest hours. Mostly, I feel a sense of relief that, in a brief moment of strength, we got to talk about recreating it before she died.