Family recipe interview kit
Fifty questions to ask before the recipes are gone
The person who cooks from memory will say “a bit of this, a bit of that” and mean it. These are the questions that get past it — fifty of them, in the order that works. Take the PDF to the kitchen table. Press record.
Free · no email wall · five pages, letter size
Before you sit down
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Record it. Don’t take notes.
Put your phone on the table, press record, and forget about it. Notes make you look down, and the good answers arrive while you are looking at them. When you reach round two, film their hands.
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Ask the rounds in order
Round one is easy to answer and gets them talking. Round three is the hard one — the actual recipe — and it goes better once they have been talking for twenty minutes. One round per sitting is fine. So is all five in an afternoon.
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Don’t correct. Follow up.
When an amount is vague, don’t fix it — ask the follow-up printed on each divider. “Whose hand?” gets you a measurement. “And then what happened?” gets you the step nobody ever writes down.
Round I: The kitchen you grew up in
Start here. Nobody refuses to talk about the kitchen they were a child in, and the details that come out — the stove, the pot that was never put away — are the ones that get lost first.
When it’s vague, ask And then what happened?
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What did the kitchen smell like on a Sunday morning?
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Who did the cooking in your house, and who was never allowed near the stove?
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What was the first thing you were trusted to make on your own? How old were you?
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What was on the table on an ordinary Tuesday?
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Was there a dish you dreaded as a child that you’d give anything to eat now?
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What did your mother make when someone was ill?
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Where did the food come from — a garden, a market, a shop with a name?
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What did the stove look like? Wood, coal, gas?
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Which pot or pan was never put away?
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What did you eat when there wasn’t much money?
Round II: Hands
What they do that the recipe never says. Most of this round can’t be answered in words, which is the point — film their hands with your phone while they answer.
When it’s vague, ask Show me.
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How do you know when the dough is ready? What does it feel like under your fingers?
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What do you do that the recipe never says?
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How do you tell the oil is hot enough without a thermometer?
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Which step does everyone rush that you never do?
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Is there something you do with your hands that you couldn’t explain in words? Show me.
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What do you taste for, and when?
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What do you do when it goes wrong — too salty, too thin, won’t rise?
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Which knife, which spoon, which bowl? Why that one?
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Were you shown, or did you watch?
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What did you change from the way you were taught?
Round III: The dish itself
Pick one dish — the one everyone asks for — and get it down properly. This is the round that turns “a bit of this and a bit of that” into a recipe someone else can cook.
When it’s vague, ask Whose hand?
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Pick the dish everyone asks you for. Walk me through it as if I’m standing next to you.
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When you say “a handful” — whose hand?
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“Cook it until it’s done.” What does done look like? What does it smell like, sound like?
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What can be left out, and what can never be left out?
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What do you buy, and what would you never buy because you make it?
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Does the brand matter? Would you notice if I swapped it?
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How long does it really take, start to table?
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What does it look like before the oven, halfway through, and when it’s ready?
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Is there a version for a crowd and a version for two?
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If I made this and brought it to you, what’s the first thing you’d notice was wrong?
Round IV: The table
Who ate it, and when. These answers become the two lines above each recipe in the book — the ones that say whose dish it was and what it was for.
When it’s vague, ask Who else was there?
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Who sat where?
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Was anything said before eating?
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Which dish only appeared once a year, and what was the occasion?
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Who was the guest everyone cooked harder for?
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What was the meal after a funeral? After a wedding?
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What did you cook the first time you cooked for someone you loved?
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Was there a dish that caused an argument?
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What did people bring when they came to your door?
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What was the last meal you cooked in the old house?
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What did you cook the day I was born?
Round V: What you want kept
The last round is the reason for the other four. Ask it once they’re tired and honest. The answer to the sixth question is your dedication page.
When it’s vague, ask Why that one?
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Which recipe are you afraid will be lost?
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Whose recipe is it, really? Who did you get it from, and who did they get it from?
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Is there a dish you stopped making? Why?
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What did you never write down because you thought you’d always remember?
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What do you want your grandchildren to be able to make without you?
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What would you want written on the first page of this book?
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Which dish should be on the table when you’re not there to make it?
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Is there a card, a notebook, a stained page? Where is it right now?
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What’s the one thing you’d correct in how the family makes it today?
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What haven’t I asked?
Afterwards
The answers are already a book
Round three is a recipe. Round five is a dedication page. The rest are the headnotes — the two lines above each recipe that say whose it was and when it was made.
Mise lays all of it out as a case-bound hardcover, with every recipe exactly as it was told. Nothing is invented. You review every line.
For my grandmother, who wrote nothing down and gave the same recipe three different ways depending on who was asking. For my aunts, who spent thirty years arguing about which of the three was the correct one. And for my mother, who listened to all of it and quietly cooked a fourth.
Questions
What are the best questions to ask grandma about her recipes?
Start with the kitchen she grew up in — what it smelled like on a Sunday morning, who did the cooking, which pot was never put away. Nobody refuses those, and they get her talking. Then pick the one dish everyone asks her for and ask what “a handful” means, whose hand, and what “done” looks like. That second set is round three of this kit, and it is where a dish becomes a recipe.
How long does a family recipe interview take?
One round takes about twenty minutes. All five fit in an afternoon with a break, but two or three sittings usually work better — the second one tends to start with something they remembered overnight.
What if they cook from memory and can’t give amounts?
That is what round three is for. Ask whose hand a handful is, what done looks and smells like, and what they would notice first if you made it wrong. Then cook it beside them once and measure as you go — the worksheet on the last page of the PDF has a column for what they said and a column for what it measured.
Should I record the conversation?
Yes. Audio at the least, and video of their hands for the technique questions. Ask first — almost everyone says yes — and it means you can look at them instead of at a notebook.
Do I need Mise to use this kit?
No. The page and the PDF are free, with no sign-up. Mise is where the answers can go afterwards — laid out as a printed hardcover, with each recipe exactly as it was told.
Before grandma’s recipes are gone forever
Mise is opening soon. Put your name down, and do the interview this weekend. The book can wait. The answers can’t.