When I got married, one of my cousins put together a recipe book, of family recipes from my paternal grandparents side of the family. The recipes had originally been written out by our grandfather's mother, and given to our grandmother Marion back in 1931.
It wasn't a wedding present; my grandparents had already been married for several years.
Truth be told, I've never made anything out of that recipe book. It's mostly baked goods and sweets: cakes and cookies and brownies and icings and rice puddings.
But I pulled it out because I was casting about for a Christmas gift for my father, and came across an
Etsy seller who prints your scanned recipes on tea towels.
I chose the New Year punch for him, as it seemed holiday-ish.
It's a perfectly ordinary sounding punch: red wine, white wine, strong tea, oranges & lemons, sugar, and dark rum. If one were in the habit of serving punch, and one weren't in the middle of a pandemic, it's probably a great recipe.
I am, however, oddly intrigued and disgusted by the War Cake.
Boil up some lard, raisins and coffee. Add flour, baking soda, and spices. Bake for an hour. There's no sugar, except what comes from the raisins. There aren't any eggs. There's very little fat. Maybe I'll make it for the next punch-fueled post-pandemic pot-luck party.
Boil up some lard, raisins and coffee. Add flour, baking soda, and spices. Bake for an hour. There's no sugar, except what comes from the raisins. There aren't any eggs. There's very little fat. Maybe I'll make it for the next punch-fueled post-pandemic pot-luck party. 
