Other people’s potato salad

My sister was the first one to give me the idea that all other potato salad was inferior to our mom’s. We both think so, and so do our families. But then I learned, as I grew up and got out in the world, that other people think their mom’s potato salad is the only true form. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, of course. Some people use Miracle Whip (perish the thought), and my son-in-law’s mom uses creamy french dressing. Some choose dill pickles over sweet pickles, and some add radishes, celery and other options.

I know that it’s true potato salad has gone out of vogue, and you won’t even find it at some summer picnics or church suppers these days, but since it still matters to me I’m going to post the ingredients that I like best (based on my mom’s traditional “recipe”), and invite all readers to post comments that list their favorites.

Plus, I’m adding a poll to measure Mayonnaise proponents vs. Miracle Whip enthusiasts. What do you pick?

Millie’s potato salad includes: sliced cold boiled potatoes and eggs, Best Foods Mayonnaise (no substitutes accepted), a little mustard, diced onions, diced sweet pickles, salt and pepper. Yum.

Potato Salad

In the summer of 1972 my mom died of cancer, taking with her the only true potato salad recipe that ever existed. It was never written down; it couldn’t be written down. She cooked by sight, taste, and feel. The ingredients and  proportions in her head always produced that just right flavor. I’d been her assistant a few times; that’s how I learned what went into it. Usually my version tastes pretty good, but sometimes it’s not quite there. You only get so many shots at producing potato salad perfection–a couple of summer picnics. It’s too complicated, and too fattening, and too seasonal to make just any old time. I miss mom for a lot of reasons, but the way I miss her potato salad, and chase the elusive goal of reproducing it, sort of embodies them all.

Lisa, a friend and co-worker, told me she’d heard that a recipe can’t be copyrighted because each cook that uses it ends up with a slightly different version. Does this mean my quest is over? Will there never be potato salad exactly like my mother’s?

I think I’ve decided that my attempts to capture the same flavors and textures that were in her potato salad, and all of her dishes, amount to a memorial. So I won’t stop trying. Love you, Mom.