By Rachel Hergett EBS COLUMNIST
In the ever-wise animated movie “Kung Fu Panda,” the eponymous panda, Po (voiced by Jack Black), makes noodle soup for his kung fu fellows, the Furious Five. They loudly slurp the soup, proclaiming its deliciousness. Po, however, laments that the soup would be better if he actually knew his father’s secret ingredient.
Major spoiler alert here, so fair warning. By the end of the film we learn, through both the noodle soup and the supposedly magical Dragon Scroll, that “there is no secret ingredient.”
“It’s just plain old noodle soup? You don’t add some kind of special sauce or something?” Po asks incredulously when he learns the truth.
“I don’t have to,” his father replies. “To make something special, you just have to believe it’s special.”
Secrets ingredients have been on my mind lately. Last month, I shared a recipe with all of you, a recipe for an odd big dumpling that has been in my family for generations. While the piece was a touching history for some of the family, others were a bit dismayed that I would share a “secret” family recipe.
But why do we have secret recipes? Is there a competition? Are we all trying to take home a blue ribbon at the state fair for our prize-winning pies or are we simply trying to eat and serve the best possible food to our loved ones?
My “secret” pumpkin pie recipe that I have made for decades is at its core the creation of a woman named Cindy Shank, who graciously shared to All Recipes. I don’t know where she got her so-called secrets.
In modern parlance, one may call the withholding of recipes a form of gatekeeping. It is limiting access for people, controlling the flow of information or opportunities out of some sense of superiority. Should you be forced to jump through hoops, asked a series of questions to gain new knowledge, to cross the bridge? What IS the airspeed velocity of the unladen swallow?
Like Cindy of pumpkin pie fame, I am of the mind that we should share our best food secrets. Recipes are our stories and they languish if no one tells them. Maybe I would know more of the history of the big dumpling if the big hunk of dough weren’t somehow precious.
Maybe I have my mom to thank for this desire to open source our food secrets. The woman is a pro at combining ideas and creating recipes. Those she has perfected, like a wine-heavy spaghetti sauce hack, pina coladas and mushroom baked brie are unmatched and I love that she is always willing to share—as long as you don’t steal them and call them your own.
As we go into 2025, I’ve gotten permission to share another of her “secret” recipes. This one, stemming from my stepfather’s southern traditions, is believed to bring luck in the new year. Supposedly, you need to eat 365 black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day, and each will bring a day of good fortune. There are many ways to consume these legumes, which are much more like beans than actual peas. In our family, they are stewed with salty pork in a wine-infused broth. My mom has been tweaking her recipe for years, based on taste and available pork products.
Here it is, happily shared from our family to yours, in love and luck for the new year.
Naomi’s New Year’s Black-Eyed Peas
Ingredients:
1 pound dried black-eyed peas
1 can Rotel (tomatoes with chilis)
1 can diced chilis
Salt Pork and/or ham hock (seared)
Low sodium chicken broth
White wine
Bacon
Directions:
Soak the black-eyed peas in water to soften according to package directions. Rinse and drain. Replace the water in the package directions with chicken broth and wine. Add rotel, chilis and the salt-pork or ham hock and cook according to your black-eyed pea package. Top with bacon crumbles.
Rachel Hergett is a foodie and cook from Montana. She is arts editor emeritus at the Bozeman Daily Chronicle and has written for publications such as Food Network Magazine and Montana Quarterly. Rachel is also the host of the Magic Monday Show on KGLT-FM and teaches at Montana State University.
