I grew up in a "haim" where mom always said, "Az di kishke is zat, freyt zikh der tokhes." (If the guts are full, the buttocks are happy.)

Of course, those Yiddish words were said long before we had microwaves, TV dinners, Calphaion cookware, chicken McNuggets (l983), Emeril's spices, Butterball turkeys with pop-up thermometers, and Keebler's residence- themed crackers with names like Town House, Big House, Flophouse, and Outhouse. :-) (Thanks to The Onion newspaper.)

I am the keeper of Mom's double hinged, hardwood recipe box, designed to hold both 4X6 and 3X5 recipe cards. The box contains recipes for lokshen kugel, chicken soup with knaidlach, brisket, and charoses. Why only "fir" recipes? Because Mom is one of those balabustas--of the bygone day--who cooks by feel, by gut instinct. Her recipes do not call for the skills of surgeon and sculptor. She rarely needed a recipe. She is a "shiterein" cook.

Gila Snow Rowe discussed the background of the word: "So far the consensus among some of my Jewish sources and all of my German sources is that 'shiter' is a corruption of 'tzitter.' I also got a response from someone who grew up in the Midwest, and she said that 'shiterein' was NOT a person, it was an act: To shiterein was to pour in an unspecified amount. Unspecified amounts were the rule of kitchen."

And David Barlas said that his mother, a superb cook and baker, would say, "shit arayn a bisele mel vifil 's farnemt," meaning pour in a little flour, as much as it can take." As for the apples, sliced, his mother would have said, depending on the recipe, "mish arayn" meaning to mix in or "leyg arayn" or "leyg oys" meaning arrange the slices.

Sam Levenson--of blessed memory--also had a mama who did instinct baking. He wrote ("In One Era & Out the Other"):

"How much flour do you use, Ma?"

"What do you mean, how much do I use?"

"I mean a cup, a half cup...?"

"What do you need cups for? You use your head."

"Okay. So how many eggs?"

"Not too many."

"How much sugar?"

"Not too much."

"How much salt?"

"Not too salty."

"How much water?"

"A mouthful."

"What? Okay. So how long do I leave it in the oven?"

"It shouldn't burn."

When someone asks MY mother for the recipe, she says, "Whoever heard of recipes. Take some flour, eggs, oil, and a little "suker" (sugar)." When my brother, Paul, asked her, "how much?" she would reply:
"A glassele"--usually a yahrzeit glass. The only way we finally managed to duplicate some of her goodies was to stand by and "mestn" (to measure) as she worked.

Cooking without recipes is an art form. Anne Marie Whelan said that "The greatest joy in the kitchen comes when you can let go of the books and move freely and follow your own instinct and the ingredients that you have gathered yourself...The old grandmothers of our memories threw in a little of this and a little of that to make it good. And they tasted and smelled, til they knew it was right."

Mrs. Portnoy's Soul Food Recipe for Vegetable Soup ("Mrs. Portnoy's Retort - A Mother Strikes Back") had just 5 steps:

1. Add water to vegetables.

2. Without water the soup gets dry.

3. Avoid gassy vegetables.

4. Avoid sexy vegetables.

5. There's no pleasure in being sexy and gassy at the same time.

And, finally, Mel Korn, wrote in an e-mail:
"My family definitely grew up eating food cooked by the 'shiterein' method. Of course, my siblings, cousins and myself shortened the term."