How to Make Creamed Spinach Over Zoom

Spinach

The Family Recipe I Couldn't Wait Any Longer to Learn

How we finally learned to make my mother's creamed spinach—on Zoom.

February 13, 2021
Photo by Abigail Rasminsky

Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Wash spinach.

It's the recipe that has eluded us all: mom's creamed spinach à la Julia. The spinach we devoured at Thanksgiving, on any night we came home from college, on Sunday nights with roasted chicken and potatoes, just the three or, even better, four of us. The one my friends talked about for years: ​“Your mother's spinach: I've never eaten anything like it.” Or, “Will your mother make the spinach if I come over for dinner?”

Drop in the washed spinach and cook for 3 minutes. Dump into a colander, then immediately run under cold water to stop it from cooking.

For years, my sister and I attempted to make it on our own. Each time, it tasted wrong. Often, simply... bad. We laughed at our own failures—we considered ourselves good cooks—but why did it matter? Mom was always coming for a visit soon enough, or we’d be headed home in a few months and we’d eat her perfect version again.

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Top Comment:
“I have been visiting every two weeks or so because my mom's memory is failing and my dad needs a break. I think that cooking is good for her brain, and she has pretty much given up the kitchen to my father. My mother is french so we don't have typical Family recipes.... I learned many of them long ago, but a few weeks ago, I learned to make Pot au Feu. Made it with my dad and then for my husband. And then turned the leftovers into a scrumptious soup! Last week, I learned to make Oxtails (the way my parents make them) and my goal for the next lesson is rabbit. Thanks to your beautiful story, I am going to spend every visit with them learning something from our family history and my childhood. Thank you for that.”
— Pascale P.
Comment

When the pandemic hit, an urgency overtook me: Mom is 80. She lives clear across the continent in another country, so we don’t know when we will see her again, or eat her cooking. This only brought up darker, more terrifying thoughts. What if we never learn to make the spinach—

From our various kitchens, we prop up our computers. My daughter, Noa, and I put on aprons. We all peer into our screens: my parents in Montreal, Dad manning the camera; my sister in Southern California; my aunt in Toronto; my second mom (as we call a family friend) in Nova Scotia. We are all talking over each other. All of us have gone more gray over the past 14 months, since we've been together around the table, some of us a little wider in the middle, all of us a little crazed, desperate for one another. “Then what, Mom?” “Then what? Judy?” “Did you take it out already?” “Should I be cutting the spinach?” “Should it be wet?”

Squeeze out all the excess water. Then place spinach on cutting board. Chop.

Photo by Toby Izenberg

Noa squeezes and squeezes. She sets it aside, then goes back for more. “Look, Mama!” The bottom of our sink fills with green water. My sister is behind, dumping in a second batch of spinach; my aunt is going at her own pace, and it's not clear she can hear over all the noise of the talking and boiling and chopping and draining. Mom #2 isn't even doing it, she’s just watching us, sitting at her computer in her office like we are a TV show. “This is the most entertaining thing I've watched in months,” she says, laughing. “The Rasminskys making spinach.”

Melt a lot of butter in the bottom of a pot. Like, way more than you think: 3 tablespoons per 10 ounces of spinach. Or even more, if you want.

“Does Le Creuset work, Mom?”
“That's not Le Creuset. What are you using?”
“It's just a regular—”
“Dad, we can't see what Mom's using, tilt the camera!”
“What?”
“They can't see, Michael!”
“You can use Le Creuset. I'm using something smaller because it's only us—”
“That's what I'm using! Le Creuset!”
“What?”
“It's fine, whatever it is, it's fine. A pot.”

It's a lot of butter. That's the thing. That's the key. It's Julia. Then add the spinach. Stir and cover the pot for a while.

“A while? Like, a minute? Ten minutes?”

Cover for a minute or two. Add 2 to 3 tablespoons of flour. This is for 10 ounces of spinach, so you do the math if you've cooked more spinach. Stir until it dissolves. Add a little salt and pepper and grated nutmeg. Stir.

Photo by Toby Izenberg

I watch my mother and count how long she grates for. Nine seconds. Her fragile hands. The crooked finger. My dad holding the camera steady.

Add half a Knorr cube. It has to be Knorr to get the right taste. Then slowly add a cup of water. Make sure the cube dissolves!

“I don't have K—I don't have Knorr!”
“Mom, I'm just using vegetable stock.”
“Vegetable? Why not chicken or beef?”
“I don't have—”
“It won't taste the same, but use what you have.”
“Oh shit, I put in way too much stock! Fuck, I think I ruined it. Mom?”
“How is it?”
“I don't know, did I ruin it? Shit.”
“It's… it's okay?”

Adjust the seasoning. You could add another 2 to 3 tablespoons of butter.

We stir and stir. We taste once, twice, and soon I'm eating it out of the pot, just like my aunt, who stands in her kitchen eating it straight: “Judy, it's delicious.” Noa tells me it tastes like Grandma's. I don't think so, but I don't know what's wrong. Maybe it needs salt? Maybe it was the Knorr cube? Maybe this is a dish only Mom should make, a dish we only know how to eat in my parents' kitchen.

Photo by Toby Izenberg

Maybe what I want is not the taste of spinach done right, but the taste of home, of another time. The taste of sitting down with Mom and Dad and my sister around the old table on Redfern, a bottle of wine—or, reach back further, Abby, milk in a tall glass—a perfectly roasted chicken, the skin so taut and crispy, the comfort of Mom's cooking, of safety, of a night together, of our bedrooms upstairs and the snowy city outside and school in the morning.

Maybe what I want is just to have them close, the shape and smell and sound of them, to have my dad ask if I want more chicken, to serve my Mom more spinach, to pour my sister some wine, to sit in the same seats we’ve sat in for decades, in the breakfast room, which was the place where we ate all the meals, not just breakfast—and be a family again.

What's a family recipe you recently learned over Zoom—or on the phone? Tell us in the comments below!

See what other Food52 readers are saying.

  • Pascale Poitras
    Pascale Poitras
  • Annada Rathi
    Annada Rathi
  • beejay45
    beejay45
  • Amy Clark
    Amy Clark
  • redkat
    redkat
Abigail Rasminsky has written for the New York Times, the Washington Post, O: The Oprah Magazine, The Cut, Epicurious and Dance Magazine, among other publications.

13 Comments

Pascale P. February 28, 2021
Thank you for this beautiful story. My heart breaks for all the families far away from each other, relying on Zoom. Luckily, my parents are 2 hours away, and they are part of our POD, and my daughters quarantine before they visit. I have been visiting every two weeks or so because my mom's memory is failing and my dad needs a break. I think that cooking is good for her brain, and she has pretty much given up the kitchen to my father. My mother is french so we don't have typical Family recipes.... I learned many of them long ago, but a few weeks ago, I learned to make Pot au Feu. Made it with my dad and then for my husband. And then turned the leftovers into a scrumptious soup! Last week, I learned to make Oxtails (the way my parents make them) and my goal for the next lesson is rabbit.
Thanks to your beautiful story, I am going to spend every visit with them learning something from our family history and my childhood. Thank you for that.
 
Annada R. February 17, 2021
So well written! Especially the part where everyone is talking over each other, absolutely bang on! Finally you just let the situation take over and enjoy going along.
 
beejay45 February 17, 2021
My family never had creamed spinach at home. Growing up in San Francisco, instead we all looked forward to visits the the House of Prime Rib which made not only sublime creamed spinach but had the most amazing house dressing on their salads. I have thought about learning to make creamed spinach now, and I'm definitely going to give this a try. I grew up loving spinach, but creamed spinach is such a treat! Thanks.
 
Amy C. February 17, 2021
This was beautifully written and I'm sure we can all identify with missing the comfort and warmth of family
 
redkat February 16, 2021
Did you use larger, more mature spinach or smaller baby spinach?
 
Author Comment
Abigail R. February 16, 2021
Both work! You need to cut it all up anyway, once it's been blanched.
 
Sharon March 3, 2021
If you ever see New Zealand spinach, buy it! Makes the best creamed spinach in the universe. I discovered it at a local San Francisco supermarket decades ago. Never saw it again so I started growing it. MUCH sturdier than what's usually available and SO much more flavorful. Doesn't wilt and disappear when cooked like the typical garden variety. Indescribable.
 
gr8chefmb February 13, 2021
I LOVED this story!!! As with other readers, it reminded me of various family memories over my lifetime & it makes me miss Mom, my grandparents & several aunts & uncles. I think the magic (& intangible) ingredient common to ALL family recipes is LOVE. 😍💗💓💓💗 Thank you for sharing.
 
Sandy February 13, 2021
Where is the recipe. Loved it. Now I want to make it. How could you keep us waiting?
 
Arati M. February 13, 2021
Hi Snady. The recipe module is in :)
 
Arati M. February 13, 2021
Sandy* (sorry)
 
Helene R. February 13, 2021
Love this.
 
Richard H. February 13, 2021
Touching story that brought back some family memories of my own. But how about sharing the recipe?