I keep this in a plastic bag, in a box, on a shelf. Flat, not standing. When I want to look something up, I hold my breath, afraid that the pages will finally crumble like one of the shortbread cookies who's recipe is noted on the yellowed pages. I wish my father would pipe up on this post. I'm not at all sure that it was only my Grandmother's notebook. It seems to be in her hand. But, through the years, I've been told stories about one recipe in particular. No one can make it right. It was a recipe that my great grandmother made. Seems that the measurements were hers alone. A cup, not being a standard measure as we think of a cup. Rather a cup from her kitchen. The cup that she used for measuring. A spoon , well... who knows. These are flavors lost in in time.
This recipe for Welsh Rabbit, I think of as a precursor to the days of fondue. It is delicious. As a child, I thought it had something to do with bunnies and well... you know. Bunnies? Go get some sourdough and lightly toast it. Then pour on the cheese sauce and serve with a salad and a glass of wine.