A recipe is the most domestic paper a character can find, which is exactly what makes it a good clue. Nobody searches the kitchen drawer, and nobody expects the ingredient that is not food.
The name of the dish and where it comes from — a grandmother, a contributor, a canteen, a galley — then servings and time, the ingredients with their quantities, the method in numbered steps and a note at the foot. A small picture is optional; left empty, it prints nothing. Leave an empty line between two steps and the page numbers them for you, and the method sizes itself down to whatever room the rest of the page leaves it.
Five skins: a grandmother’s handwritten card, a page from a 1920s manufacturer’s cookbook with its advertisement at the foot, an Eastern Bloc canteen norm card with its table of raw materials, a leaf from a tavern’s kitchen book, and a starship synthesiser’s formula. A5 at 300 DPI. What the tavern charged for the dish is on its Menu; a letter found tucked behind the card is a Message.