I love cookbooks. Big ones, little ones, hard bound or soft cover, glossy or matte; I love cookbooks. I find myself coveting entire shelves at the bookstore, often with no real rhyme or reason. Sometimes, the latest bound photo array of party-themed cupcakes pulls me in as quickly as a sleek, gigantic Boulud tome. Lush photos get me every time, and so does the hope that I’ll actually find the inspiration for a week’s worth of kid-pleasing meals.
Despite my deep desire to take all of them home, I’ve learned to restrain myself. I have shelves of cookbooks I rarely use and have come to rely heavily on the internet for measured recipes. I have found that I will undoubtedly turn to my older sauce stained and dog-eared cookbooks over new, bright and shiny volumes. Regardless of how many sumptuous, well-designed cookbooks call to me from the “International Flavors” or “Pastry” section of the bookshop, the tried and true (and less beautiful) always get me through.
I have three cookbooks that I turn to again and again, none of which are sophisticated or carry measurements in grams like their more ambitious European counterparts. They are Mark Bittman’s “How to Cook Everything”, an unexpected and well-loved gift from a former landlord, “The Martha Stewart Cookbook”, which I find myself using less and less over the years, but in the early 90s it rocked my world, and a 1967 version of “Joy of Cooking” given to my mother as a wedding present. It is filled with notes and additional instructions from mom’s first few years in the kitchen, including the ever useful “Don’t Make Again”.
I treasure it not only for its connection to her and my childhood, but for its very comprehensive selection of classic recipes. Most interesting of all is the juxtaposition of outmoded recipes like Golden Glow Gelatin Salad, next to heavy duty French dishes like Ouefs en Gelee (eggs in aspic). Also surprising are the very ethnic recipes which I can only imagine must have been shockingly innovative at that time, Senegalese Soup and Seviche (sic) are just two to them.
I also love the Chez Panisse Café Cookbook and Thomas Keller’s The French Laundry. For months I have been admiring Phaidon’s The Silver Spoon, but I can’t decide if it would ever become as “used” as the price tag demands. Based on my personal experiences as a receiver, I’ve decided that cookbooks make the most excellent gifts, if you know your receiver's kitchen shelf well enough to avoid buying one that they already own. The obligation you feel to the cookbook you've received as a gift seems to be a much lesser the burden you feel toward the book you shelled out $50 bucks for in a moment of weakness.
Q: What cookbooks do you rely on most heavily?
Q: Is there a new cookbook you can't wait to buy?
Q: Which cookbook is just gathering dust?