This probably won't come as a surprise to anyone, I enjoy books. I really, truly enjoy books. I love the weight of them in my hands, the feel of the paper as the fibers catch against my finger printers, the smell of ink between the pages, the sound of a binding opening up to give away it's secrets. I love it all. What you might not know is that I also love cookbooks. I actually collect those. I have been known to pick up an odd one or two during my travels. Even as a high school student I was unexplainably drawn to them. During a family vacation to the Carolinas we took a day trip out to Fort Sumter. In the gift shop one of the area historical societies had put together a collection of Civil War era recipes. I had to have it. Never mind that I would never actually cook with coal ash, or fat back, but I still had to have it. I still have it to this day. And I have prepared a few of the recipes out there over the years, with a tweak here and there- as all cooks do.
Over the years my collection has grown to a modest size. There are a few celebrity chef books in there along with turn of last century volumes written in German. You could say it's varied. I have also begun collecting my own recipes, recipes that I have been adapting and cultivating over the years, and hope to one day put to my own cookbook. Until that time they are securely placed in a big black binder.
I love experimenting on, I mean trying out new dishes with my family. Often I'll head over to the local library and peruse the stacks for something that catches my eye. I have found some of the most incredible meals that way. I have also found a few stunners as well. I love simple, basic flavors that are layered or assembled in ways that make you take notice. Soul food, cooking from the heart, that sort of thing, resonates with me. So when I saw a cookbook with a cover a two tatted up guys sitting in a diner, going on about their love of family and good food, my heart skipped a beat. Another book! No. No, it was not. Their Po Boy was lobster with some sort of roe and a fricken quail egg. A raw quail egg mind you, dropped on top on that expensive car crash of a sandwich. The travesties just went on from there. If I remember correctly they were even dropping some gold leaf on something or the other... How is the home cook suppose to replicate any of that? And secondly, why would they want to? I was honestly mad when I set that book back on the shelf. I felt like I had been deceived and in a way cheated. Cheated because that book had so much more potential and for whatever reasons it was all just thrown away, and I had to bare witness to it.
I had to do a Nigella, Paula and Jamie detox just to get over the shock! But on a more serious note, looking back, my books are almost a part of the family. For every holiday and special occasion, the books get pulled out and poured over. When I met and married my husband he had a few of his grandmother's old cookbooks, hers have joined mine. My daughters know how to use a recipe and enjoy flipping though them with me and bookmarking their favorite pages too. They have become a part of our family's history without even trying. That is the power of books.
