I don’t know what it is about a cookbook that makes me want to curl up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and flip through the pages, dreaming about the next recipes I’ll try. And it’s not just the pictures and the references to roasted meats, fresh herbs or chocolate anything. It’s the whole experience – from planning the meal / menu, to making the grocery list, to shopping for the ingredients for my next masterpiece, to actually cooking it and it turning out right, and finally to having people enjoy my creation (and even ask for seconds!!). It’s a very rewarding experience.
That being said, I must have at least 30 cookbooks. Some I absolutely adore and refer to them regularly like the Barefoot Contessa ones. Some I always go back to for specific age-old recipes that have been successful over the years, like the Betty Crocker red binder (classic!). I won’t even get started on my collection of printed recipes and hand-written ones on bits of paper and notecards.
I love them all equally and they each have a special place on my bookshelf. I’ll enjoy pulling one out and leafing through the pages for inspiration. I have cookbooks on my nightstand. Cookbooks in the den. Cookbooks in the kitchen. The pages containing my favourite recipes have splotches on them that have been wiped away (with cloth or finger), and I love that. I make notes on the pages for substitutions that I’ve made, cooking times, other changes that worked well. Books should show some wear and tear – it shows that they’ve been loved. And that can’t be wrong.
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