On the pleasure of reading cookbooks

Finding my way through life, one recipe at a time.

Every once in a while, circumstances align to allow for one of my favorite indulgences: sitting in our sunny east room on a quiet morning, reading a cookbook. This always feels like an extravagant treat, perhaps because I do it less often than I really could. Mornings are usually for tasks and exercise and showers, so taking a few minutes before the house wakes up to drink coffee and read a cookbook feels like a special luxury.

Currently crushing on this 2018 Ashley Rodriguez book that I picked up at the library.

I suppose it could be any book, but the cookbook element of it feels particularly juicy. A new cookbook is irresistible to me, a fact that becomes evident when one notices the stacks of cookbooks and recipes that threaten to overwhelm our kitchen and adjoining rooms. (I recently took comfort from learning that Melissa Clark has a library of over a thousand cookbooks — but of course, she is a food writer for the New York Times, not merely an enthusiastic home cook.) I sometimes wonder if I should perhaps slow down my cookbook acquisition, but I just can’t resist the delight of a new cookbook — all the hope and possibility of creating a beautiful, delicious dish, exploring the flavors that someone else dreamed up. It can feel frivolous, investing time in learning about a new method of cooking or motivation for keeping things simple or a fresh take on a particular culture’s cuisine — but it also feels exciting. Imaginative. Aspirational. Expansive.

Case in point: radish toast with olive butter from Ashley Rodriguez (above). How have I never imagined this delicious treat before — and how soon can I make it?

But the funny thing is, more often than not, the recipes go untested in our home. Most of my cooking consists of tried-and-true recipes that I feel confident everyone will enjoy. Many household cooks are familiar with the practice of keeping a mental Venn diagram of foods that suit the taste preferences of every member of the family. This is a practice I have learned along the way, starting with my deep-dive into a homemade baby food cookbook when Lucy was six months old — an experiment that ended quickly after our infant became clear that she did not like pureed baby food. I also have some established practical boundaries — for example, I have a strict “no-deep-frying” rule that reduces my options and bypasses the fried-in-oil odor in our home. Some cookbooks, tempting though they may appear, become almost entirely unusable due to these restrictions. I don’t buy those.

I had to request this Argentinian cookbook through our inter-library loan system. Turns out it’s out-of-print and in high demand, running for $200 or more on used book sites!

The other day, I spent fifteen minutes reading an Argentinian cookbook, perusing the recipes and thinking of Lucy in Buenos Aires. I found a recipe similar to a zucchini tart she described having in a cafe, and I discovered a couple of interesting vegetarian options (a corn empanada, a towering Swiss chard pie) that I thought she might like. I took a few photos and sent along these recipes, wondering if she might come across these “traditional Argentinian” offerings in her daily explorations. I thought about buying the book so that Lucy and I could try out these recipes at home when she returns, and I missed her fiercely.

Kirk misses Lucy, too.

As the geometry of our family shape changes, I’ve become more flexible with our menu choices. When Lucy is at home, we lean into vegetarian options that suit the whole family. These days, we’re big on Mexican food (Rosie’s favorite) and adding meat into our meals more freely. In mid-June, Rosie joined a two-week summer program at Wheaton College, leaving us as empty-nesters for a couple of weeks. I found, after she left, that I could not face cooking for two — and Jon and I dined at restaurants for a full seven days.

Le Bouchon’s radishes with salted ramp butter were one of the many consolations of our week of dining out.

It turns out that, even when I’m not cooking, I still read cookbooks. In fact, the piles of cookbooks started taking over the stove and the kitchen table, as if I believed that we could receive nourishment just by absorbing the words. But after a week, a New York Times Cooking recipe for ceviche piqued my interest enough to get me moving. Jon and I worked together in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and mixing up a batch of sangria.

Kirk is interested to know more about this magical ceviche.

I’ve been curious to see how cooking will change for us with both of our children out of the house. Perhaps, in some ways, it will be trickier to cook for just two, but in other ways, I’m excited about the flexibility of Jon’s expansive and forgiving palate. My Venn diagram is about to get much simpler!

The only thing that Jon truly doesn’t enjoy eating is yogurt, so I’ll just have to take care of these farmer’s market berries with whole milk yogurt.

I’m sure that I’ll start unearthing “cooking for two” books in a few months as we start to get used to a different rhythm of meals. Perhaps we’ll host more dinner parties, and perhaps Jon and I will sometimes have popcorn and red wine for dinner while we watch a movie. I’m anticipating the way this next phase of life will change so many of our household rhythms and habits, and I’m also noting the flexibility we’ll need as we absorb children back into the home and send them out again. If I can just keep reading cookbooks, I’m sure I’ll get it right in time.

Tidbits

I think the only sensible thing at this point is to share a few recipes that have captured my imagination over the past few weeks.

• Ceviche. I almost always futz with a recipe to suit it to my own tastes and whims. In this case, it meant substituting cooked shrimp for the raw fish (I will someday use raw fish for ceviche, but just not yet), omitting the red onion (yuck), incorporating a few smashed cloves of garlic confit I had in the fridge, and adding some chopped lemon-stuffed green olives for a gazpacho vibe. It’s a very flexible and forgiving recipe!

• Sangria. This is my favorite sangria recipe, originating from Cook’s Illustrated. Every time we go out to eat in the summer, I’m tempted by restaurant sangria, and almost every time I am disappointed in it. Jon kindly tries to remind me of this fact — sometimes I listen, sometimes I don’t. But I always love our homemade sangria. It’s the best.

• Braised chickpeas with zucchini and pesto. Honestly, the title of this recipe didn’t grab me right away, but Deb Perelman’s description in her newsletter got me salivating — and it was every bit as delicious as it sounds.

  Chickpeas are braised in broth and olive oil with zucchini, onion, and garlic until they’re plump and almost falling apart, then we stir in pesto, burrata, and parmesan and scoop the whole blissful lot onto grilled bread and repeat again every week for the rest of summer.

• Pecan shortbread. Jon left this morning for a camping trip in Michigan’s Porcupine Mountains, and I whipped up a batch of shortbread for him to take along as a sweet treat. Shortbread is such a great traveling cookie — the low-moisture content means that it stays fresh for much longer than, say, a chocolate chip cookie. (Great for shipping, too!) I used my favorite brown-sugar shortbread template and substituted toasted, chopped pecans for the mix-ins, then sprinkled the whole thing with flaky maldon sea salt. I packed up a stash for Jon, brought a quantity to church for coffee hour, and enjoyed a few as a supplement my breakfast this morning — they’re soooo good with coffee.

• Salad dressing. I’ve been wondering lately how to improve my salad game, so this article by Samin Nosrat (of Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat fame) feels like it arrived at the right time. I have a pretty solid red-wine vinaigrette in my repertoire, but I’m curious to try these three dressings and see if I can learn to eat more salads with joy.