Used Cookbooks Give My Life New Meaning

 

I bought my first cookbook in 1974, when I left home for the first time. It was entitled, Chatelaine's Adventures in Cooking, and it was our generation's Cooking for Dummies. 

Adventures in Cooking was big in its day especially for girls like me who were never taught to cook at home. By the time I became interested in preparing meals, my mother had long since lost her desire to make homemade food. Instead, she filled the freezer with TV dinners that she left for me when she went to work. 

I loved cooking shows back in the 70s, and I was hooked on Graham Kerr, The Galloping Gourmet, who had a cooking show on CTV. Kerr was a New Zealander, half in the bag, my mother used to say, who made everything with clarified butter and wine. 

What did my mother know, I sniffed. Vera, the queen of Swanson mystery meat and thin gravy.

I wanted chicken cordon bleu, not instant mashed potatoes.

I was determined to learn the kitchen skills, and not be a slave to the freezer. 

The key to my salvation, I believed, lay in cookbooks, and I bought all of them. The Chatelaine edition contained recipes for everything from aspic -- a jellied concoction that entombed fruit and vegetables in a shimmering dome -- to more exotic fare such as Swedish meatballs or lasagne. At the back of the book was a section for new brides who were given cute tips on how to throw a shower, a poker parter for the new hubby, and a swinging cocktail party.

"You'll need plenty of ashtrays scattered liberally about the room so that people can dispose of toothpicks or cigarettes as they talk," the book advised. It even suggested that the hostess put a bunch of throw pillows in a corner for guests in case guests got tired of standing (or maybe, unsaid, because they were too drunk to stand up).

I still have this cookbook. It survived the great fire of 1983, when it was plucked from the ruins of my apartment by a salvation crew who took it to a warehouse for drying cleaning. It still smells of smoke when I open up its pages looking for my reliable cornbread recipe. 

My cookbooks have survived three marriages, three kids, and has been moved from Ottawa to Regina, back to Ottawa, then Toronto, and they are spending their old age in my 33-year-old oak bookcases which have also followed me from the Prairies.

My cookbooks will survive me, I'm sure, though they will probably end up as rockbottom remainders in some old book store, or perhaps, at the Sally Anne. I hope someone picks them up and tries Bonnie Stern's recipe for apple cake, which was clipped from a newspaper, I think, the Regina Leader-Post. It's easy and delicious. I went to make it yesterday, to use up a basket of shrunken apple, but alas, I have misplaced my springform pan.

Over the years, I have accumulated quite a collection, from the Prime Minister's Cookbook which has a recipe for Margaret Trudeau's wedding cake, to the complete Silver Palate series, which fed my family and waistline during my happy marriage/family years in the 80s and 90s. I also have an array of more exotic and beautiful "international" cookbooks that I have rarely opened. 

And even though I consider myself a good pedestrian cook, I have resisted the urge to proof bread, or purchase a pasta maker. I'm a straight arrow who has never once filleted a fish, or risked a flattened shuffle. But I do love to look at them!

My collection tells the story of my relationship with food. Like most women, I am guilty of being a yo-yo dieter, so my collection also includes the Scarsdale Diet, which was the original keto diet, and books with nutritional advice I don't even understand. I keep them just in case.

Mostly, I cook from the old reliables, created in the test kitchens of Canadian Living, the book publishing arm of a magazine that has terrible articles. I'm akin to a reader of Playboy; I only buy Canadian Living for the recipes. 

Lately, I found myself straying and finding recipes on the Internet. And I've bought a few books on Kindle, though I don't love them the way I love books for cooks. I don't feel the same connection with a screen that keeps asking me to refresh. Getting a cookbook on Kindle is like leasing a car. There are still all the bells and whistles, but you never really own it. 

I miss cracking the binding for the first time, that new book smell, the glossy photos of food that has been styled with shellac and spray. I miss seeing the occasional smear of sticky sugars and sauces that have punctuated some of the pages where my most favourite recipes live. My old cookbooks give me comfort, and reassurance; they contain recipes I know I can make, and they are easy to adjust to my changing tastebuds and waistline. 

Unfortunately, in recent years, my old pals have begun to fail me. They have become dog-eared, with pages finally stuck together, with indexes that are impossible to decipher. Some I've had to throw out altogether. It makes me anxious when I think I will no longer be able to replicate a recipe for lamb and kidney beans, or the perfect base for an easy Pho. 

I don't have a natural cooking muscle. I can't freelance with a dash here, and a dollop there.

It doesn't come naturally to me. I need the exact ingredients, order and methods in front of me to make even the simplest recipes.

Last year, Amazon came to my rescue. I was able to locate used copies of out-of-print cookbooks that I've long loved. I ordered three last year, and I've ordered another three this year. Unbelievably, barely used cookbooks are incredibly cheap to buy. For example, today I'm waiting for the Silver Palate New Basics which only cost me $13 -- no shipping charge, thanks to Amazon Prime. The new-to-me Bonnie Stern cookbook which I relied on for nearly a decade will also be replaced by a new-used version which cost me a whopping $8. 

I'm feeling excited waiting for the delivery today, anticipating the email which says they have been delivered to my doorstep. I can't wait to cobble together my old favourite recipes which I can no longer read because the pages of my old cookbooks are torn, or might have dropped out altogether. 

What will I make?

Maybe some Silver Palate Hell's Kitchen chili for dinner, with a side of Chatelaine corn bread, hold the aspic.