So many cookbooks... so little time.

I love all of these magnificently bound beauties; they all bring something different to my table and life. I have tried to restrain myself, I have had clear outs, I have sold some, I have tried the whole minimalist thing “only keep what brings sparks joy” and therein lies an insurmountable problem, they all give me joy, bloody enormous amounts of incredible and unbridled joy.

Of course I have a special fondness for tales of fermentation, pickling and preserving. I think they are my comfort friends with massive benefits, they are familiar and easy to be with, there are no awkward moments just reassurances.

The books on different cuisines and cultures are like treasure chests, the gift of uncovering a new cultural dish and its history; they are the thrillers for me, full of exhilaration and excitement. These books, they tug at my heartstrings and they make me want to jump on a plane and head to their place of origin.

Then there’s the one’s you learn from, the one’s that teach you a specific skill that stays with you forever. Combined they have evoked a vast range of emotions.
They have made me laugh, some have made me cry, and that’s not only because I’ve accidentally missed a step and completely ruined a dish, it comes from discovering the history behind dishes and the incredible backstories and experiences behind the authors. Every dish has a story to tell, and my hope is to communicate that.

Join me as I randomly select a recipe from one of these lovelies and recreate it, sharing its history, highlighting elements and tackling the tricky stuff together along the way.