When I was a kid, I wanted to be a cookbook writer. No lie. I know I’ve told this story before, of how I learned to read with a stack of cookbooks, and have had a few (or more) beside my bed ever since. And how my heroes were Elizabeth Baird and Lucy Waverman and Rose Murray and Jean Paré – all of whom were Canadian home cooks bringing good food to the masses, pre-Food Network and interwebs.
Times have changed… recipes are rarely clipped out of the newspaper anymore, but more of us (so many!) are writing and sharing them. They’re emailed/pinned/liked rather than written on cards to pass along, which is perfectly okay, but I admit I’m a little nostalgic about it. What’s the future of cookbooks? When Elizabeth Baird wrote her first back in 1974, 6 cookbooks were published that year. SIX. These days there are so many, and they’re all beautiful. I can’t keep up. And here I am working on another, which is completely amazing and yet seems a little ridiculous to be writing about something and knowing it won’t work its way through to the masses for a year. Anyway.
I have plans here, as soon as this book is submitted and we go to Vegas for a couple days to celebrate next week (which was also a last-minute Christmas gift for Mike) – and I really can hardly wait to get started, or at least focused, on it. Doing renos here are tougher than on your own house (not that I’ve managed either), I swear. But my plan is this: to make this site more of a recipe resource, with a focus on searchability and a few surprises, sort of a cookbook-in-the-works for forever.
What do you think? It’s all about you, you know.
Meanwhile, I’m hammering out an old-school manuscript in 12 point Times font, double-spaced, due in a little over a week. As a result, most of what we’re eating around here are tests made to chip away at the list, or crackers and cheese for dinner. And then there was this soup – a Lynn Crawford formula so simple it barely needs description. What it needs are comfy slippers and stretchy jeans and a couch.