Why I Saved Those Cookbooks

Chapter One: How I Gave Old Friends New Jobs and Started a Substack, Too

“This is not just a collection of recipes.”

The Good Housekeeping Cook Book, 1944

The row of cookbooks on my family room credenza taunts me.

You were going to use us, remember? A recipe a week. Retired and finally time for proper cooking, you said. The kitchen was going to look like a Nancy Meyers film set with witty people gathered over your roasted rosemary chicken. You promised.

And yet, a fine scrim of dust sits on those books and every time I pass by, I think of what I haven’t accomplished and feel bad.

Like I Needed Another Thing

It’s not like I’ve lolled about in retirement. I’ve enjoyed a parade of classes from opera history to fly fishing, (Oh, please do, ask me about my roll cast!) to strength training and kick boxing classes for folks of, ahem, a certain age. My husband and I are fortunate to travel. And I completed a six-month naturalist course with our Audubon chapter that equipped me to lead elementary school students from underserved communities on trails winding through local wetlands. Their overheard remarks make my heart smile, especially this: “That bird looks like a football.”

Not too shabby, right? Except for the cookbook thing, which bugs me like a basket of unfolded laundry. I know everything is on the web, but I suspect some of it is not well tested and besides, the books feel like old friends. One belonged to my mother. Another was a wedding gift. Then my husband asked if I had any New Year’s resolutions, and coincidentally I had recently been dusting those treasures. The answer seemed obvious.

“I’m going to work my way through those damn cookbooks.”

“That sounds fun. You could write about it,” he said.

“Humph. I think I will.”

Skip the Scroll

A little dramatic, you’re thinking. Everything is searchable on the web, some of those creaky volumes date to the culinary hell of the 1970s (mmm … Bundt cake) and their battered spines are hardly a pretty display.

But cook I shall and write I will, hopefully not inflicting you all with too much of what my older son calls “boomer energy.” Because here’s the thing. Those cookbooks have stories. I remember who gave them to me, or where I got them, why I saved them, and how it was we all went bats for sundried tomatoes. (Okay, that one is still a mystery.)

Many of us have such collections, of course, be they funky concert T-shirts, political buttons or Christmas ornaments, but it’s not just about the physical stuff, which boomers have way too much of. Because you could toss the stuff. But the stories? Not so much. They’re conversation starters. Sometimes they’re insightful, but mostly they’re fun, and who couldn’t use a dab of that right now?

Every Thursday

So, here’s the deal. Each week I’ll crack open a book, select a recipe that speaks to the moment, stir it up, and on Thursday I’ll tell you how it goes. I won’t copy and paste the recipes – that would be unfair to the skilled writers, recipe developers, and editors who create them – but I’ll link if an online version is available.

If I fiddle with a recipe, I’ll let you know but please don’t mistake my freelancing for expertise. I appreciate professional recipe testing. It’s like fact checking for the culinary crowd and it matters, as it does in every arena. Yes, that is the sound of me hopping on my soap box here at Why I Saved Those Cookbooks. It won’t be the last. If you round up your cookbooks and rediscover an old friend or a story or two, please share!

Meanwhile, put the kettle on. I promise there will be Bundt cake.

But first, chicken and dumplings await.

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