Confessions of a Cookbook Collector

Asking me to choose a "favorite cookbook" is mean-spirited, sort of like asking me to choose a favorite child. There is no way for me to make the choice, and this inability to choose makes me a bona fide cookbook collector. Cookbook collectors like me often feel misunderstood. Here are a few things I think you should know about the heart of every collector. 

I first had the idea to write about the inner life of a cookbook collector last fall when cooler mornings had arrived, and I had just purchased pansies and mums for our front porch. With crisper days and the change in season, I reached for a gem of a cookbook. It is only about 8 inches square and dedicated entirely to squash and pumpkins. Funny how much this cookbook evokes my tender emotions, I thought to myself. I remembered buying it at a gift shop years ago and excitedly telling my mom, "You will not believe this, but there is a sweet little cookbook with only squash and pumpkin recipes in it!" She did not quite share my level of enthusiasm and teased, "I can believe it exists, but it is harder to believe how excited you are about squash!"

Now mid-winter, I still find myself making my reliable butternut squash bisque. As I pull A Harvest of Pumpkin and Squash from the shelf, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. This recipe, a favorite for fifteen years, is especially dear to me because it's my oldest daughter's all-time favorite. She’s away from home, off to her first year of college. As the evening sky mellows into blue-grey, I begin chopping onions, and I can only think of her. 

The cookbook looks a bit like a favorite t-shirt—endearing to me but worn and tired to others. The cover is splattered and oil-stained, and something sticky is on the top corner. Who knows what that is?! A thin skin of diced onion is dried and permanently stuck to the page with the butternut squash soup recipe. I giggle each time I see this petrified and preserved ode to my love of this soup! The cookbook becomes more like the velveteen rabbit each year, tattered with all the signs of being well-loved—a totem of nostalgia tied to my daughter. 

Food is so linked to memory that when asked about important childhood memories, many people tell stories of dishes imprinted with love and comfort before talking about other meaningful aspects of their childhood. For us—the cookbook collectors—the cookbooks themselves become as tightly tied to memory and love as the dishes and meals we create from them. When I buy a new cookbook, my enthusiasm is obvious as I curl up and read it cover to cover. This may perplex my family, but never a fellow cookbook collector.

Cookbooks are aspirations wrapped up in glossy pages. 

They represent all that is warming, comforting, and possible. They hold dreams of clinking glasses with friends tightly gathered around a festive table with laughter and good conversation. They hold the promise of belonging through kinship, offered in the timeless way humans have always built community over a shared meal. Cookbooks represent the connection their recipes make possible. 

Technically speaking, I don't need another cookbook. I could easily survive on the ones I have, many of which I only use for a few favorite recipes. One could argue that I should make better use of the ones I already have before making another purchase. But collectors aren't in it for rationality; they need no reasonable justifications for the items they collect. They are in it for the visceral sensations and powerful meaning they derive from the entire process. The hunt, the find, and the acquisition—and for cookbook collectors, the possibility of magical moments waiting to be cooked into reality.

I love having my own resource library, my own stacks of tangible inspiration. I know everything I could ever want is online, but that is not personal. I like to make notes on my cookbook recipes. I adjust the measurements and use a fluorescent highlighter on the instructions I inevitably screw up each time—maybe next time I will get it right. In a digital world, I am grateful for the in-real-life act of sitting on the floor in front of an enormous bookshelf where most of my collection is stored. There, I flip through pages, surrounded by piles of familiar cookbooks, happily in my own bubble of time, seeking and finding inspiration—dreaming into reality the experience I want for my family or guests.

A Rare Glimpse Inside the Mind of Cookbook Collector: Rules and Rationale

• If at least one recipe becomes a family favorite, that validates any addition to the cookbook collection.

• Likewise, if a book hasn't been used for years, the magic just isn't there. It gets dropped off at the second-hand book shop, where two more cookbooks will be purchased in its place. It isn't planned this way; this is just what happens.

• Cookbooks with healthy and quick dinner recipes are easy to justify. You can never have too many. With about 300 homemade meals made a year, a lot of inspiration is needed. 

• Coffee-table cookbooks are indulgent peacock feathers in the collection and every collection needs a few jewels in the crown. Go for it. 

• The reason we hold on to cookbooks from our parents or other family members: Even though Jello salads from the 1960s are weird and don't taste like adult food, keeping vintage cookbooks preserves the legacy of an era, family culture, and the foods of childhood.

Cookbooks hold promise for experiences to come: sun-filled mornings over steaming cups of coffee and syrup pooling around stacks of pumpkin-pecan pancakes, my kids happily chirping to each other with their bed heads and eager tummies. Sit-down dinners with china and table linens set out in advance—the perfect flower arrangement and candles inviting rich conversation and intimacy. A cookbook is a portal to more than just a meal. It's an invitation to create a moment where time suspends. After the flurry of activity, the kitchen now holds the quiet power of anticipation. 

The cook, a bit heavily, finds their seat at last. There is a pause as everyone looks to the cook with appreciation, the air filled with the aroma of pleasure and expectation before the first bites are taken. Cookbook collectors dream of this sacred pause before a meal is savored; they envision it a hundred times over as they flip through the pages. They crave the settled-in feeling that will eventually come with food that has been thoughtfully prepared and then slowly enjoyed with lots of audible mmm-mmm's around the table—the dream of connection and comfort coming alive.

Suppose I said I was a “Dream Collector” instead of a Cookbook Collector. I wonder if my family would still subtly roll their eyes each time I came home with a new book to add to my collection.

Butternut Squash-Pear Bisque

2 tablespoons butter

1 medium onion

1 large butternut squash or 2 small ones, peeled, seeded, and cut into 1-inch chunks

1 pear, peeled, cored and cut into chunks

1 parsnip or carrot, peeled and cut into chunks

1 quart of low-sodium broth (chicken or veggie)

1 bay leaf

1 tablespoon of honey

1/2 teaspoon dried thyme

salt and pepper to taste

1/2 cup heavy cream (I use half and half, or you could sub in a non-dairy milk)

Optional Toppings: 
1/2 cup shredded extra sharp cheddar cheese, homemade croutons, or sautéed sausage

In a large pot, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the onions and sauté until translucent, 8 minutes. Add the squash, pear, parsnip, and squash and sauté for a few minutes longer. Raise the heat to high and add the broth, bay leaf, honey, and thyme. Season lightly with salt. Bring to a boil, reduce the heat to low, and simmer until the squash is very soft, about 15 minutes. 

Remove the bay leaf (important—you DON'T want to eat a ground-up bay leaf) and let the soup cool a bit. Working in batches, puree in a blender or food processor. A Vitamin comes in handy here—or you can use an immersion blender to puree the soup in the pot. 

Pour soup back to the pot, add heavy cream, and adjust seasoning to taste with salt and pepper. Stir to blend until the soup is reheated. Add toppings if desired. Be sure to listen for mmm-mmm noises when you dig in!

A Harvest of Pumpkins and Squash, Seasonal Recipes 
By Lou Seibert Pappas

Enjoy the slow- Heather