I am a keen cookbook collector. A hoarder, actually.
My collection is broadly divided into two categories—books that I buy for work and books that I buy for pleasure. The professional books are highly focused on technique, usually penned by French masters whom I deeply respect, and would probably drive a hobbyist cook crazy with precise measures such as 67g of glucose. The books for fun are those I end up buying because of the fresh perspective they bring to my everyday dinners. These books are friendly and approachable, the kind that might interest neighbours popping by to browse my shelf, that you want to keep by your bedside table to wind down the day.
My ‘books for fun’ collection has lately been growing with cookbooks that are penned by chefs who have built inspiring restaurants (Gjelina, Squirl and Chez Panisse), yet who write while keeping in mind the home cook. I like these books because I can thumb through them on a Friday evening, draw up a market shopping list for Saturday and make myself something a little more indulgent than my weekday meals.
Sometimes it’s the book that makes me go to the restaurants. I remember receiving a signed copy of the first ever Ottolenghi cookbook in 2008 that made me want to schlep across town to the restaurant as soon as I had a day off from studying at Le Cordon Bleu in London in 2012. In those four years I had made countless recipes from the book and walking into the Belgravia shop was like having all the the photos in the cookbook come to life with their generous and colourful display of food.
At other times, it’s the restaurant that makes me buy the book. After a truly memorable meal of quinces with meatballs at Honey and Co. in London, I ended up buying their restaurant cookbook. This was an exotic dish, one that I wouldn’t want to not spend three hours cooking had I not tried it before, in fear of ending up with something unexpected or underwhelming. In such instances, trying the dish at the restaurant first is reassuring and going back home-armed with the recipe exciting, because you have your taste memory to serve you well.
While the recipes are always a huge draw, these books are also about getting to know a little more about the chef’s vision, philosophy and journey. This adds a sense of perspective to the recipes and oneness with the author, which makes for an engaging and inspiring read.
Next on my wishlist, Ducksoup and Morito.
The writer is a London-based chef trained at Le Cordon Bleu Paris and Alain Ducasse Education. @purplefoodie
