I am not a chef. I’ve never been to culinary school. I think I have an untrained nose, and I’d wager some would argue I have an immature palate (I’d disagree). Yet, I love food.
I love making food, reading about food. I steal menus when I can, to read and re-read the culinary treasures I tasted, and to study and fantasize (and maybe try to recreate) those that I didn’t. I have more cookbooks than I’ve actually used. Reading the recipes, how the flavor combinations would materialize, I’m lost for hours. My favorite cookbooks are those with simple, basic ingredients in their recipes, bringing new life to a chicken breast, making simple herbs exciting (chicken baked in white wine, butter, and lots of fresh thyme? Some say “boring”, I say “subtle, simple, comforting and good.”).
I have cookbooks with exotic creations inspired by Thailand, France, hippie communes, Michelin-starred chefs and celebrity vegans. I love them all.
Continue reading →
Like this:
Like Loading...