Many, many, many years ago, I worked at a library. I made an absurdly low hourly wage. But most of the people were fun as the library set goes.
The work wasn't going to lead me to any Nobel prizes, but I like books. I've always liked books, and so, as a part-time job went, it was fine.
One of the high points, I was reminded last night, was that the library had a rather extensive and impressive collection of cookbooks.
Oh, cookbooks. I love them. I really, really love them. More than I should. Because I want to buy so many of the ones that I see, but honestly, how many cookbooks can one person own? Especially when she doesn't use most of them most of the time?
But they're so nice to have around, aren't they?
I recently saw a recipe on Leite's Culinaria
and thought, "I think I have that book!"
Yup! I do. I've never baked a single thing from it, but there it is, on my shelf, waiting for me to get around to this walnut torte
Hello, lovely. How had we not met before?
See? I need to spend more time with my books.Anyway,
the point of all of this is that I used to peruse the cookbooks at the library and check out a stack and bring them home. And then, in my free time, I would plop myself in the recliner in the basement, position the top of a TV tray across my lap as a desk, and flip through cookbooks and write out recipes that interested me.
Which is how my recipe file turned into this:
And I haven't even added to it in years.
Instead, I've taken to tearing pages out of magazines and such, and stashing them in manila folders that I sort through occasionally, only to realize with disgust that a recipe calls for a cake mix – Really, people, it's too much effort to measure out the dry ingredients? – or that I tore something out so long ago that it no longer appeals to me.
I keep my recycling basket nearby. It gets pretty full.
In the cabinet next to the stove, I have a small loaf pan that holds my go-to recipes, the ones that I make with enough frequency that it doesn't make sense to take the time to file them away. (Hush. Let me have my delusion.)
But last night, I flipped through my mondo file looking for the Fudge Crispies
recipe and was intrigued by a good number of the things I'd jotted down in my youth.
Also, my handwriting has morphed rather interestingly since then.
I kind of miss my recipe-writing days. It was a good way to unwind, to turn off my brain, to sit in front of whatever blather happened to be on TV, and transcribe.
I should visit my local library and see if there's anything worthy.
I have a lot of room in that file.