Sunday, January 15, 2006

Bad food blogging, complete with horrid photography. Cheers.

I'm falling down on my half-baked, not-very-articulated mandate of blathering on about cookbooks. In truth, I have gotten sick of them. Sick of their taking up space, sick of their recipes requiring ingredients I don't have in my pantry. Besides, now that I'm pregnant, I'm intolerant of inefficiency. I want to eat NOW.

Even during the height of my cookbook obsession, I felt like I was indulging in wasteful frivolity that flew in the face of the Depression-era-based "make do" attitude inherited by my parents from theirs. I would visit my cousin who would put on a perfectly fine dinner, only to find out that the only cookbook she owns is the same Better Homes and Gardens plaid binder job from the '70s that my mother and grandmother used. I have both of them now - two copies of the same binder, because how could I choose one and toss it out if either Mom or Grandma used it? - and still refer to it when I need to know how to cook a damn turnip.

So, now it's time for me to "make do" with the eighty or so cookbooks I own. Hah. I need to get back to cooking, for our health and for our savings. I will keep it simple, and generally healthy. Occasionally, I will fall into the mid-century canned-good trap just to get food on the table. It won't be pretty. In that spirit, as I lurch back to the '60s, I present tonight's special: Peg Bracken's Skid Road Stroganoff from The I Hate to Cook Book:

yummy? For God's sake, don't click the photo.

Award-winning it ain't. Bite me.

There are a couple of Canadian cookbooks I want to investigate: Emily Richards' Italian Express and Rose Reisman's Weekday Wonders, but will only buy what I can't live without. Right now, that's nothing but ice cream with chocolate sauce, and a bathroom within twenty paces.


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