A few tucked away in the corner above the toaster

And a few more nestled in behind the slow cooker and the scales

It doesn’t seem like that long ago that I owned one lonely recipe book. The Good Housekeeping Vegetarian Collection was gifted to me one Christmas by my Grandmother. It was quite a symbolic moment actually, what with my Gran being somewhat in denial about the actual existence of a people who call themselves vegetarian (‘But you eat chicken don’t you? Of course you eat chicken. Go on have a bit of beef. Do you good.’)

And then came the naked chef. With his Duffer clothing and his bloody mockney accent (you’re from Essex mate, deal with it) and his pukka this and pukka that. But I bought the book. Come on, we all bought the book, didn’t we?

And well, you can’t have just one of Jamie’s books. You need to line them all up and gaze adoringly at their spines every morning while you boil the kettle for your first cuppa of the day.

Because a good recipe book makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It’s so full of promise, the promise of a delicious meal, a full belly and happy diners.

Of course, I can’t resist Nigella.

I rarely cook anything from How To Eat (although her original advice on catering children’s parties has proven invaluable over the years, I do her cheese stars every year without fail) but I find it such a pleasure to read that I often pull if off the shelf and flick through it over a cup of tea.

I’d be lost without How To Be A Domestic Goddess
. If you take any pleasure from baking at all you really should buy this book, it contains some of the best cakes you’ll ever bake.

When it comes to cupcakes, I rate The Primrose Bakery over The Hummingbird Bakery. I find the recipes easier to follow and the photography that little bit more saliva-inducing.

I always have a stack of the Sainsbury’s magazine in rotation. There is always a handful of recipes I want to try and I love Nigel Slater’s features each month. I actually get a little spring in my step when I spy a new issue waiting for me at the till point. Every now and then I go through them, rip out all the gems and transfer them to my beloved recipe file from Paperchase.

Which brings me to my absolute favourite, the pinnacle of my recipe book collection if you will…


This humble looking notebook belonged to my mother. The spine has all but disintegrated and the pages are yellowed and speckled with the remnants of food preparation. But it contains such kitchen essentials as the recipe for my paternal Grandmother’s prized Christmas pud.


Can you believe my Mum was going to throw this away? She upgraded to something a little more contemporary, with fancy pockets and dividers and the like. But I rescued it.

I remember it lying on the kitchen counter while she prepared food for dinner parties (of which there were many). I was always in charge of laying the table and folding the napkins as prettily as I could. My only responsibility beyond that was to stay upstairs in bed and not bother the dinner guests. But I used to wrap myself up in my duvet and sneak onto the upstairs landing to sit at the top of the stairs and listen to all the talking and laughing, the sound of glasses clinking and cutlery clattering on plates.

The thing I love most about this book is that its final pages are devoted to recording the menus of the various dinner parties my parents hosted throughout the 1980s and into the early 1990s. This is social history right here people…


I tell you something, they sure did eat a lot of fondue in the 80s! And watercress soup it seems.

I love this book, it really is one of my most prized possessions. I mean, when was the last time you or I served a proper 3 course meal (and the M&S meal for a tenner doesn’t count), with napkins and everything!?

I’ve followed suit and started recording my dinner party (!) menus at the back of my recipe file. Maybe one day it will bring one of my children as much pleasure as this brings me.

Of course, that’s assuming they turn out to be sentimental old fools just like their mother.

Loveaudrey xxx

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