Not because they aren’t beautiful.
Not because they aren’t full of good ideas.
But because they’ve become a way to delay.
Not because they aren’t full of good ideas.
But because they’ve become a way to delay.
A bookshelf full of recipes isn’t a meal.
It’s a promise you haven’t kept yet.
It’s a promise you haven’t kept yet.
We collect them like souvenirs from trips we haven’t taken.
Pages marked, corners folded, intentions made.
Pages marked, corners folded, intentions made.
But dinner doesn’t come from intention.
It comes from action. From oil in a pan and salt in your hand.
It comes from action. From oil in a pan and salt in your hand.
And the truth is, you already know enough.
You’ve seen someone sauté onions.
You know what good smells like.
You’ve seen someone sauté onions.
You know what good smells like.
What you’re looking for isn’t in the index.
It’s in the doing.
It’s in the doing.
So before you buy another book,
try cooking without one.
try cooking without one.
Make something simple.
Make something wrong.
Make something yours.
Make something wrong.
Make something yours.
Because no one remembers the footnote.
They remember the meal.
They remember the meal.