I own, by actual count, 281 cookbooks.
Some people might find that excessive. Some people get by with five or six cookbooks, or one or two. Or none.
They don’t understand.
I love my cookbooks like some people love their 281 cats, or their 281 children. How can you ever part with even one?
Actually, I’ve probably parted with maybe 50 over the years, winnowing out the chaff to make more room for the wheat. Now I’m at a number that works for me. Two eighty-one.
And that is where I’d planned to stay. But then I took a trip to Washington, D.C., and wandered into an absolutely charming little store in Old Town Alexandria full of French doodads — deuxdads —and knicknacks.
I wanted to buy nearly everything they had, but I managed to avoid all temptation. Except for one cookbook.
I own, by actual count, 282 cookbooks.
The book is called “Plat du Jour,” and it was written in 2021 by an American in Paris. Susan Herrmann Loomis grew up in Seattle and moved to France nearly 20 years ago; she operates a French cooking school there.
Do you know how some things just call out to you? Perhaps it’s a puppy that absolutely, positively needs to come home with you from the animal shelter. Maybe it’s a purse that goes with your eyes and most of your clothes.
Or maybe it’s a cookbook in which every recipe looks utterly irresistible.
Admittedly, I lean toward French cooking anyway, along with Italian and Indian and Middle Eastern and Chinese and Japanese and especially Burmese and of course American, whatever that is. Oh, and Mexican, too. But something about “Plat du Jour” caught my eye, and it’s not just the gorgeous photographs.
Every cookbook has gorgeous photographs these days. What is more important to those of us traditionalists who actually like to cook are the recipes themselves.
Doesn’t Saffron-Scented Lamb, Vegetable and Chickpea Soup, for Couscous sound amazing? Or Golden Potatoes with Bacon, Onions and Melted Cheese? How about a Country Omelet with Wild Mushrooms and Potatoes?
If those are too daunting, how about Simple Boiled Potatoes, with sea salt, a bay leaf, parsley and butter or olive oil?
I made three of the book’s recipes last week, and they were all as good as I possibly could have hoped.
For an entrée, I made Chicken with Walnuts and Lemon, from the Dordogne, and the only complaint I have with it is that the name is too long (the Dordogne is a region in southwest France).
A sauce of lemon juice and white wine forms a lovely glaze, with the bright tang of lemon subtly shining through. The most surprising part of the dish is the walnuts, which, with their buttery earthiness, pair beautifully with the chicken — especially when they are coated with that glaze.
As a side dish with the chicken, I made the intriguingly titled Eggplant Disguised. It wasn’t actually disguised — I could still tell it was eggplant — but it was different from any eggplant I had ever had before.
I love eggplant, but it always soaks up a tremendous amount of oil as it cooks. This recipe eliminates that problem by steaming the whole eggplant first, softening it and cooking it nearly all the way through. Then you cut it into small, half-inch cubes and sauté them for just a few minutes in only one-half tablespoon of oil for each large eggplant.
The third dish I made was a loaf of tender bread. It was, as advertised, tender, and quick and easy to make, for bread.
I’ll make it again, but the result could have come from any ordinary cookbook. I’ll let the dough rise more the next time I make it, so maybe this one is on me.
