I’d like to talk about a rather battered, hardback recipe book that sits permanently on my kitchen worktop. It’s a collection of traditional Mediterranean home cooking, focusing on rustic, simple meals made from scratch. I actually inherited it from my grandmother about six years ago, just as I was moving into my first flat in Manchester. She had used it for decades, so many of the pages are slightly grease-stained and annotated with her own little pencil notes in the margins.
Whenever I'm at a loss for dinner ideas, I flick through its pages. I mainly use it for hearty vegetable stews, slow-cooked bean casseroles, and authentic pasta sauces. There’s a wonderful recipe for roasted aubergine and tomato bake that has practically become my signature dish when friends come over for dinner. The instructions are delightfully straightforward, none of the overly complicated culinary jargon you often find in modern gourmet books.
As for why I prefer turning to this physical book rather than simply searching on the internet, there are a couple of reasons. Firstly, it’s far more practical. When my hands are covered in flour or olive oil, the last thing I want to do is unlock my mobile phone or scroll through a webpage cluttered with pop-up adverts and lengthy life stories. More importantly, there’s an emotional connection to it. Seeing my gran’s handwriting beside certain ingredients makes cooking feel like a warm, mindful ritual rather than just a daily chore. You simply don't get that sense of comfort from a glowing screen.