February 2008
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Dear Readers,

One question I often get asked is this: What are your secret vices?

I love that question. It flatters me to no end that people think I have the imagination and the energy to cultivate any vices, never mind secret ones. I always want to say "Buying Vermeers, dahling," or "Collecting Ferraris."   

Sadly, the truth is much tamer. My secret vice is cookbooks. I love them. Swoon over them. Devour them. And waste far too much money on them. Every time I buy one, I think, "Yes! This is it!  This is the one that will finally make me a four-star, Cordon Bleu chef!"

As P. T. Barnum said, "There's a sucker born every minute." That's true and it's me.

I love the pictures. The layouts. The impossibly romantic stories -- of a meal eaten al fresco in a Tuscan olive grove. A walk taken through a Calcutta spice bazaar. Cakes and a pot of Darjeeling at four in London. Or Paris. Vienna. St. Petersburg.    

It's hooey. I know it is. It's glossy yuppie porn tailor-made for rubes like myself. But I don't care. It's a world away from my weekly mad, frantic dash through Stop and Shop, and it's one I desperately want to live in.

I want to believe. So I do. I believe that one day, I'll be living in Western France, eating lamb lovingly raised in the salt marshes of the Camargue. Or walking through a forest in Piedmont, with my truffle hunting dog. He'll turn up a big fatty and we'll take it home to our 13^th century villa and slice into the fresh pappardelle that I've made. Expertly and effortlessly, of course.        

One of my favorite cookbooks is Nigella Lawson's Feast. Nigella, Britain's domestic goddess, has me convinced that one day I, too, will figure out how to cook a standing rib roast with onion gravy and yorkshire pudding for twenty, while delivering clever repartee and looking luscious in a dress from Harvey Nic's. I love her because she's sexy and fun and eats like a teamster and doesn't drone on tediously about the proper way to measure flour or enumerate 101 imaginative uses for a melon scooper.

Because I love cakes, and sugar in all forms, I also love Luscious Berry Desserts by Lori Longbotham and James Carrier. There's a cake in there -- a lemon cake with lemon buttercream frosting and raspberry curd filling -- that is so good, I have tears in my eyes just thinking about it.

And here's another one -- Birthday Cakes: Recipes and Memories from Celebrated Bakers by Kathryn Kleinman and Carolyn Miller. I've made Beth's Very Berry Shortcake, from this book, which is summer in a forkful, and Fastest Fudge Cake, which is so good, but is even better if you bake in a round pan, slice it in half, fill it with whipped cream, and then heat the frosting and drizzle it over individual slices just before serving. Or so I've heard.

I know I should reform myself. Stop buying so many cookbooks. Stop kidding myself. Or at least stop eating so much cake. But where's the fun in that? In fact, I'm already thinking about my next purchase: Southern Cakes: Sweet and Irresistible Recipes for Everyday Celebrations by Nancie McDermott. There's a fluffy coconut cake on the cover that's calling my name.

But shhh! Don't tell anyone. It's a secret.

Happy reading (and eating!), 

Copyright © 2006 Jennifer Donnelly