With the whole internet at one’s disposal when deciding what to serve for dinner, my cookbook library stays small and carefully selected. As I read Molly’s book I thought that I was discriminating in the recipes I added to my must-make shortlist, but when I finally closed the back cover I saw the 313 pages were a veritable land mine of dog-ears. Now that the stories have been relished the book sits accessibly on a shelf above the stove where it can be reached for over and over again as I weave her recipes into the stories of my own life. I have a feeling it will be a long while before, come dinner time, I’m tempted to open a web browser rather than A Homemade Life.
"A sinister cabal of superior writers."
Article comments
1 - Peter
I don't cook. I don't read about cooking. I only eat. But your review actually made reading about cooking an interesting future prospect...especially if it were to result in good eating.