So when did cookbooks start looking so lovely and sounding so sensuous? Are you salivating over these seemingly endless pantries-full of hot stuff volumes? Oh, some are sirens indeed–jaw-dropping pages frosted with Getty-worthy photos and tantalizing tales of distant voyages, exotic locales, and palette-pounding spices. Others are working their way into our hearts more subtly. Weaving stories of family, or knitting circles, leading us to hot loaves-of-bread places where the pumpkin-butter jar is never very far.

This one is for my brother, David and my sister, Denise.  They could both be chefs. Denny, sorry, I think you and I got the non-chef genes. What we do share in common is a cookbook : Good Appetite-The Romanian way of Cooking. My grandmother was an excellent cook–whipping out dishes for families of five or five-hundred. My mother had her specialties–stews and things with seriously hot peppers–but sometimes succumbed to casino spiele the ways of Mrs. Paul”s fish sticks and that green bean casserole with the mushroom soup and weird crunchy onions on top.

The Good Appetite cookbook states:

“The Romanians are an artistic people. Their art is manifested in many and diverse forms, among the foremost being the art of cooking. The Romanian mother has developed cooking as a fine art without the benefits of modern equipment and gadgets found in the American kitchen.

The Romanian immigrant brought this art to America and it would indeed be a great loss to let it die out. Aside from the one other publication in English, no attempt has been made to pass this knowledge on to the American housewife.” Copyright 1957, The Reverand Vasile Hategan

Like Dracula, this cookbook induces some fear. Recipes for Aspic of Pigs Feet, Veal Heart and Lung Soup, Kidneys in White Sauce, Tongue with Olives, things involving wilted lettuce, should have caused me to pause. But, I forged ahead testing out the simple Cherry Pudding Squares. Big mistake. I made the recipe for 10 squares–and why isn’t the sauce thickening?– and later looked at the recipe for 50 squares—oh, there are more ingredients in this version, and what’s with the measurements, huh?

These recipes were passed down from generation to generation, and the grandmas who put this book together pulled the babushkas over our eyes. They didn’t measure anything.  Who could read their writing anyway? Holy squirrely cursive and funky grease patterns covering tsp!  Thank goodness the end results aren”t typically the best parts of what we share with others.

I think cookbooks appeal to our desire for delicious and savory moments. Moments that taste so good, even if we didn”t prepare them just right.

Pofta Buna!

P.S. What’s the last cookbook that satisfied my appetite for beauty?  Falling Cloudberries.