What a Cook Wants, 20

The Way To Cook
I spent a summer on Nantucket as a personal chef for a grumpy, demanding woman named Mrs. Bingham who had a marvelous house~ with an untouched tricked-out kitchen!~ tucked deep into the sand dunes with its own private beach. Our neighbor was the Kennedy compound (if only they'd dropped by!), and my housemates were two very spoiled but sweet Scottish terriers.
The only problem? I didn't really know how to cook. Sure, I'd worked as a short order cook at college, waitressed at a place where we made Caesar salad tableside (I still make the best, baby!), and I'd nearly perfected the microwave Egg McMuffin, but it turned out this lady was able to get tables at NY's most luscious restaurants and loved poached salmon and crème brûlée.

I had no idea what crème brûlée was.

I had never poached a salmon.

After we discussed the first menu I stood in the kitchen alone, my heart clanging against my ribs. I knew I was a good cook, knew I could channel my Pop-Pop's palette and read a recipe as well as anyone else, but I was beyond my skills. I was screwed. My throat began to tighten, but then I noticed the shelf. There were books on it, and one of them was Julia Child's The Way to Cook. That title held promise, and Julia delivered. She was precisely what I needed, and as the summer continued I grew more ambitious with homemade tarragon mayonnaise (there's a reason the French call it a sauce!) and an apple crisp that made Mrs. Bingham the toast of the dinner party circuit.
Her style was so accessible and friendly, she was fearless as she dismantled raw ducks and shucked oysters; she wasn't intimidated by the thought of poaching a huge 4 pound salmon fillet. I borrowed her courage.
I suppose I borrowed it again when I started this blog. My title is an homage, even though no one gets it. I realized I could help people find the joy and fearless pleasure in eating, just like Julia did for me with cooking.
Which is all a very long-winded way of saying this cookbook would make a great gift. For anyone.
$26 for this 512-page tome. It changed my life. How many books do that?

What a Cook Wants, 15

4,000 Different Kinds of Salt
If you are not a cook or foodie, this will not make sense. You may think, Why would anyone need 15 different kinds of salt? Don't they all taste, well, salty? In a sense you'd be right. But then I'd respond, Are all home runs the same? Does each Steinway sound the same? Does each Bush presidency cause the same damage?
Of course not.
Let me show you, I'll get out my salts now... hmmm, Korean sea salt is smooth with a delicate flake. Trapani sea salt from Italy is intense and tough. Utah Lake Salt is mellow, pale pink and crunchy. Dead Sea salt from Israel is bright, kind of melts in the mouth, and should really call its mother. See what I mean? Sure, they're all salty, but there's so much nuance in the variations.
It becomes a game: what salt goes best on top of my crispy tilapia? Which should I rub into my Christmas roast? Which shade of grey or pink or black completes the still life painting on this plate? We grown-ups need to play more. And to be practical, it's one of a few ingredients that never goes bad.
$70 for Chef Stefan: Salts of the World sampler. It has 15 salts in cute little tins. I've had it for 3 years and there's plenty left. The exterior packaging is a little 80's, but it's still a super-fun present.