Clipping/bookmarking recipes as diary-keeping
I've been going through 4 years' worth of magazines lately and pulling out the things that seem worth keeping. I came across this 2006 piece from the New York Times Magazine about recipe clippings. The author looks back at the things she's clipped and sees phases she went through reflected in them. I tried looking through the things I have in my recipes file on Bookmark Tracker, and yeah, it's pretty interesting to wade through and remember the ebb and flow of interest in different things. I found the whole online, thank goodness, so I don't have to type it in here.
File of Dreams: A lifetime of recipe clippings reveals more than a cook's taste in food. (Julie Powell)
People fall for all kinds of recipes for all kinds of reasons, but in the end it always comes down to the same thing: you see in it a mirror image not of who you are but of who you wish you could be. A journey through my bursting accordion file of clippings is less culinary than psychological. At one time or another, I can see, I've been fascinated by puff pastries and pots de creme and fillets of beef roasted with coffee or baked in salt crusts. I can't imagine wanting to make croquembouche, but there was a time when I could. I have cast myself, in a strictly imaginary kitchen, as the cosmopolitan urban hostess, the blushing bride, the Italian mother. Plus, I've evidently always been looking for the perfect macaroni and cheese -- a dish I never make but somehow think will make me whole.
File of Dreams: A lifetime of recipe clippings reveals more than a cook's taste in food. (Julie Powell)
People fall for all kinds of recipes for all kinds of reasons, but in the end it always comes down to the same thing: you see in it a mirror image not of who you are but of who you wish you could be. A journey through my bursting accordion file of clippings is less culinary than psychological. At one time or another, I can see, I've been fascinated by puff pastries and pots de creme and fillets of beef roasted with coffee or baked in salt crusts. I can't imagine wanting to make croquembouche, but there was a time when I could. I have cast myself, in a strictly imaginary kitchen, as the cosmopolitan urban hostess, the blushing bride, the Italian mother. Plus, I've evidently always been looking for the perfect macaroni and cheese -- a dish I never make but somehow think will make me whole.