I sat there on the floor. Five rows of bookshelves mocking my single request. I wanted to make a cabbage and potato hash. I pulled four books. One had a hash recipe, but not what I wanted.
The night before I ate dinner at my friend, and fellow food writer, Scott‘s place. He follows recipes. He really follows recipes. Like doesn’t take this from that recipe, and this from that other recipe, and this from that imagination. His secret: good cookbooks.
I also think I own pretty good cookbooks, it just depends on the order. I have something in mind and then turn to a cookbook hoping to find the recipe. I invariably don’t. Then turn to the internet. Mis-match a few different recipes, throwing in some creativity, and usually figure out how to make it work. To get the best use out of cookbooks, you have to start at the recipe. A good recipe. Then buy ingredients. Or that’s what Scott thinks.
I borrowed his Indian cookbook, from which he made a few dishes for a Sunday night rooftop dinner. I’ve pledged to follow one of those recipes. Perfectly.
Until then. I kinda screwed up a hash.
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