Beautiful Chefs are Making Me Crabby

One of my Mom’s well-loved cookbooks. No smiling goddess on the cover. What a relief!

I am in a mood.

I usually love the library and browsing through the cookbook section. I love to check out cookbooks, even though I don’t often make the recipes. The books sit by my bed, full of friendly possibilities.  I look at them longingly when I crawl into bed at night and dream that I will have time to try a new recipe soon (surely tomorrow!). Mostly I am happy just to have the books there, grateful for the options they offer. So much theoretical deliciousness!

The other day at the library, I randomly picked out a cookbook that featured a cover photo of a beautiful, long-haired, glowing chef. I’ve noticed lately that many new cookbooks have covers like this. Apparently,  in order to be a cookbook writing chef these days, you need to be both beautiful and have long hair. This usually doesn’t bother me. Maybe it’s a reflection of the current state of my mental health (maybe I should talk to somebody about that?), but when I saw this, I instinctively shoved that book back onto the shelf after a quick glance, maybe harder than necessary. Not only because of that photo on the cover, but also because of the pictures inside. There was her adorable,  perfect family, sitting next to her in the sun at a picnic table, enjoying their exquisite, seasonally appropriate, simple and yet somehow complexly flavored meal.

It was almost too much.

I want to discover a cookbook writing chef who tells the truth. I want to find a book from a chef who is real, someone who would be to cookbooks what Celeste Barber has been to Instagram and the internet. Are you familiar with Barber’s work? Take a look here:  Hilarious Celeste Barber Clips  (That Gwyneth Paltrow spot! Best thing ever!)

Barber posts short videos to her Instagram page of Victoria’s Secret-esque models posing and gyrating, and then she copies them as best she can. Sure, Barber is beautiful (She was recently included in People Magazine’s “the Beautiful Issue,” which went on sale last month), but she’s real, not an airbrushed goddess. Her videos make me laugh, and I do not feel bad about myself after watching them, which sometimes happens when I accidentally run across clips of top models and fitness influencers on social media.

I long for a cookbook that includes photos of the tomato splatters on the floor, the pile of dishes in the sink. Maybe the crying, cranky baby who is tired of his Mama being in the kitchen tweaking recipes. I want to see her red face as she leans over a pot of stew, her greasy hair falling out of her ponytail, gray roots showing. I want her to confess how her feet are tired after standing in the kitchen all day. I want an accurate estimate of how long it honestly takes to make a recipe, including time for grating, chopping, whisking, boiling, pureeing, and Googling “how to zest a stupid lemon,” because that is not the kind of thing that most people know. And then I want to know how long it will take to clean up afterwards! Dishwashing, pan scrubbing, and counter cleaning time should definitely be included in the recipe endnotes.

Possibly the Sunday Saddies (which come on like clockwork every Sunday afternoon at 4:30 pm) are starting to reach their way into the rest of my week, too.  I was surprised by my strong response to that cookbook. But honestly: sometimes it wears on you, being surrounded by so much glowing perfection.  I’ll keep searching the library shelves for cookbooks from authors that feel real to me: chefs who do not airbrush their lives or recipes, who do not make me feel ugly, tired, and “less than” in comparison.   I know there are cookbooks like that out there. And then there are always the vintage cookbooks, ones like my Mom had.  Some of those even live on my kitchen bookshelves.  Maybe that’s where I should look for new recipes next time I’m wanting culinary inspiration: in the old cookbooks that I already have.