Yesterday, after 23 years in my cookbook library, I decided to donate my paperback copy to the local thrift.
It bothered me all day, that decision.
I thought back to when the book was purchased, and how doing so made me feel: Hopeful, mature, competent, maybe even respected if I had some measure of success attempting a recipe or two from the summery, breezy narrative. Nantucket had been a summer port in my childhood, daughter of sailing parents. This island, a favorite old-salt stop among other seafaring and whaling ports we visited - Block Island, the Vineyard, Edgartown, Cuttyhunk... I'd have to look at a chart to recall the others. Those destinations held magic and history and, as a young adult, memory of those trips, just the four of us.
This cookbook, so I imagined in 1987, would bring me back to those freckled, roaming summers. But, at 23, I was one of three women working on the floor of the NFYE (I was a trading clerk), and intermittently acting in regional theatre. There was little time and even less confidence in my skills for steak and bleu cheese sauce or grilled pork tenderloin with port, plums, and apricots. On the ferry, I imagined preparing crunchy corn sticks with chilis and cheddar; Nantucket scallop bisk; broiled oysters with cider sabayon, and pumpkin biscuits with smoked pheasant. Over time, the book became a staple of my library, if only to provide daydreaming into the future and remembering the past. Someday, I'd have the time and resources. It never came and other, less intimidating cookbooks joined the shelves.
This morning, I browsed through the recipes one last time before heading off to the thrift. At 58, they don't seem as daunting; maybe it's the 35 years of cooking under my apron, maybe it's that I have a day off and some free time. Either way, they feel approachable rather than overwhelming.
I'll starting with the gazpacho and see where we go from there. Perhaps, blueberry raspberry galette??
Summer on.