Food Writer Nicola Miller on Collecting Cookbooks

Over the last year I have been reducing my collection because I've been Swedish Death Cleaning. More than 1000 cookbooks and books on food have been sold, donated or binned, the latter only if they are unfit to pass on for whatever reason.

It’s been hard. My dream has always been to establish a reading room filled with my collection - fewer than 10k books but more than 6k - and that of others, for members to spend time in, reading, cooking, attending talks and events. But it would cost far too much, and reducing my collection is part of my acceptance that this isn't going to happen. So I just cannot keep them all. The only downside is letting a book go, only to find you need it for something specific two years later. I have had to repurchase books. As for digital cookbooks, I dislike and never use them; my brain simply does not absorb or appreciate design and literature in digital form. I like a physical copy.

I think my first cookbook was A Young Cook's Calendar by Katie Stewart which I have kept. Another was the Be-Ro pamphlet originally owned by my grandmother; I had to buy my copy, my grandmother's being lost to time. The recipe for Boiled Fruit Cake is my tried and tested.

There are particular kinds of books I collect, and to be honest, if I see one that falls into those categories, I’ll try to acquire it. They don’t have to contain accurate — or even cookable — recipes, or be “good quality” in the sense of being beautifully edited and designed. Vintage books can be pretty basic, design-wise. What I look for in a cookbook as a collector and documentor is very specific. They must entertain and amuse me in the widest sense and, in the case of newly-published books, add to an existing body of knowledge, challenge or reframe it refreshingly or originally.  

One of my biggest collections is the kitsch and camp category. I’ll never sell or give away any of these. Some of my faves: Liberace Cooks! The Gay Cookbook by Chef Lou Rand Hogan (actually pretty revolutionary). Venus in the Kitchen, a book about historical aphrodisiacs with a fondant pink cover. Barbara Cartland’s cookery book is divinely saccharine and old-fashioned even though I detested most of her views. I do like collecting cookbooks aimed at brides setting up home (published between the 1940s and early 1960s) which sit next to the Pornstar Cookbook.

I have cookbooks from firehouses and firemen - one from the Beaver Falls Firehouse is titled Burnt Offerings. They are an amazing blend of camp and blunt force masculinity. I own an entire run of American books devoted to using your car to cook on the road (one is called Manifold Destiny) that are all about the romance of the highway, road trips, being a hobo, and limitless possibilities. I have Biker Billy's Hog Wild On a Harley, too. There’s a collection of recipes by roadies and rock stars titled Mosh Potatoes. Another music-themed cookbook is called Dark Side of the Spoon. Quite a few of my Christmas cookbooks are pretty kitsch. The Dead Celebrity Cookbook Presents Christmas in Tinseltown is, perhaps, the epitome. 

Some of my collection… Cookbooks inspired by food eaten in books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Mafia-themed cookbooks (two notables are The Sopranos Cookbook and The Corleone Family Cookbook). Fannie Flagg’s Whistlestop Cafe cookbook is lovely. I have Kevin Geddes brilliant books about Fanny Craddock. The Gremlins cookbook is ridiculous but cute. Vincent Price’s cookbook is pretty good. I have the Some Like it Hot tie-in, several by Sophia Loren, The Sinatras, Aunt Bee's Mayberry Cookbook from the Andy Griffins Show, the Treme Cookbook (and Princess Tiana's cookbook because Tiana was inspired by Leah Chase) cookbooks inspired by The Golden Girls, Zuzu Bailey's It's A Wonderful Life Cookbook, and the I Love Lucy cookbook. There’s even a Casablanca-themed cookbook called Wining and Dining at Rick’s. I'm drawn to kitschy book titles, Give My Swiss Chards to Broadway: The Broadway Lover's Cookbook being a great example, and collections of filmstar recipes from Bollywood to old Hollywood.

There are many subcategories: Halloween and horror themes are well-represented on my shelves, and cartoons like Peanuts and the Muppet Picnic Cookbook (actually a booklet). Most of these do not contain impressive recipes but they amuse me and are of their time. I reckon I own most of the cookbooks written by American musicians and bands. They are almost universally terrible in their methodology but tell a story of loneliness, long hours away from family and home and trying to recreate communality on tour, love of fellow band members, the desire to maintain one's image even when talking about the most domestic of topics, and the highs and lows of tour catering. Reading between the lines is always enriching.

I don’t necessarily buy cookbooks to cook from them. Mainly, I buy cookbooks for inspiration, comfort, knowledge and entertainment, and for what they reveal about a particular subject at a specific moment in time.  I’m looking for patterns and trends and what they tell me about people.  Community cookbooks document migration, both national and international. It’s fascinating to see dishes brought by, say, Hungarian or Cuban people who migrated to the US in numbers from the early 1950s, being cooked in the kitchens of people not from these countries. If you read a lot of community cookbooks, you can trace these journeys across their pages over time.         

Nicola Miller is a freelance food writer and columnist for Suffolk News in the UK. She co-hosts a monthly show about food for Suffolk Sound Radio and is the curator of food events for the Bury St Edmunds Literature Festival. You can read a longer version of this article on her site Tales From Topographic Kitchens.