It’s still a little depressing to know that people are not book hoarders, nor do they wistfully sigh at the sight of a random bookstore, dusty or new, located anywhere. Untidy shelves do not repel me and the smell of old paper will only draw me inside.
In Malaysian bookstores, I often venture into the Chinese and Malay sections, fully aware that I will not understand any of it, to look at the covers and the types of paper they choose to use. I don’t consider it a waste of time because it makes me smile to see how other cultures express themselves through comics and because my stumbling about eventually led me to a book so rooted in modern Chinese history: an aged Chairman Mao’s Little Red Book, bound in a bright red cover and emblazoned with gold Chinese characters.
What I most love about my find is that it belonged to an unknown someone and has been flicked through enough times to leave telltale signs of years of use. In its new home, ours, we haven’t found a use for it as of yet, but I do know that it still feels special to handle its yellowing pages. This buy alone had me ask myself: do I genuinely use all of my books and does it matter if I don’t?
The home that I was brought up in was always filled with piles of cooking books from different ages, modern novels, magazines covering different topics and Archie comic books. I couldn’t imagine a home without those piles of reading material, forgotten then found again through the years. After getting married and getting my own opportunity to play house, it became imperative to buy books and magazines. With my growing interest in food, turning pages that house wondrous recipes and techniques had me either earmarking the smooth paper or scribbling with a marker over the glossiness of the magazine. “This I’ll keep for later!” I’d think every time.
Now that my love of books has been revealed, I’ll confess that this love can bring me down. Suddenly, it struck me that I have spent hours reading, oohing and aahing, marking and pouring over these recipes but I never actually got around to making dozens of them; that and the other realization that the other half of my reading content lives online, and thus my follow-the-recipe time is split between both online and offline content.
It saddens me that I neglect many of those potentially life-changing book recipes quietly waiting to be made. I noticed that our ability as humans to become blind to something increases tremendously the more it crosses our path. My books, like other things in today’s fast-paced age, are quickly stored on a shelf and are looked over lovingly every now and then when boredom strikes — similar to the sweet potatoes you pass in the market disinterestedly but only affectionately appreciate from the sweet potato seller with his smoky cart when you’re walking on a cold night in Cairo.
Suddenly, the notion that I’d cook my way through all the recipes I one day thought I had loved seemed almost laughable. I apologize to all of my bookmarks but how could I? It’s bad enough to like a recipe then recreate it multiple times which cuts down on “new recipe days”, but the constant need to buy new books, to discover more, to learn more and to bookmark online recipes proves that there is no way I can continue like this and that there is no end. If I die an old lady, I’ll pass never knowing what many of these recipes taste like and I’ve become all right with that.
My recent trip to Cairo allowed me to bring back a few of my parents’ 1980s’ cookbooks and hiding in their pages are many modern classics that are being presented today as what I would like to call “new but nostalgic dishes” —essentially pies with luscious fillings, dishes that are a precursor to today’s farm to table food trend, high-end burgers and pizza with toppings more refined than your average cheese and tomato.
There is now renewed interest in old-fashioned comfort food. In reality, the food industry is just presenting it better on a dish to make you feel inadequate about your own skills in the kitchen. You could compare that to the fashion industry. Try to retrieve your grandmother’s old recipes or clothes and you’ll find a lot of the same laborious techniques used today in fancy kitchens and couture houses all around the world.
If many of us bothered to go back to our roots, we would find a lot more than we would initially expect. The next best thing will always be changing, so in your eternal search for it, don’t forget the sweet potatoes and other such roots of your life.
Sweet Potato French Fries
Serves 2
Vegetable oil, for frying
2 large sweet potatoes
Salt and cracked black pepper, to taste
Pour oil to reach halfway up the sides of a heavy saucepan. Heat the oil to 165 degrees Celsius. While the oil is heating, peel the sweet potatoes and cut into uniform sticks. Place the potatoes in a bowl of ice water to release some starch and to keep them from browning.
Dry the potato sticks – this will keep the oil from splattering. Fry the potatoes in batches so that the pan isn’t crowded and the oil temperature remains stable. Cook for 3 minutes until they are soft but not browned.
Remove the potatoes with a long-handled metal strainer and drain on paper towels. Bring oil temperature up to 190 degrees Celsius.
Return the half-fried potatoes to the oil in batches and cook a second time for 4 minutes until golden and crispy. Drain on fresh paper towels then place in a serving bowl. Season with salt and pepper. Serve immediately.
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