It’s a risk to grab a book from Dollar Tree. Or maybe gamble is a better word. The payout is great every now and then. But most of the time, you’re gonna lose.
I had a long feeling that Three Many Cooks was going to be one of my once-in-a-blue-moons. I loved the anecdotes that strung together the recipes, the connections between a mom and her two daughters, the emphasis on engaging and loving around a table.
They had me at the first sentence: “Some people plan what they are going to do when they get together; our family plans what we are going to eat.”
Pam is a veteran cookbook author. Her daughters Maggy and Sharon learned their love of flavor and the power of food in her kitchen but took different routes to becoming accomplished cooks themselves. The three alternate writing chapters, which I liked.
If I had to summarize the book in a phrase, I’d pick this, from one of Maggy’s chapters: “home-cooked meals and relationship-building are inextricably linked.”
But that idea is pushed without the crushing expectation of perfection. Sharon wrote about how her mom – a professional – lets others help in her kitchen. “I’ve always wondered how Mom’s incredible kitchen savvy can be paired with such abounding culinary mercy. This seemingly impossible combination makes people around her want to cook and – better yet – believe they can.”
Pam herself talks about having written five cookbooks with the word “perfect” in the title. These days “I reserve the word ‘perfect’ to describe the connection that frequently occurs when good food is shared,” she said. Her chapter The Perfect Recipe was one of my favorites.
But, and you probably heard that coming, somewhere past the middle of the book, I started to disconnect.
The chapter Eating is Believing wasn’t the start of it, but it definitely exacerbated the feeling. Sharon describes her faith struggle growing up in the Episcopal church, with a father who’s a priest. She walked away as soon as she was old enough to make the choice, but eventually made her way back, finding the divine, she said, not in communion but around real hunks of bread and bottles of wine, not at the altar but at the dining table. “I felt the rush of the Spirit in steam rising from a pasta pot rather than echoing in the arches of a sanctuary.”
Pam’s parents were conservative, Baptist, teetotalers – none of which describes Pam and her girls. But that’s not what bothered me. It’s the sort of mystical make-your-own-faith that I struggled with, and maybe a sense that the gifts were the focus, not the Giver. (If you want to think more about how we are intended to savor the gifts of this world – I needed to – I’d recommend Robert Farrar Capon’s Supper of the Lamb.)
Still, for its main idea, this book is worth reading. And for many of the smaller thoughts that flow from it. Pam’s chapter about struggling with her weight and her relationship with food was especially poignant. “For my sake and for my daughters, I wish I had figured it out sooner, but we always imagine that the best model we can give our children is perfection, when in fact, the most powerful gift is honesty.”
I may not have hit the jackpot here, but it wasn’t a waste of my money or my time.