<p style="text-align: center;"><img class="aligncenter" style="border-style: initial; border-color: initial; border-width: 0px;" src="http://distilleryimage9.s3.amazonaws.com/d8852ccab71a11e1abb01231382049c1_7.jpg" alt="anne's cookbook" width="470" height="470" /></p>

I never ever considered the state of one's cookbook as evidence of one's labor of love. That was until I met Anne's cookbook. Tattered and used, it was held together by mere string and rubber bands; she never lost a page--each one a cherished recipe. The edges had crumbled away with age: victim to heat, cold temperatures and the frequent smudgy-touch of ingredient stained fingers. It was from a time when pages were not made to be 'wiped clean' or put in binders for future use. It was from a time when a book was a 'book'. Something to spend time with and revel in the stories it's ingredients relay to you. Anne's cookbook was from the Sixties and a result of the efforts of the Sisterhood of the Congregation of Beth El. But it's condition in 2012 was proof of Anne's labour of love time and time again as she recreated these gastronomic stories for families and friends. I looked at her book and I envisioned those meals-- heard the unison cries of laughter, saw the smartly dressed friends, smelled the olfactive cues and <em>felt</em> the love both for person and plate.

My cookbook's by comparison are very much in tact. Often wipeable and rarely pawed with ingredient stained hands. If they are the offending item is wiped clean quite quickly. I have begun to default to my computer or even phone to look up recipes in the kitchen. To scroll the glowing screen for directions then hastily wipe it clean and put it away. No evidence of my efforts left behind for anyone to see. No tangible proof of my labour of love. That is going to change. 

I consider Anne's cookbook a family heirloom. A treasured possession for both memory and heart. One that should stay with the family for generations. To see it and to touch it is to feel the person who expended themselves over the stove. It is to follow the directions on the page and imagine with the minds eye the great grand relative who took the same steps, stirred the same duration of time, heated at the same temp and plated in the same fashion. To make these dishes from a cherished treasured cookbook is to walk with those from the past. It is poetic, it is kindred, it is