I love my wife not only for her many fine mental and physical attributes (and they are many and fine), but also because of her history. Not her personal history, but the history she carries around with her. The history she owns. There are treasures like the Edison standard phonograph (along with two boxes of cylinders).
And then there are the books.
My grandfather-in-law ran a restaurant in Miami Beach during Prohibition. His culinary library is astounding -- luridly illustrated manuals for cake decoration, agricultural guides to the exotic fruits of Florida (and how to make anything into marmalade), how to cook for U.S. Army troops circa 1925, and on, and on.... And other old cookbooks made their way onto the shelves over the years, too.
I don't know if my favorite was originally his or one that came along later (or, for that matter, one that he got from his mother or something).
It's more than just a cookbook. It's a tome, a weighty collection of time-tested food wisdom, presented in the inimitable style of the kitchen authorities of 1902. The fairer sex could not yet vote, but they knew how to rule a household.
Read this excerpt and learn why I love my wife:
Hungry?
Within this book's pages, not only is there a trove of, well, descriptions of delicious foodstuffs wrapped in layers of antiquarian mystique, but every chapter heading is a unique example of gorgeous drafting.
As delicious as the rest are, my favorite chapter is this one. Feeling ill? Brandy & Toast!
Oh, I can feel the glow of wellness already!
Pass the toast, nursey, if you don't mind.
