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The smitten kitchen cookbook : recipes from a New York kitchen / Deb Perelman.

By: Perelman, DebPublisher: London : Square Peg, 2012Description: xiv, 321 p. : col. ill. ; 24 cm001: 17453ISBN: 9780224095785 (hardback)Subject(s): Cooking | Cook & DiningDDC classification: 641
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Item type Current library Collection Call number Copy number Status Date due Barcode
Book MAIN LIBRARY Book PRINT 641 PER (Browse shelf(Opens below)) 1 Available 095559

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

You don't need to be a chef, you don't need special ingredients, you don't even need a big kitchen. Discover every day deliciousness with The Smitten Kitchen Cook Book.


There is a half-galley kitchen in New York with just a single counter, a tiny stove, pans stacked high in the corner - yet it has conjured up stews and slaws, salsas and pestos, tatins and cheesecakes. All to-die-for.

This is Deb Perelman's kitchen. Deb is an ordinary home cook who believes food should be a pleasure and deliciousness a guarantee. So she founded www.smittenkitchen.com, her award-winning blog , where she concocts, tweaks and obsessively tests the best imaginable recipes for the everyday cook.

These are recipes you'll bookmark, share, and make your own, whether it is Courgette Ribbons with Almond Pesto for a summer lunch, Everyday Margherita Pizza for the family, Seared Halibut with Gazpacho Salsa for a weekend dinner, or Tiny But Intense Chocolate Cake for a special treat.

'I'm a longtime fan of the blog and this is a wonderful cookbook' Rachel Khoo, Little Paris Kitchen

Includes index.

Excerpt provided by Syndetics

From the Introduction Welcome. Welcome to my tiny kitchen. Wouldn't it be great if we could all fit in here? I'd make us mulled cider and gooey cinnamon squares. We could talk about pie. Jacob would probably bust out his guitar (actually, it's a ukulele, but don't tell him that) and sing "baa baa blakk shee!" because he's a total ham, and my husband would pour us some drinks. We'd have a great time. Of course, unless you can squeeze yourself onto a fraction of a six-inch tile--grumbling, no doubt, that this was the worst party ever--this is probably not going to happen. I always wanted a kitchen big enough for a crowd, but instead, I chose to live in New York City, a place where the kitchens are barely usable but nobody complains because there's no reason to cook when there's a great restaurant on every corner. Besides, as my friend Jenn informed me shortly after I moved here in 2000, "ovens are for sweater storage." And then, as if I'd missed the joke (I, um, often do), I decided to cook in my tiny kitchen anyway. I think I got my "if there's a will, there's a way" attitude from my mother. You could say there's no way to fit the ingredients you need in two cabinets or the enor­mous roast you'd like to prepare into a two-thirds-size oven; you could declare it impossible to prep any meal on a single two-by-three-foot counter, with only a few square feet to stand on . . . or you could clear the decks, get to work, and an hour later maybe pull a killer pan of brownies out of the oven. I have a hunch that our great-grandmothers didn't refuse to cook because they couldn't fit their Vitamix on the counter. Well, perhaps other people's grandmothers. It should sur­prise absolutely nobody that I come from pesky stock. Whenever I'm asked how I got here--presumably, to a place where you'd have my cookbook in front of you, not my writing lair with a bay window over­looking the sea (my sofa with an explosion of wooden train tracks around me)--I always wish I had a better kitchen story to share. "Just tell us your story!" people say, but I think that they're lying. I think that people want me to tell them a good story. They want to hear that I'm a fifth-generation chili maker from Texas or that I only eat food that I hunt, forage, or find under the wheel of a car. That I went to cooking school and spent years on the line being yelled at by a French guy with his name over the door. Or maybe I was at a thrift store and found a collection of handwritten Hungarian recipe cards and made it my life's work to bring an old lady's cooking back to life. People want a story with drama and excitement. They don't want to hear that I've been a record store shift supervisor, a swirler of soft-serve frozen custard, an art therapist, and an IT reporter. They don't want to hear that I just like to cook. But I do, I really do. Excerpted from The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook by Deb Perelman All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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