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This isn't so much a recipe as a way to think about tomatoes. -- David Tanis
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We are all cooks, each in our own fashion. Cooking is learned in the same way as we learn to speak, write, act, dance. We observe, then we copy, then we interpret. -- David Tanis
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In short, here is my advice: cook. -- David Tanis
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So, I was going to feature another cookbook today, but then I got this beauty for my birthday, and I was so out of my mind in love with it that I had to bring it to you today.
But excuse me, I'm hyperventilating a little.
The reasons why I know that you, too, will flat out love A Platter of Figs, by David Tanis:
1. Let's start with the fact that it's a well-designed book. I mean, a book that understands what it means to be a book. The type is flawless, the margins are wide and beautiful ... it's all arranged like your own private art museum.
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I feel like a better human around this typography. Might sound crazy. Might sound like I've been around words a little too much. But I promise you, it's true. ... In the midst of our hyper-electronic age, it's a gift and a pleasure to hold a truly well-conceived book.
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2. The photography. What is a cookbook without stunning photos? Not much. These photos (by Christopher Hirsheimer) are exquisite. I kind of want to lick them. They're that convincing.
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3. Okay, then the recipes. Not only is each recipe a work of art in its own right, but he has them arranged in menus. And each menu is its own little universe, a perfect little food experience, with a fantastic name, photographs, and an introduction, with serving advice or a story about his inspiration.
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So where will I start cooking? The "Yellow Hunger" meal, or "Feeling Italian, Part II," or "Too Darned Hot, Alors!" Or maybe it's the "Simple Moroccan Supper," maybe that's what I really want.
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4. Oh, and the menus are arranged seasonally. Score.
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5. Also, if you didn't notice, it made the Gourmet Cookbook Club. And they know what they're talking about. So if you don't believe me, believe them.
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6. Finally, and not to be underestimated, this man can write. I mean, he's as artistic with his words as he is with ingredients and dishes. The writing is as beautiful as the photographs and book itself.
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Seriously, now. I love how he describes food. Listen to this: The first cold weather wants bean soup. If possible, eat this soup outside, preferably with a little fire going, after raking leaves or chopping wood.
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There. Now how can I not make "Zuppa di Fagioli with Rosemary Oil" when that first truly autumnal night hits us? How can I not? How can you not? We'll be making bean soup, you and I.
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I think that's it, that's why I love this book. It makes me want to cook boldly.
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Make a huge, glorious mess in the kitchen, and then eat it all with the people dearest to me. Pass the plates, talk, laugh helplessly, get my fingers all greasy with olive oil, smile 'til my face hurts, forget there's flour in my hair, sit on the deck with dessert until it's too dark to see each other but we don't want to go inside yet...
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That. And a book that makes me feel that way... well, I'll sleep with it under my pillow. And hope all its goodness soaks into my brain, until I'm cooking and thinking like this, all the time.
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Recommendation: I can't imagine eating something while looking at this book, simply because I want to eat everything I see in it. So maybe it would be best to just have a glass of wine, to accompany the meal in your head. And savor them both together, the wine and the inspiration.
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(Note: Yeah, so, the pages look a little blue in those pictures. That's my fault, not the book's. In real life, I promise they're white. That is, until I start cooking, and they get spattered with tomatoes and oil and berries...)
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