My scrapbook cookbook began when I first arrived in France 37 years ago. I bought a thick paperback school notebook and carried it with me everywhere, jotting down notes about French cooking, as well as recipes from family, friends, and restaurants.
Since I don’t cook with recipes, you could say I’m an intuitive cook. But when you move to a new country, there are certain things you need to know—like equivalents and substitutions, especially when the ingredients you’re used to cooking with aren’t available. So, I started keeping a notebook where I could jot down what I’d seen, tasted, or wanted to try.
When I moved to France, I only could take two suitcases. There wasn’t room for all the books I wanted to bring, but I did make sure to bring a cookbook—The Joy of Cooking, a gift from my Aunt Eva May. Little did I know, that cookbook would become my “Bible.” This was before the internet, of course, and long before calling home cost an arm and a leg ( $5 a minute!) If I wanted to look something up, find a substitute, or convert measurements from cups to grams, The Joy of Cooking was my new found savior.
Over the years, my scrapbook cookbook has been re-glued, re-taped, and repaged countless times. Today, it’s about four inches thick. Cooking without exact measurements means I create from whatever ingredients are in the fridge, and often, my family will say, “Wow, Mom, tell us you know how to do this again!” Or, as Yann often quips, “It was good while it lasted.”
That’s when I started writing down what I was whipping up, things that worked, just as soon as I’d made them. Since I rarely measure, I go by feeling, by instinct. If a dish is especially delicious or when my family “oohs and awes” over it, I’ll remake it a few times in a row to try and capture the process.
I had plenty of pages in my cookbook dedicated to notes and a list of French food words translated into English. Most of those pages are now omitted. But an example of it would have been;
- Beurre doux – unsalted butter
- Crème fraîche – similar to sour cream
- Poireaux – leeks
- Lait Ribot – buttermilk
- Muscade – nutmeg
- Tiède – lukewarm
- Type 55 farine – all-purpose flour
As far back as I can remember, I’ve always read food labels. When I first came to France, that was another hurdle I hadn’t expected; I mean, who thinks about reading food labels when you’re leaving your country for another? I knew not speaking. French was going to be difficult. That’s an understatement, but I didn’t realize to the depths it would take me. I was completely lost.
I carried a small dictionary with me everywhere, I went. My grocery list was my dictionary. Going to the grocery store has always been enjoyable, thankfully it became a happy learning place too.
At that time, most people did their food shopping at the outdoor markets. It was customary never to touch the food, but to politely ask for what you wanted. As it did with everything else in France, I quickly adapted, sink or swim, I was soaked most of the time but my head was above water!
At the Food Markets I smiled, said Bonjour Madame, or Monsieur, I did a lot of pointing and nodding at first, food words were the first words in my vocabulary.
All the spices, herbs, flours, vegetables, fruits, different types of oils—learning these made me feel like I was becoming a part of the culture. It was the secret ingredient to my adapting.
The photos I’m sharing here are a glimpse into some of the pages from my scrapbook cookbook. Would you like to see more?
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