Essential Cookbooks

If you came over to my house, and walked into my kitchen, you would see a shelf by the stove overcrowded with cookbooks. The top of the fridge is also an overcrowded home to cookbooks. And then there’s the box in the office of cookbooks I need to get rid of. Not all the cookbooks are vegan, but you can bet your ass they all get veganized. Some I use all the time, some I use as reference points, and some I use on occasion and mostly serve as total food porn. I thought today I would share some of my staples, and I promise not to include ALL the books in my collection, as the point of this post is not to lull you to sleep.

Vegan Brunch: I used to only have friends over for dinner parties, but lately I’ve been feeling the desire to start having friends over for Sunday brunches. Isa’s book makes me want to NOT wake up with a hangover reminiscent of my college days just so I can make Chesapeake Tempeh Cakes, Potato Spinach Squares and Cherry Sage Soysages.

La Dolce Vegan: when I need to know how to make mock meats, this is where I turn. It’s got a ton of other amazing foods, like vegan mac and cheese, and fun craft projects, but mostly it’s my faux meat bible.

Soy Not Oi: Give Big Brother the finger and go vegan. Long before vegan was chic, the Hippycore Krew put out a gem of a cookzine with “over 100 recipes designed to destroy the government.” You won’ find Daiya Shreds or Gardien Steak Strips in here, my friends, but what you will find is a collective of recipes, most of them of the “throw veggies and spices in a pot, cook, and bring with you to a basement show” variety. Almost every recipe has a suggested soundtrack, and if you can’t get behind a punk-wok stir-fry, well, you can just bugger-off.

Veganomicon: I firmly believe Veganomicon is the single most essential cookbook for anyone who eats or cooks vegan. It’s like the Joy or Cooking, but for vegans. And not stupidly complicated. Inside the covers lies recipes for croquettes, samosa, sammies, mix ‘n’ match sides, hot and sour soup, French lentil soup, southwestern corn pudding, chile verde, asparagus risotto, and a whole section for sauces and fake cheeze, breads, and desserts. I pity the fool that doesn’t have this book.

The Conscious Cook: Not only does Chef Tal offer up an amazing array of French and Asian inspired dishes like “Gardien ‘Chicken’ scaloppini with shitake sake sauce, braised pea shoots and crispy udon noodle cakes,” he includes sections on his favorite herbs, sea vegetables, and citrus fruits (to name a few), which I appreciate, and he has a whole section on cashew cream. The whole book is food porn at it’s best.

On Friday, I saw Corin Tucker...

Her glitter eye shadow left remnants; a diatomic piece lying on her pectoral muscle next to her armpit kept catching the light. Halfway through the first song, the strap of her red plaid dress slid off her shoulder, and when she re-adjusted, it twisted and stayed that way the rest of the show. I stood in the second row, held hands with my good friend and cried like a bitch the whole time.

See, I’ve followed Corin Tucker’s musical career since I was 14. First listening to Heavens to Betsy, and later, Sleater-Kinney. The Riot Grrl movement shaped my identity in the mid-nineties. I saw Sleater-Kinney play live more times than I can count, from shows at RKCNDY, a now defunct all ages club in downtown Seattle, where my fourteen year old self was pressed against the edge of the stage, to a 21+ show at the Showbox a few months before I left Seattle for the east coast. Corin Tucker’s soft subtle melodies paralleled with her belting warble, that verges on a scream filled with passion followed me through moves; friendships formed and lost, death, break-ups, and immense joy.

So when I learned months ago she had recorded a new album, and was going on tour, I bought tickets as soon as they went on pre-sale, called a friend who had been crushed up against that stage at RKCNDY with me, and cried when she heard Corin Tucker’s voice live. The album hadn’t yet been released, but it didn’t matter. When the show started, we stood, 2 rows back, held hands, jumped up and down to Doubt (the only song on the new LP, 1000 Years, even remotely in the style of Sleater-Kinney) and cried the rest of the show. She is still one of the only musicians I’ve ever seen that is better in concert than in person, apparently no matter who she plays with.

The songs in her most recent endeavor are slower, more deliberate. Carefully planned. But her howl can still be found. Her music has changed, she still wore the glitter eye shadow and the vintage style dress, but, like us, she had grown up.

Oh, and P.S., during the encore, she sang The Golden State, by John Doe, with Eddie Vedder. I totally lost it.