Cookbooks are my go-to gift. It’s a medium I know and horde for my own use, so instinctively it’s a love I want to share. I was always told “it’s the thought that counts”, and going that extra distance at this time of year adds that extra halo effect.
Where to shop
Shopping local and independent is a mantra for some. The plight of the indie bookseller is a precarious one and Christmas can be, as with other small retailers, a lifeline. Spare a thought for culinary booksellers – such as Books for Cooks, based at Queen Victoria Market in Melbourne – who also sell online. They can be niche treasure troves – yes, you’ll likely find that latest big-name release, but also books long out of print, or even an antiquarian selection for those wanting to mine the de rigeur dishes of the 19th century.
If you’ve time on your hands and a thirst for op-shops, dive into a less curated selection in search of a preloved classic, or a gift that just didn’t land with its recipient last year. I’ve uncovered everything from original Elizabeth David paperbacks, and Len Deighton’s Observer cookstrips classics the Action Cookbook and Ou Est Le Garlic, to as-new modern must-haves like Yotam Ottolenghi and Sami Tamimi’s Jerusalem in charity shops.
Writing cookbooks isn’t a sure thing financially. Increasingly you’ll find authors selling direct via their website or Instagram page. Buying this way is a win for you, as you’ll most likely land a signed copy and maybe some merch, while for them it’s a bigger margin.
What to choose
Making a good choice is knowing your recipient. I like to be bold with choices and open new culinary pathways to friends and family. Say, a veggie deep-dive like Alice Zaslavsky’s In Praise of Veg for the open-minded yet committed meat eater who thinks veg always takes second billing; or, conversely, Meat: The Ultimate Companion by Anthony Puharich and Libby Travers for a lapsed vegetarian.
Early in my relationship with my now wife I tested the theory, buying her a copy of Fergus Henderson’s The Whole Beast. She had spent decades as a vegetarian but was tentatively exploring an omnivorous diet. It still has pride of place among a sprawling cookbook collection.
Think beyond recipes
The line between books and magazines is blurring, like most media these days, with increasing numbers of mooks, high-end quarterlies and journals. These are spaces where new voices or little-heard perspectives can be found, and a subscription or bundle can be the gift that keeps on giving.
Look to publications like Colournary, founded to “amplify the voices of First Nations, Black and People of Colour through the lens of food and culture”, and publishers like Somekind Press, whose lo-fi paperback approach has resulted in a catalogue of page-turners from many of Australia’s most exciting venues, like Pipit, Tom McHugo’s, Ester and Lankan Filling Station.
Further mining that rich vein of talent, Cartilage produces recipe card journals with $10 of the $15 cost going back to the venue – a venture that was borne out of a will to help the hospitality industry during Covid, and could have legs beyond it.
For food lovers, it’s worth thinking beyond recipe books. A work of narrative non-fiction that outlines real issues can be a refreshing contrast to the gloss of lifestyle-led picture books. I’m thinking Richard Flanagan with Toxic, Matthew Evans with Soil and Gabrielle Chan and Why You Should Give a F*ck About Farming.
And don’t be too literal
And finally, call me the cookbook Grinch but with only a few exceptions (namely Nigel Slater’s The Christmas Chronicles) festive themed books should be avoided, especially if you live in Australia.
Why? Ultimately, their destiny is to be flicked through and left untouched until next Christmas. The shops are shut, you’ve planned your seasons’ eating, and all too often the fare is more northern hemisphere appropriate than something that pairs with white wine in the sun.
