I believe the first recorded recipe book dates to 1700BC. It was discovered in Mesopotamia and consisted of four clay tablets. By 1300AD, recipe books were the norm for royalty and nobles. The 1390 publication of Forme of Cury (the Rules of Cookery) was published for King Richard II. Now, my source is not all too clear on why it was published for the king, or why it focused on rules of cooking. Perhaps, he was what we today call a “foodie.”  Today, when someone is referred to as a foodie, it is an individual who has a strong interest in food and enjoys it as a hobby. The description is a bit vague. Quite frankly, in that case our cat Domino is a foodie. He has a very strong interest in when his next meal will appear in his bowl, in fact, given how much time he spends canvassing his humans for that meal, it could easily be seen as a hobby.

Thinking about it, I suppose I am a foodie. I like to know about trends, explore new ways of preparing food, I like to make food, I like to present food, and my favourite person is a hungry person. Over the years I have followed many fads. At one stage, I could not cook if it did not involve an olive. Lately, without an ancient grain or a heritage tomato, I am stumped for ideas. Too many years ago, when my family decided to turn Flexitarian (with more emphasis on the Tarian, and less on Flex) I had a wonderful time experimenting with grains and legumes. I strongly felt that if I were going to prepare a plant-based meal, it would flow from creativity and imagination, and not resemble a sausage or a cutlet, shaped out of soya and bought at a supermarket. For heaven’s sake: why turn from meat, only to eat something the shape of what you have just left behind? By the way, have I ever mentioned that both our sons cook exceptionally well? For what it is worth, I tried to teach them the way I learnt: by creating. Which brings me to my next point: Recipes.

I have previously written about how people always assume that I have been microchipped with a repertoire of recipes. Truth is, I am not a fan of recipe books. Occasionally, though, one comes along, and I simply fall in love with it. This happened to me recently. I paged through a recipe book that my daughter in law found at a thrift shop, and I simply had to have my own copy. I did find it -on line, nogal, and Takealot was happy to get it to me. It took a while, because I think they had to go and search for it in their archives. I was with a fellow foodie when the book arrived. How do you feel about recipe books, I asked him. I do not really like them very much, he replied. I like to look at the photo of the prepared dish, and then I go off and work it out for myself, adding my own twist to it, he explained. No more words needed. We are kindred spirits. I understand exactly, I assured him.

What made my new purchase so exciting is this: Do you know all those “community based” recipe books that were so popular for fundraisers? A committee of the most important ladies would get together, and decide to collect recipes from other community members, and soon enough a book – badly typed and crudely stapled along the one side will make an appearance: Recipes by the ladies of All Saints Parish. Dine with us, by the ladies of the Hilltop High School. Best Biscuits and Cakes, by the Friends of the Library. Many a school hall or vestry, was built by the proceeds of these books. The book I bought is a compilation of these recipes. The author did her research and quickly realized that these were not only recipe books, but in fact a record of a community. Who they were, what they ate, how their environment would have influenced their choice of recipes. You can imagine, a school in the Karoo would have plenty recipes using lamb, whereas a coastal town would offer more seafood recipes. And that is what got me so interested in the book, the Anthropology I found in the pages. The recipe is not what had me excited, it was the people who offered their recipes, giving me a glimpse into their environment, their social relations, the peep into what made each of those communities their own version of human.

Will I ever prepare one of the recipes? Probably not. I will read the book, as one would read a novel, and then go into the kitchen, and create my own version of the dish. And that is the problem with sharing my recipes with others. You will not find them written down anywhere. They are all in my head.