31 hours since my last sleep, my body crashed and I wake 14 hours later, half of the Queen’s birthday already gone. Yes, I still hear the voice in my head go, “What Queen?! There’s no Queen in Australia!”, and contrary to what my friend told me, that it is the celebration of the current Queen Elizabeth II’s birthday, it is NOT. It’s just a day recognised as a public holiday in all Australian states except Western Australia. Don’t ask me why, read it here. In any case. PUBLIC HOLIDAY.
The first thing I remember thinking when I woke, besides the guilt of sleeping in and not having woken up to a morning call as my phone lay buried in my bag on silent mode, was PANCAKES.
Unfortunately, there were no pancakes. Sorry to disappoint. -pats own shoulder-
I did, however, decide to get out for a breath of ‘fresh’ air (I live in the city.) and some eggs. I pondered and decided against a deceivingly quick (I know it won’t be) expedition to a nearby cookware store, practicing self-restraint in the name of ‘Getting data analysis done’ and… walked into Kinokuniya.
I have a thing with bookstores. Since I learnt how to read, and as a young, once-skinny, child, I would read everywhere and anywhere, very often to my own detriment (Sprained ankle reading while walking down stairs), or to others’ annoyance (During mealtimes). Libraries and I never shared the same affinity, probably due to the lack of selection and because I had to return them. I wasn’t allowed to buy books simply because I would read the Parents broke and I think they caught on to that. I therefore rented books. Still. Bookstores had the selection and newest books, and sometimes you’d pick up a hardback that has not been molested previously by similar intrigue, the sound of the spine conceding, the smell of paper and print hits you, the glossy pictures (Nowadays of food more than anything).. I digress.
Such is the habit that I naturally walk into any bookstore, finding myself in one before I have actually decided to walk in. I have practiced restraint over the years, and I have learnt to do some shopping as opposed to sitting alone in a huge bookstore for hours before I was collected at the end of a shopping day, but you know, people slip up. And over the years, I no longer found myself in the ‘Fiction’ section, but in the ‘Cookery’ section.
I have a fair collection of cookbooks, magazines, food-related books, and other food-related publications. No, I have not cooked everything in those cookbooks and magazines, and I admit I have not pored through every single page and word. It is without a doubt that my passion for food and cooking is the basis for my obsession with food literature, but the books I choose are not just useful references and a wealth of ideas, but actually a reflection of how I relate to food, or would like to, how ever you might like to view it. How I wish to eat or cook, how I was brought up with food in my life, how I would like to be involved with food for the rest of my life.
At this juncture, I’m sure I would be questioned by the Family as to how this ‘thing’ with food came about, seeing as how I was a picky eater for the first, greater part of my life, and I never really took part in any discourse about food with the Family, or took an interest in the family business when we ventured into food. Gee. I would like to know too. But I suppose, it was always there, and for that I have to thank the Family. I never got involved as I thought that it was an area of life covered well by the rest of the Family, and I simply enjoyed the ride. But being on my own in Sydney has definitely got me involved with food on a more personal level. To this day, little things dawn upon me, and I realise I have truly come full-circle, and that you really can’t deny what you have been brought up with.
The cookbooks are not just books filled with recipes to cook everything in them. I am, and have been, truly fighting with every ounce of my being to avoid being corny and cheesy and gushy, but.. I find them inspiring, alright? Food articles about food issues educate and makes me feel defensive from time to time; Recipes guide and inspire me; and the authors’ stories not only amuse me, but also allow me into a world I either relate to, or aspire towards. It’s all a bunch of mushy greasiness here, so feel free to throw up in your mouths, but that’s it, that’s my spiel on food – That’s my defence on my cookbook mania and similar. So cast your verdict, but I am not changing my stand.
Of course I don’t mean to buy everything that is out there, that is, in no means, realistic thinking at all (Though one can DREAM to own the entire food literature section, right?), but some girls buy Louis Vuitton bags, Bottega wallets, and Jimmy Choo pumps – I buy food-related books. So I will continue to let my legs take me into them bookstores, and get inconveniently sidetracked for longer periods of time than ideal (Sorry, TheEvilTwin, but you were in MY neighbourhood and you followed.). And perhaps, guiltily, but delightfully, I will eventually leave that bookstore, with a shiny, beautiful new purchase.BLISS.
*Note: I practiced self-restraint, and I walked out of Kinokuniya today without a single purchase, albeit a lot later than I had planned… And I got my eggs.