Giving my mom a cookbook for Mother’s Day, Christmas, and her birthday always seemed logical to me. She loves to cook and bake, and for someone who claims to never want or need anything, cute cookbooks used to sound like a no-brainer to me — until I realized that they all ended up in the same cabinet, mostly untouched, keeping each other company.
Why? Because nothing could trump her Fannie Farmer. Full of loose pages, tiny typeface, and a near-disintegrating spine, this cookbook is her one and only.