Barbra Austin

This book belonged to my mother, which is strange because she really wasn’t an ambitious cook. She kept things very simple and didn’t often stray from her repertoire.

But I think I know why it was on her shelf.

Thanksgiving is here, and that means one thing: Pie. Lots and lots of pie.

I am currently playing a little game with my cookbooks that I like to call Ship, Store, or Pitch.

When cookbook author and former Chez Panisse pastry chef David Lebovitz arrived in Paris to live, there was plaster hanging from the ceiling of his apartment and a stained futon on the floor. His landlord hired a painter but the job — the refreshing of a small one bedroom apartment — took weeks. He stayed with friends in the meantime, but could not find solace in the collection of beloved cookbooks he had shipped from the States. The box never arrived and La Poste, as you might imagine, was less than sympathetic.

This was not an auspicious start.

I generally wouldn’t advise making cutlery purchases based on cuteness, but I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t do just that when I bought my first L’Econome paring knife.

Is it possible to love an object? Probably not, but I can’t help but have strong feelings for the contraption that produces my morning coffee.

There is something about Sabre flatware that just makes me happy. The shiny stainless steel utensils with their colorful handles are pure pleasure to look at.