I've fallen in love. Three years into my marriage, eight years into my relationship, I'm ready to chuck it all so I can run away and have Mark Bittman feed me minimally.
Or, preferably, maximally.
Failing that, I'll have to resort to this cookbook. I adore this cookbook! I worship this cookbook! I've been waiting for this cookbook my whole life, not realizing that everything I thought I was doing -working, acquiring graduate degrees, marrying, buying cheese- was a gussied-up form of waiting for this cookbook.
Meet Kitchen Express. Bittman has compiled 404 of what are less recipes than templates, organizational scaffolding upon which you can erect your PARTHENON OF DELICIOUSNESS. They're seasonally inspired, contain few ingredients, and can be made in "20 minutes." "20 minutes" is food industry speak for "half an hour, or forty minutes if you lose time extracting the cilantro from the bowels of the refrigerator," but it's close enough. And did I mention yummy?
But here's the chilling question: Do I grovel at the feet of this cookbook because it's really that good, or because Bittman panders so expertly to my twin kitchen neuroses of laziness and desire for yum? There's some academic research to suggest that the people of the same sex we rate most attractive are the people who look like us, only prettier. Bittman cooks like me (quickly, using templates and not very many ingredients), only WAY MORE SMOKIN.'
Oh well. I'm going to retire to bed with my book again.