Cookbooks are like movies. It is impossible to watch every one of them. But the really good ones will stand the test of time. Do you remember watching a movie when you were a kid, not liking it much because you thought it was your father's kind of movie? Yet a timeless classic will still be there when you've reached a certain (st)age in your life. It was only recently that I started looking up Clint Eastwood movies. Not because I'm getting old but rather, because I've enjoyed his more current movies (Hereafter, Invictus, Gran Torino) - as actor, director, producer and/or composer - I wanted to see him when he was younger. 

I suppose it's the same with Anthony Bourdain. We've all watched Tony travel the world eating his way into someone else's culture. Most people had already read Kitchen Confidential, the book that made him The Anthony Bourdain. I've read much about it but I don't think I should read it yet. (A pretty good idea for a Christmas present within budget, though.) I was more interested in his Les Halles Cookbook and had finally added it to my collection last July. It was first published nine years ago but I'm glad to read it now, not any earlier. Otherwise I wouldn't have understood nor appreciated his wisdom and humour. Just look at the tags - they are recipes either done or to-be-done.

Today's post hopes to address a common household problem: overly enthusiastic meat-eaters who see vegetables as garnishes meant to be swept aside. We are not just talking about the kids, but the adults whom the former monkey after. It is amusing to hear adults instructing their little darlings to "eat your vegetables" because if the older generation does not have the habit of consuming their greens, that same phrase will then be seen as a form of punishment. Children might even begin to resent vegetables since they are the only ones eating those. Grudgingly, if I may add.

On a personal note, now that I am taking a break from French lessons, it's been weeks since I last hung out in Bangsar Village. JL and I had been spending Saturday mornings in Bangsar Shopping Centre: get the weekend paper, have early lunch followed by some piccolo latte over a book or two, leaving groceries to the last. I think the husband really deserves whatever he fancies during weekends. He works too hard. 

Once of the books I read last weekend was Antonio Carluccio's Simple Cooking. Now if I ever, ever, have the chance to have my own cookbook published - and have a say in its design and layout - it will be about the same size as Antonio's book. Home kitchens in big cities are getting smaller, so if that's my target audience, why the need for a large coffee-table-book size? While at it, I will also insist on full-page full-colour pictures of every dish facing its recipe. 

It's no crime to dream.