Welcome to Can't Help But Cook
Sharing cookbook reviews and culinary reflections from my 79 sq ft kitchen
I’m glad you’re here.
My name is Rachel Remmes. Wife, Mom, and #1-Molly-Baz-Fan. If you don’t know who Molly Baz is, you are missing out, but don’t worry, we’ll get there. I live and cook in NYC in a 79 sq ft kitchen, which is approximately 78 sq ft larger than my first NYC kitchen.
What’s going on here? Well, cooking. That’s what.
Can’t Help But Cook is, at its heart, about the significance of cooking. I want to be part of a growing cooking renaissance in America, moving away from most of “grandma’s recipes” involving three cans of Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom soup (not a fan). Very few of us have been taught how to salt fish correctly or how to brown, but not overcook, beef chuck. We’ve lost touch with the essentials, and if I’m being honest, it saddens me. Because I value cooking above almost all else, I live in a world of cookbooks, recipes, and learning from the best chefs (via their cookbooks). I so frequently use cookbooks and share favorite recipes with friends and family that I figured it was time to put my acquired knowledge on record for everyone who:
Loves cooking
Feels “meh” about cooking
Needs recipe suggestions STAT
Needs a game plan heading toward the cookbook sections of Barnes & Noble
Why should you care? Cookbook Reviews Galore. And More.
A central feature of Can’t Help But Cook will be cookbook reviews - lots of them! On Friday I will release my first cookbook review. If you’re even remotely interested in cooking, I hope you’ll take a look. I made 75 recipes from Ali Slagle’s I Dream of Dinner (2022), and my review is a product of that extensive, and quite delicious, work.
Two Types of Cookbook Reviews + My Musings
Extensive AF.
My full cookbook reviews will be exhaustive, so exhaustive that I actually checked to see if Substack has a word limit (there isn’t…technically). Before I provide you with a full cookbook review, I’ll make at least 50% of the recipes in the book and make at least one recipe from every section and subsection. My goal is to provide you with as clear an insight into the inner workings and organizational structure of the cookbook, so that you can determine for yourself if it’s something worth investing in. Because, not every cookbook is suited for every person, nor every stage of life. And, let’s be honest, when you’re at the bookstore you get “aspirational-culinary-excitement.” They say you should never go shopping on an empty stomach. I say you should never buy a cookbook without reading a review first.
Short, sweet, and spicy.
The second type of cookbook review is exactly what it sounds like: a truncated review of a cookbook that (usually) has a specialty focus…think handmade pasta and authentic Mexican food. Through many conversations with family and friends, I am aware that these sorts of cookbooks have a different appeal. They attract a smaller but very mighty audience. I love specialty cookbooks, and I want to share as many as possible, but I simply cannot hand roll pasta dough every night at this stage in my life. So, I will write a specialty cookbook review after I have made anywhere from 8-12 recipes. This will give you a solid sense for whether you want to invest the time and resources or not. In the future, I also plan to take cookbook suggestions from you, my reader. In order to work my way through these requests, I will rely on partial reviews as well.
From time to time, I will also share my ruminations on what it means to cook and why I think it’s so valuable to our modern lives. I think about cooking in grandiose and somewhat cheesy terms, so forgive me my loftiness and focus on the cookbook reviews if that’s more your thing.
Cooking Matters. It just does.
I want these essays to highlight cooking, rather than food, because food is in many ways the finished product - the end of the cooking process. It’s the thing you sit down to after a long day or the item you order off the menu. And while I think food is great, nay, the greatest thing on planet earth aside from, you know, faith, family, friends and all that, I think it’s cooking (i.e. the process) that is the artistic form. It’s the cooking – the grating, the dicing, the sauteing, the sheet pans, the messy-ass kitchen – that orders so much of our days, weeks, and lives. Like I said, lofty.
So often, it seems that cooking is a forgotten, overlooked, and underrated experience. It has the capacity to profoundly and sensually affect our everyday lives, yet it’s the thing we rush through, so that we can quickly sit down to dinner and move on to the next thing. Cooking is where it all begins, and yet it can also be where a well-intentioned meal ends if the rewards of the effort are undervalued, either by us, by those for whom we cook, or by the pressures of a busy, overwhelming world.
Now, before I lose you – because I know this all sounds nice in theory but in practice you’re thinking: “Rachel…we have jobs, we have kids, we have the next season of White Lotus to watch” – let me assure you that no one understands the demands of our precious time more than I do. This is not a space where I encourage you to make a stew that requires you to “stir constantly” every night. I have those demands on my time as well. I had three kids in 12.5 months (you do the math)...and the oldest is currently 21 months. I have learned the difficult way that cooking can take hours, or it can take a well-executed 35 minutes (even though the recipe said it would take 20). I often sacrifice a perfectly clean kitchen at night – even though I want one – because I CAN’T HELP BUT COOK, and I would rather spend the little time I have cooking something delicious than not.
I obviously love to cook, so I welcome the minutes spent in the kitchen by myself with my headphones and my latest audiobook. But as you will soon come to realize, this time isn’t always accessible to me. I believe deep in my bones, however, that it’s inherently valuable. It’s valuable to my family, to my community, and (importantly) to me. If you hate, and I mean utterly despise, cooking, these essays probably aren’t for you. BUT, if you think you like cooking, if the idea of braising (even if you don’t know what braising is) and a large collection of spatulas appeals to you, then stick around (it’s free).
I wanted to start sharing essays on cooking because I want to talk about everything and anything that cooking (and food) does in the lovely life of an ordinary person. And, please know that I mean ordinary in the most extraordinary of ways. My intended audience is not the Molly Bazs and Ina Gartens and Samin Nosrats of the world (but, if you’re reading this, Samin, I will cross heaven and earth to take a cooking class with you). My intended audience is the busy working mom, the recent college grad with the new (and stressful) job, the aspiring artist, and the lonely soul yearning for friendship and community. In short, my intended audience is everyone who isn’t a bonafide food professional because these people already know why cooking is so important, although sometimes they may appear to underappreciate the temporal demands of us lay folk.
I hold the belief, cheesy as it may sound, that food, especially food that has been prepared by you in some way, shape, or form deserves to be enjoyed, praised and toasted over. I aspire to encourage you not to overlook the impact that a home-cooked dinner can have on a friend. Don’t underestimate the joy that comes from sitting down to breakfast, lunch, or dinner with loved ones in the comfort of your own home.
I want to talk about why you should always have green onions in your fridge, why Mrs. Weasley is the true hero of Harry Potter, why slow roasted salmon is actually the easiest fancy-ass dinner you will ever make, and why we should all try to eat more fiber. I’m also here to let you know that there are 101 ways to add cooked chicken thighs to take out and spend less than you would on a Chipotle burrito bowl. Because, guess what, making boring old chicken thighs is – yep that’s right – cooking.
Now for the awkward part.
Finally, let’s address the elephant in the room. Yes, I am a SAHM (that’s stay at home mom for all you Gen-Zers), but these essays aren’t only for the SAHM with fifteen kids. It’s also for the summer intern trying to impress his new gf with a #danksteak, even though I'm fairly certain no one uses the word dank or hashtags anymore. It's for the nerdy recluse who yearns for the Victorian-era meals of old, Mr. Collins and all.
So, I say this in all seriousness, and in some jest, don't put me in a box because I have three kids and don’t work outside the home. This isn’t a space to talk about how damn cute my kids are, although I do deserve the right to complain about how my son turns his nose up at farro coated in garlic aioli (wtf). It’s a space where time spent cooking food is akin to time spent loving those around you. It’s a space where time spent cooking food is time spent creating something new. It’s a space where cooking food = joy and friendship and hard work and new experiences and failures. It’s a place to discuss the beauty of a perfectly seared steak and the mouthwatering goodness of perfectly salted green beans.
I’d love to hear from you! What do you enjoy about cooking? What scares you? And, most importantly, what is your fool-proof, go-to homemade meal? Let me know in the comments, or email me at canthelpbutcook@substack.com.
See you in the kitchen!
Xo,
Rach
Love this! Can't wait for more
Now I’m hungry! 😃