Alternate titles: Cooking the Books, Cook(ed) Book
I have zero tolerance for biblioclasm regardless of someone’s moral, religious, or political objections to the contents. The destruction of books is what is REALLY morally wrong to me, burning the material solves nothing and only serves to vilify the biblioclast. I’m looking at you 2nd Century BC China, multiple destroyers of the ancient Library of Alexandria, conquistadors and missionaries in Central America, and of course the Nazis (great summation of biblioclasm events here).
And don’t even get me started on the “banned books list,” I’ve read so many of these that are absolutely harmless, and if the content is offensive and/or disturbing? (I’m looking at you American Psycho) Then JUST DON’T READ IT. Self-censorship = genius in my eyes.
God knows I started reading rated R books at age 13 and I would be lost without any of my lust and sex filled romance novels today.
But this post is not about censorship, or such serious topics as challenging book bans, or the transgressions of book burning.
It’s about how I, proud and lusty reader, full of love-for-books…burned my first book last week.
By accident, jeez!
(well except for that time I held a Destruction Ceremony for my Calculus textbook in college after failing it twice and finally getting an A senior year. Yeah, take that Calculus!)
How could this “accidental book burning” occur with such a bibliophile as myself?
Well, do you notice anything odd in this picture of my bookshelf? This is one of those “which of these is not like the other?” games:
While lustily preparing hubby’s and my dîner fantastique with our lengthily titled wedding present of Better Homes and Gardens Bridal Edition Cook Book(still not sure what is “bridal-y” about it, it is just normal recipes, nothing about holding hands with your new husband while you knead the dough, or how to decorate your newlywed kitchen, or where to put your wedding ring when you’re cooking…) so anyways, while preparing our delish diner I got a leeeetle distracted and burnt the book.
Can you guess how?
You don’t have to be Miss. Marple or Dick Tracy to note the matching spiral burnt-shape on the book and stove-top.
While preparing the ingredients with the recipe open on the stove (we don’t have much counter space, this is my defense) I accidentally turned on the burner instead of the oven.
I will NOT share with you how often I do that. But this is the first time I have turned a burner on with something flammable on top of it. So I cooked that cook book good.
Hubby was very curious as to why our baked chicken caused the air to smell like burnt paper.
And that is the story. Of the time. I literally was cooking the books.
Filed under: About me |