By the time that Le Sud, the third cookbook from the Paris-based recipe developer and food stylist Rebekah Peppler, hit shelves at the end of April, I’d already spent months living vicariously through its digital galley. I was struck by its bounty of Provençal recipes, stunning photos of the French Mediterranean, and Peppler’s assured voice, but more than that, I was struck by the realization that the cookbook is… sexy. It greets you with a photo of two naked, dripping-wet backs, fresh from a swim in the ocean. They set the tone for the rest of the book, which features numerous photos of Peppler, her partner, Laila Said, and their friends in repose, sometimes in swimwear; there are tanned stomachs and legs, an unassuming nipple visible through a shirt, and limbs casually draped over other limbs, all cast in golden light. The overall effect conjures the heady languor of a Luca Guadagnino film, and will do nothing to convince you that life is not better in Europe.
Le Sud displays bodies as lovingly as it does food and drink, a quality that I’ve been noticing more cookbooks strive to capture, with varying degrees of intention, in the past year. This spring has also given us Jess Damuck’s Health Nut, which frames Damuck’s bare midriff as the backdrop for carrot ginger saffron soup, a beet and black bean burger, and a creamsicle smoothie; and Sara Kramer and Sarah Hymanson’s Kismet, in which Hymanson’s toned abs illustrate a recipe for lamb skewers with carob molasses. Last year, Molly Baz’s More Is More made a recurring motif out of Baz’s similarly sculpted midsection (and also gave the world a big photo of her bare foot in perilous proximity to a bowl of soup), and Please Wait to Be Tasted, the cookbook from Lil’ Deb’s Oasis, featured a photo of three people, naked from the waist up (and turned away from the camera) holding a coupe of coconut snow, the contents of which were also splattered across their skin. And then there was Alison Roman’s Sweet Enough, whose photos stitched together an alluring narrative of chill hedonism encapsulated most memorably by a tightly cropped shot of a shirtless man, furry torso and thighs crammed into extremely snug short-shorts, holding a strawberry cake whose presence felt somewhat incidental.
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The cover of Rebekah Peppler's cookbook Le Sud. |
Considering the trend as a whole, it’s easy to conclude that a) cookbooks are hornier now; b) cookbooks are more joyously queer now, whether that’s a function of their author’s identity or how their text and photos capture glimpses of unshackled levity in the author’s daily life; c) some cookbook authors are just more comfortable showing off their bodies; d) most of those bodies happen to be female- and white-presenting, and all are young and slender; and e) of course cookbook authors, tasked with presenting readers with an aspirational vision of the good life, would want to include their own (outwardly) enviable health as part of that vision. A cynic might conclude that it’s all just very savvy marketing, and that this is where the cult of oversharing — not to mention the relentless pressure to monetize (certain) bodies in the name of capitalism — has landed us.
I thought about all of this earlier this week, when Molly Baz went on Instagram to publicize her so-called #bigtittycookies, a line of lactation cookies she’s selling. Right now, there’s a billboard of her in Times Square in which she poses, visibly pregnant and wearing a bikini bottom and two strategically placed cookies. It’s kind of silly, kind of upcycled Demi Moore on the cover of Vanity Fair, and kind of uncomfortable. (Originally, the advertisement was slated to run for one week, just in time for Mother’s Day. But on Thursday, a representative from the billboard’s parent company flagged the ad for review and exchanged the photo for another picture from the campaign, according to the New York Times. In the updated image, Baz sits atop a kitchen counter wearing a crop top and jeans. She later took to Instagram to critique the decision, saying she felt “extremely disappointed but not at all surprised.”) Maybe the unenviable reality behind these tastefully filtered cookbook portrayals of our sexy, unburdened aspirations is that all bodies are just a little weird when they’re too close to food for comfort.
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What I love on Eater at Home this week -
Have you ever wondered when it’s time to replace a Microplane? Anna Hezel answers that question and more in her charming and very informative Make It Last column exploring how to get the most of (what I consider to be) the very best kitchen tool ever made.
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Plenty of people make their own chicken stock, but is it worth it to make your own seafood stock? As Tanya Edwards discovers, yes, it very much is.
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Hosting is back, and Bettina Makalintal explains why there are some very good reasons people are turning their apartments into “coffee shops.”
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What else I’m consuming -
Cooking: I was lucky enough to receive an advance copy of Khushbu Shah’s Amrikan (out June 4) and her recipe for vagharelo bhaath has already transformed how I use leftover rice.
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Listening: Le Journal en Français Facile, a French daily news podcast that I highly recommend for anyone learning the language.
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Watching: Challengers. What ridiculous fun this was. Some food studies major is already writing a thesis about that churro scene.
- Re-reading: Please Kill Me, Legs McNeil and Gillian McCain’s sometimes horrifying and always entertaining oral history of punk.
— Rebecca Flint Marx, editor, Eater at Home |
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