The Great Cookbook Revival: Why our appetite for recipe books never wanes
In an age where it's never been easier to source a recipe online, where is this cookbook renaissance coming from? With more diverse, artistic and exceptional options available than ever before, Alex O’Neill digs a little deeper…
Cookbooks are like opinions, everybody has one. My friends, family, old housemates, short stay hosts, neighbours — every home that I have stepped into in recent memory has one or many, some hidden away on a shelf, tabletop or kitchen press, many proudly displayed as a focal point. A household staple, many have been gifted, handed down, loaned, or impulsively purchased after watching a cooking show.
Cookbooks have a seemingly universal appeal, and continue to play a connecting role in our lives, regardless of the fact that recipes have never been easier to find online, for free. Cookbooks continue to grow in popularity, and despite everything, continue to entice.
I have an unhealthy obsession with thick, fluffy American style pancakes. I want them everyday, for every meal, it’s my hyperfixation food (I am “severely” neurodivergent) but when Pancake Tuesday comes around, all I want is my mammy’s delicate, light crepes that she’s been cooking from Darina Allen’s Simply Delicious cookbook since before I was born. It has very few pictures, no airs or graces. But I trust this cookbook with my life, because my mam did.
I come from a household of books. I’ve been reading by myself since I was three years old — newspapers since I was four. My parents will never not have a book in their hand, my sister is the same. Moving into my partner Richie’s parent’s house for the first time during Covid, I was struck by the lack of books. No beat up novels left on a chair, no historical encyclopaedias softening the flat, shiny surfaces of coffee tables, sideboards or television stands. No memoirs, no collections of Irish Poetry or Irish History. No books, it seemed, at all. I will admit, I judged them. The idea of a house with no books was ridiculous. Do these people not read?
I silently surveyed the house, perplexed, for a whole week. I thought I had it worked out when I saw a bookshelf in the study lined up with leather spines, but I had come across a wall of photo albums, coin and stamp collections. I had all but given up until one day, after eating a delicious dinner of steamed fish in ginger, scallion and oyster sauce, served with chop suey and yellow garlic rice, I spotted them. A collection of cookbooks, at the bottom of a kitchen sideboard, that had been previously hidden from view by the kitchen table. Hallelujah!
It was an incredible collection of cookbooks I had never heard of. The Complete Asian Cookbook, a book with a cover in a similar late ‘80s/early ‘90s style of cookbook I had seen in my mother and grandmother’s cookbook collections. Suzy Benghiat’s Middle Eastern Cooking, Chinese Cuisine (Wei-Chuan’s Cookbook) by Huang Su Huei, and Fuschia Dunlop’s The Food of Sichuan stood out to me too, as did one old, slim book called The Vegetable Garden Displayed, from 1974.
The other books were old too, mainly from the ‘80s, but this one stood out because it wasn’t Asian or Middle Easter inspired. It reminded me of Richie’s granny, who loved her garden. I realised that the collection of books was telling their family story.
Richie’s grandparents, on both sides, spent much of their lives travelling, working with the UN. His mother was born to Irish parents in Jordan, and spent much of her childhood in the Middle East. His dad was born in Manila, and spent his childhood in the Philippines. His parents were both Filipino, with some Chinese ancestry on both sides, and after years of his father working as a radio engineer, eventually settled in Jerusalem with his family. This is where Richie’s grandparents first met, where his parents then met, and got married.
In a world where convenience often outweighs tradition, the cookbook endures as a timeless anchor to memory and identity.
Our book, Masarap, continues this story. On our last visit to visit Richie’s grandmother Myrna in Manila, she showed us her photo albums of her time in the UN. To see black and white photographs of people from all over the world, of all races, all religions, sharing meals, events and lives together, in a period of the 20th century where racism, division and exclusion were so rife, was surreal.
She also showed us her UN cookbook, a book of recipes from her friends from this time, a treasure trove of family recipes gathered from all over the world. To know these recipes were shared, and pictures were taken in a place since occupied and filled with hateful division, oppression and cruelty, stings the memories but reminds me of something very important. Food brought people together, both then and now. We speak about this and Richie’s family’s influence on his cooking on the first and last page of the book, and even included one of his grandmother’s recipes, Leche Flan.
I think one of the main reasons cookbooks are so popular is the utterly universal appeal. People I have never seen read anything other than their phone screens will have cookbooks. I can tell a lot from a house by looking at their kitchen shelves, counters, or the space where they hold their treasured hardbacks. There is something for everyone, and their continued appeal is testament to this — but it wasn’t always like this.
In the early noughties and 2010s, many industries struggled with the impact of the internet. Publishing and printing was an industry initially hit. With the arrival of eBooks, Kindles, and the knowledge of the internet in the palm of your hand, the immediate impact was that people stopped buying as many books.
At this time, recipe sites, blogs and online forums made it seem as though cookbooks would quickly become a thing of the past, and so many predicted their gradual demise. Instead, we have seen pretty much consistent growth year on year since 2014, not only in Ireland, but the UK, North America and beyond. It seems like the allure and affinity I have for them is widely shared and felt.
Cookbook sales in the US grew 8% year-on-year between 2010 and 2020, with sales then booming during the pandemic years, as people were stuck at home taking on the challenges of sourdough, eight-hour Pho, and exploring the cuisines of the restaurants they missed so much.
Thankfully, even after the first pandemic surge, sales stayed strong. In Ireland, it is the eighth successive year of increased print book sales, meaning they are 60% higher now than they were in 2014. Print book sales in Ireland reached a new high in 2022, driven by the success of Irish authors. In 2023, Irish sales increased by another 2 per cent to a record €169.6 million! That amounts to 13.4 million units. Books are back, baby. And cookbooks are a huge part of this.
To go back to my point of the impact of the internet, I believe the current surge in popularity could actually be due in part to global digitisation. In contrast to scrolling, cookbooks offer a tangible, screen-free experience. When you choose a cookbook, it feels like a mindful commitment to a meal or theme—a far cry from browsing dozens of scattered recipes online.
Yes, it’s easy to just throw something into the search bar, but it rarely leaves me satisfied. I Google enough, I don’t need to Google my dinner. I have also come to realise that most recipes you get online are absolutely crap. No testing, no seasoning, no love. Just no. People can trust a cookbook.
The early 2000s saw the advent of food blogs and online recipe databases, which initially seemed to threaten the traditional cookbook, but oftentimes these digital platforms actually complement them. The rise of the food influencer has accounted for hundreds of cookbooks, with many of them reaching best seller lists globally.
That’s the beauty of Irish food right now: it’s not either/or; it’s both/and.
For the first time, chefs have direct access to international audiences, and don’t need to fit the same cookie cutter mould of a typical television chef. This synergy between digital and print media has helped sustain—and even boost—cookbook sales, and has shown publishers that being engaged with consumer trends is an important factor in success.
Cookbooks have shifted towards consumer trends. They’re moving away from being recipe collections to something more. Many are about storytelling, historical context, or specialised niches; some support lifestyle choices such as sustainability, health and wellness; while others are all about all out indulgence. Some cookbooks show home cooks how to utilise seasonal ingredients, fridge leftovers, limit food waste, while others support readers in their dietary requirements like veganism, keto, gluten free, etc.
Consumers seek out cookbooks that match their values, fueling further the trend of culinary guides that educate readers on how to cook with purpose. Unfortunately, this also means that a huge sector for cookbooks is in diet and weightloss, which is important to note. This of course impacts women mostly, both on the reader side and the author side. Many of the cookbooks by women in the last number of years by some of the major publications have been closely or solely diet related. But that’s another article.
Women have been leaders in cookbooks, for a huge chunk of time, in many positive ways. Authors like the iconic Myrtle Allen paved the way for a narrative, specialised style. It would be hard to find anybody versed in Irish food history disagreeing that Myrtle Allen is one of the people behind modern Irish food and putting it on the map. I would need a whole article to discuss her impact, but to be very brief, she was the first Irish woman ever to get a Michelin star, and her first cookbook was a turning point for Irish food publishing.
The Ballymaloe Cookbook was first published in 1977, and did not just list recipes; it introduced readers to a philosophy of local, seasonal eating, and celebrating Irish produce. Her approach broke away from norms of the time, instead emphasising the importance of using ingredients sourced from local farms and small-scale producers. Her work made her a pioneer of modern Irish cuisine, and an early advocate for sustainable, local food—a theme that narrates many of today’s cookbooks.
There’s also newfound popularity of a new breed of chefs; cool, tortured artist-esque types who are seen as what can only be described as a new breed of rockstar complete with the tattoos, style and the attitudes to match. Some of the biggest shows on television in the last decade have been based in kitchens, and thanks to shows like The Bear, being a chef is a career that has sex appeal, interest and a huge influence on pop culture.
Another area that’s seen huge growth, and interest, are the cookbooks that discuss history and anthropology. An incredible example of this is The Irish Food History: A Companion, by authors Máirtín Mac Con Iomaire and Dorothy Cashman. This book has been described as a “landmark publication” by Darina Allen, and takes you on an expert-led journey through Ireland’s culinary past, from the Ice Age to the Middle Ages, the occupation to the famine, right up until where we are today.
I spoke to Máirtín while cooking for his Masters students studying Gastronomy in TUD, where he spoke about the importance of books like this;
“This book is extremely important because it uncovers the truth about Irish food, and dispels myths that have been peddled over the years, about the Irish that depicted us as insular and narrow minded. [The reality is that] we have always been global and outreaching, [with a real and important impact globally, due to us] being an island nation that has been dealing, exporting and travelling all over the world for millenia.”
Máirtín’s work is hugely inspiring, and to have a book like this, which documents and showcases our history, is just that — historic. So many of our stories have been suppressed and dismissed; food has been used as a tool of oppression, alongside the attempted destruction of our food culture, our language and indigenous customs. A book like this is culturally invaluable.
Cookbooks are a tool of escape; they’re for inspiration and pleasure.
The cookbook boom in Ireland has shown no signs of stopping, led by innovators like Kristin Jensen of NineBean Rows and Blasta Books. Kristin worked in publishing for 20 years before deciding to start her own publishing house, as she wanted to showcase the quieter drivers of food culture in Ireland. She wanted to represent a modern Ireland, a modern Irish food scene by celebrating voices big and small.
Blasta Books is an Irish book series that aims to celebrate diversity, cultural heritage and the richness of a multicultural society, led by Kristin, who aims to change the way that cookbooks are published in order to make more room at the table. Started with a Kickstarter campaign in 2021, Blasta has just announced its fourth series of books, bringing the collection to a total of 16 titles. Each book is a standalone cookbook, and a collectible in the series, providing a more inclusive snapshot of Ireland’s modern and diverse food culture, from tacos to tapas, spice bags to sushi, adobo to Anzac cookies.
I spoke to Kristin about this, who said, “After working in the publishing industry for years, I knew that traditional cookbooks are prohibitively expensive to produce, which is why so many publishers are hesitant to take risks on publishing new voices or anything seen as niche. But I also knew that there are so many talented people doing incredible things in the food scene in Ireland that’s on a par with anything you’d find in major cities like London or New York. I figured there had to be another way to provide a platform for more voices and more stories, which is how Blasta Books was born.”
“That quickly expanded to also include the NineBean Rows imprint, and between the two, I like to think we’re creating a culinary canon of Irish food,” Kristin continues. “Our books both reflect on and celebrate the past, embrace modern flavours and influences. And that’s the beauty of Irish food right now: it’s not either/or; it’s both/and.”
For me, the most impactful and important focus of cookbooks has been on celebrating diversity in food, and shifting away from the Eurocentric approach to dining and home cooking. Instead, we’re focussing on diverse voices that reflect a more global palate. The success of the likes of Blasta Books shows how the appetite for multicultural narratives has reshaped the Irish food scene, and the global embracing of culinary diversity.
I smile as I’m considering all of this, as I have just come to the realisation that I am a product of this new wave of cookbooks being more than recipe collections. I have written less than two dozen recipes in my life. Yet I am a cookbook author. My partner wrote the recipes in our book, a personal introduction, and I wrote the story in between.
I researched the ingredients, and I spoke to every chef we met in the Philippines. I spoke to the wonderful smiling staff who welcomed us from one island paradise to the next, I spoke to fishermen. I sat at Richie’s grandmother’s dinner table until I ran out of questions. Every kitchen we step into, I ask questions. I want to know more, about the food and the methods, yes, but also the cultural and personal significance behind the choices that each person preparing food made, considered or thought about.
I find what I’m looking for when I slow down and leaf through an actual cookbook, opening up the world of the author, their kitchen, their culinary and cultural identity. In a world where convenience often outweighs tradition, the cookbook endures as a timeless anchor to memory and identity. They remind us of the simple joy in cooking and sharing meals, grounding us in what food brings: connection, comfort, and shared humanity. Sometimes, we’re just searching for something to cook, but more often we’re looking to feel connected: to ourselves, others, our past, or a memory.
Cookbooks are a tool of escape; they’re for inspiration and pleasure. They transmit identity, history, and belief as much as they educate on recipes and methods, showing that food and the ritual of its preparation often goes far beyond taste. They let us experience the past or a memory, whether through the recipes inside or from the notes or inscriptions a loved one left inside the cover.
We read them to learn how people lived, bringing us back to a place through taste, smell, and even the touch of a page— they store the recipes that bring us back to important places, people or times, like my mammy’s crepes on a pancake Tuesday.
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