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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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.