I Need Therapy . . .

I have a confession to make.

After I took this pic, I found two more.  Meaning, I can't even keep track of them all. 

I'm an addict.

This picture is from May. I have since inexplicably bought three more.

And by inexplicably, I mean "They spoke to me and I was enraptured by the promise of beautiful food, and one was by Julia Child for goodness sake and I wanted to make Nicoise salad."

That salad was totally worth the price of the cookbook, by the way. Tuna and potatoes in salad? Sign me up. Not even joking. It's delish.

Getting back to my original thought: inexplicablity. Who needs thousands (possibly hundreds of thousands) of recipes they may or may not make at their fingertips? Between this and all the blogs I follow, I'm pretty much set for every meal for the rest of my life. That's a lot of food.

And yet - AND YET - I can't stop myself. Something about each of the cookbooks you see above (plus the other three not pictured in addition to two others I want) inspires me. Each of them has a slightly different perspective on food, and there's something about that that just makes me smile. Each of them inspires me to stretch my own cooking limitations. Who knew I was such a challenge junkie?

The moral of this story? Cookbooks feed my soul. Yum.