Ottolenghi new "Comfort": another trophy cookbook for our shelves
Ah, another day, another Ottolenghi cookbook to leave sitting on our shelves collecting dust and existential dread. This time, it's titled “Comfort” - oh, the irony. A book meant to evoke feelings of cozy culinary warmth, lovingly prepared meals, and probably the kind of comfort food that makes you feel accomplished in a way therapy never quite can.
But let’s be real: we all know what’s going to happen here. “Comfort” is destined to join the Ottolenghi shelf of shame. Right between Plenty More (the one you convinced yourself would turn you into the next vegetarian guru) and Simple (LOL, “simple”) will sit this new work of art. Because this isn't about the food. It’s about the optics. You’re not really buying this book to cook from it, are you?
You're buying it for the clout.
We’re deep into millennial adulthood now, and somehow, owning the latest, sexily photographed, lifestyle-heavy cookbook has become a badge of honor. Yotam Ottolenghi is not just a chef; he’s a vibe. If your kitchen doesn't have at least three of his hardcovers, are you even adulting correctly? God forbid someone comes over for wine night and sees a void where Ottolenghi’s name should be. I’ve seen OTK pink cover in the Instagram stories of a friend that I swear has never cooked ONCE in her life.
I could have romantic or drama books on those shelves. But no, those are destined to a cold Kindle reading. Instead, I prefer to collect books that ask me t
o ferment radishes like that’s a thing I always knew I had the capacity to do.
As with any of its predecessor, I’ll leaf through it, maybe tag a few recipes with little Post-it notes for that one day when I am feeling adventurous. I might even make a trip to the organic store for that specific za’atar that’s always mysteriously sold out. But spoiler alert: that “one day” never comes.
Comfort is relative. And maybe for us, “comfort” is knowing that when your friends come over, they’ll see the book there, perfectly positioned under a stylish candle and next to a bottle of artisanal olive oil, and they’ll know what kind of person you are. The kind of person who spends $40 on a cookbook to quietly signal your deep connection to food culture, even though the closest you’ll get to cooking this weekend is pressing “add to cart” on DoorDash.
Buying this book, reading it, and then not cooking from it is the final step in completing your millennial rites of passage.
After all, having it on your shelf makes you feel comforted already — and isn’t that the point?
