I know, I know! You’re sick to death of me gushing about this magazine.
But you guys…I mean, come on. It’s amazing. It’s like that favorite pair of jeans that you wear almost everyday, even when they start to get baggy! (Speaking of which, I ripped a giant hole in the thinning crotch of my favorite jeans on Tuesday. A memorial service will be held for them this Saturday. Contact me for dishes that you can bring.)
I’ve been out of touch with Fine Cooking for about two years. My former boss used to get it and surprised me with it as a gift one year during college. I was insanely giddy about it (*Note: “insanely” isn’t hyperbole here. It really is insane to be that excited about a magazine.)
I asked for Fine Cooking as a Christmas gift from my MIL (mother in law) this past year. It’s a pretty expensive subscription or else I would frivolously spend the dough myself. Luckily, Deb Mom (said MIL) graciously gave this to me as part of my Christmas gift and my heart sang Hallelujah choruses for weeks.
There are two reasons I love this magazine.
1) It teaches you as you cook. There are picture by picture instructions, or they tell you why to use a certain ingredient (full fat sour cream doesn’t separate in beef stroganoff but fat free or reduced fat will—who knew?!) and
2) I’ve never, ever, ever come across a bad recipe from them. Ever. Some of my best recipes have come from Fine cooking (like this tomato soup).
Another bonus? I get emails from them monthly with online recipes and tips and tricks.
Since getting my subscription, I’ve made about 5 recipes from the magazine. All spectacular. So if you have a generous MIL and a passion for cooking, ask for a subscription to Fine Cooking for your birthday or next holiday that requires a gift (like, say, the upcoming President’s Day).
Thank you, Fine Cooking, for a steady supply of fabulous recipes and thanks, Deb Mom, for getting this awesome magazine back in my hands. It really is true love.
*Here’s where I would insert a picture of Fine Cooking with hearts scribbled all over it and me holding it and drooling. But I got 99 programs and Photoshop ain’t one.*