When I was little, there were two small cookbooks my mom always kept on the recipe stand. I would flip through them each time I perched on the counter (somehow the best seat in the room) and wonder why they weren't more interesting since they were roughly the same size as my picture books. I'm not sure why I expected that to change each time I picked them up, but such was the way of things. I remember the title of one was "Too Busy to Cook?" and my childhood self always found