The Very British “You Don’t Deserve It, But I Still Love You” Cookbook: Impressive British Food for Apologies, Arguments & Second Chances

 

 The Very British “You Don’t Deserve It, But I Still Love You” Cookbook

There are cookbooks for healthy eating.

There are cookbooks for dinner parties.

There are cookbooks for people who own seventeen varieties of sea salt and apparently have three uninterrupted hours available on a Tuesday evening.

And then there is The Very British “You Don’t Deserve It, But I Still Love You” Cookbook.

This is a cookbook for the rest of us.

More specifically, it is for those occasions when somebody has annoyed you enormously, behaved like an absolute berk, forgotten something important, or said something spectacularly unhelpful — and yet, against your better judgement, you still care enough to feed them.

Because that is love.

British love, anyway.

 When “Sorry” Just Isn’t Quite Enough

Britain has never been terribly comfortable with grand emotional declarations.

We are much better with tea.

Or pie.

Or quietly putting an extra roast potato on somebody’s plate without acknowledging that we have forgiven them.

That is the territory explored in The Very British “You Don’t Deserve It, But I Still Love You” Cookbook: food as apology, reconciliation, peace offering, bribery and the culinary equivalent of saying, "I am still cross with you, but I have made pudding." And really, what greater expression of affection is there?

The recipes celebrate comforting, satisfying British food with a generous helping of dry humour on the side. These are dishes designed for real kitchens, real relationships and those wonderfully awkward domestic moments when everyone knows there has been an argument but nobody is quite prepared to mention it.

 Food for the Emotionally Inarticulate

Some people write poetry.

Some people buy flowers.

Some people gaze lovingly into one another’s eyes and discuss their feelings.

The rest of us make shepherd’s pie.

This cookbook understands that a good meal can communicate an astonishing amount without requiring anybody to have an uncomfortable conversation before pudding.

A proper 'pie' might mean: I admit I may have overreacted.

A tray of something warm and cheesy might mean: You were technically right, but I would prefer never to discuss that fact again.

'A magnificent dessert' may simply mean: I still think you were completely wrong, but life is short and there is custard.

This is reconciliation, British-style.

 Serious Recipes. Not Entirely Serious Circumstances.

Behind the humour, however, this is still a proper cookbook.

The recipes are intended to be cooked, enjoyed and returned to again and again. Expect comforting British favourites, generous puddings, hearty suppers, baked treats and dishes capable of restoring civilised relations after even a particularly impressive domestic disagreement.

The humour may be mischievous, but the food is taken seriously.

That combination makes the book just as suitable for somebody who genuinely enjoys cooking as it is for somebody buying it because the title made them laugh in the first place.

And that is rather the point.

A novelty book might be amusing once.

A good cookbook should still be on the kitchen shelf years later.

 A Gift for People Who Know Each Other Far Too Well

This may also be one of the more dangerously accurate gift books you could give somebody.

Partners.

Husbands.

Wives.

Friends.

Parents.

Adult children.

Long-suffering relatives.

Anyone with whom you have reached that comfortable stage of a relationship where affection and irritation can coexist perfectly happily.

It could make a memorable Valentine's Day gift for couples who have moved beyond roses and poetry.

It could be an anniversary present for somebody who already knows exactly what you are like and has inexplicably remained.

It could be a Christmas gift for the family member who always starts an argument before lunch.

Or it could simply be purchased for yourself because you enjoy proper British comfort food and have several people in your life who frequently do not deserve it.

 The Very British Art of Forgiveness

There is something distinctly British about refusing to make a fuss.

We may not announce forgiveness.

We may not even admit there was anything requiring forgiveness.

We simply put the kettle on.

Eventually somebody produces biscuits.

Normal diplomatic relations resume.

Dinner follows.

The Very British “You Don’t Deserve It, But I Still Love You” Cookbook takes that instinct and turns it into an entire collection of recipes.

It celebrates relationships not as perfectly polished things, but as they actually are: funny, irritating, affectionate, occasionally ridiculous and frequently improved by food.

Because love is not always candlelight and violins.

Sometimes love is looking across the kitchen at somebody who has thoroughly tested your patience and asking, "Do you want gravy with that?”

And somehow, that says everything. 

Available On Amazon