For years, she’s been collecting, cooking, and Instagramming her favorite recipes, and here they are: from breakfast all day to John’s famous fried chicken with spicy honey butter to her mom’s Thai classics.
Salty, spicy, saucy, and fun as sin (that’s the food, but that’s Chrissy, too), these dishes are for family, for date night at home, for party time, and for a few life-sucks moments (salads). You’ll learn the importance of chili peppers, the secret to cheesy-cheeseless eggs, and life tips like how to use bacon as a home fragrance, the single best way to wake up in the morning, and how not to overthink men or Brussels sprouts. Because for Chrissy Teigen, cooking, eating, life, and love are one and the same.
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|Publisher:||Clarkson Potter/Ten Speed|
|Product dimensions:||7.90(w) x 10.00(h) x 0.90(d)|
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
I know, I know. A cookbook from me? The girl who had two fast-food Twitter accounts fighting for her affection in what was the oddest, greasiest exchange she had ever witnessed? The one whose visits to Waffle House and whose messed-up miscommunications with the Postmates dinner delivery guys make it to the Internet sometimes? The girl who actually celebrated Thanksgiving at Taco Bell headquarters among her closest friends she had never met? Yep. I am doing it.
And doing it. (And doing it well.)
So. This book. My Thai mom is ESL, but I am FSL: Food has been my second language since I was a tiny little brat. A lot of kids wear superhero costumes, princess costumes. I used to fall asleep, so happy, wearing my little chef’s hat or mom’s chile pepper apron with oven mitts on. (Don’t sleep in oven mitts you cooked in all day because ants will make you their bitch. See, you’re learning something already!) I spent my childhood in the kitchen following around Thai Mom, who pretty much made everything from scratch, using tools none of my other friends had in their homes. I remember sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, an annoying trait I still possess, buttering piles and piles of crackers for dad’s chicken soup, ripping up bacon for mom’s scalloped potatoes. I remember, when my friends were over, plugging my nose and pretending to hate the exotic fish sauce my mom was using. I remember debating the finer points of flaky pastry with my chicken-potpie-obsessed American dad. I remember the divine mix of Thai food, TV dinners, and hearty, homemade goodness that have shaped this palate of mine to this day. I remember all this but I still google my husband’s birthday. Thank god he’s famous.
The kitchen is a place I know well. It’s my favorite room wherever I am living, and it has to be completely open and social. Our kitchen has seen way more activity than our hot tub or sex dungeon. The kitchen is the heart of any home. And my heart is in the kitchen.
But whether for business or pleasure, I am almost always on a plane. Same with John. It’s amazing—we’ve been to so many beautiful places around the world. We’ve eaten every sort of meal, at the finest French Michelin-star restaurants, BBQs in Texas, and street markets in the Thai village my mom grew up in. When I’m not traveling, though, I am basically a world-class shut-in.
When I am home, I am home, people, and if it wasn’t for the fact that John wants genuine date-nights out with me, I would probably never. Ever. Leave. (Why he doesn’t consider watching me watch Real Housewives a datenight,
I will never understand.)
Which brings us to cooking. I am not lying when I tell you I can hang out in the kitchen for twelve hours straight without stopping. Just ask my live-in mom, who you might know as Pepper Thai (or, to be exact, atPepperThai2, which is her name because she doesn’t remember the password to atPepperThai or atPepperThai1 so be on the lookout for atPepperThai3 by the time this thing comes out). Or ask all the friends who I make come over instead of going to their house UNLESS they give in to my demands of my bringing over some sort of small feast. When I am cooking, I am in the moment. I’m very slowwww, rereading recipes, sipping wine, munching, sipping vodka, more munching. I really get into the dish I am making. I relax. My day job may be exhausting, but cooking is my peace. My dream is to have a big family with lots of grandkids. And we’ll get together every Sunday for a hearty dinner at our house, and we’ll all live in flavorful bliss, happily ever after. (Or they could become vegans. Oh my god, they could become vegans.)
I started posting pictures of my meals on social media, and I could not believe the response. A few classy blokes asked for more TITTTAYYYYYY, but most of you are awesome. I’d post a picture of a dish (usually with some story of how I messed it up but it was delish anyway), and lots of you would tweet me back, ask me for a recipe, give me some tips, or just plain ol’ get excited to get in the kitchen yourselves. We would have our #DrunkDinnerParties, posting pics of our successes and failures. And I started a little food blog called So Delushious. It’s been amazing to share my love of food with you. I feel like I should pay you for the overwhelming joy it gives me when people tell me that something I posted got them excited to cook something for themselves.
So of course I had to write a cookbook, and of course I had to give you my best. I cooked and cooked with my cowriter, Adeena, until everything tasted just how I wanted it—and then I cooked it again. And again for John. And again for friends. And AGAIN for the finicky eaters who don’t like much of anything. Once we got those people excited, we knew we had the perfect cookbook. When it came to creating these recipes, I wanted this to be as simple as possible without skimping on the flavor. Cooking can be intimidating to a lot of people, and I want you to know you really can make a great meal without having gone to Le Cordon Bleu. I want the recipes to work every time, and without a jillion ingredients you have to go to twelve stores for. And I want them to taste UNFORGETT ABLE. Like go-to-sleep-grinning because what you made was just so painfully, achingly incredible!
I know how I like my food. I like it spicy, salty, sticky, crunchy, juicy, oozy—basically any dish you know and love, jacked up to a bordering-on-sociallyunacceptable amount of flavor. Let’s face it, I do have to make every bite count, so if I’m gonna drag that fork to my mouth hole, it better taste crazy delicious. And I can promise you that everything in this book does.
If you’re expecting a model to write a cookbook full of diet recipes for you to perfect your bikini bod, I think you’ll be a little surprised here. These are recipes we love to indulge in with family and friends. Some more hearty than others, some even more hearty than the hearty ones. But every single recipe is something we love. Look, I don’t want to be one of those dead-inside laughing-with-a-salad chicks, and I don’t want to seem like one of those annoying “I can eat anything I want anytime” chicks. It’s just that I wanted to be honest in this book about the kinds of food I love, the kinds of food I crave . I just have to find ways to make those cravings work with my day job (e.g., sometimes with a well-timed “f*ck it”).
I’ve always loved cookbooks (I have hundreds) but what I haven’t loved is having to flip through tons of different ones to find the stuff I like to make and eat. So when I decided to make one of my own I wanted it to be a bible you could flip open and use for every meal. Perfect eggs? Check. Soupmaster classics and the best salads ever? Yup. Dinner for a couple or a small group of friends? Totally. Snacks for football Sundays? Yes, indeed. They’re all here—except dessert. I mean, I will go to an Italian restaurant and order another pasta while everyone else is enjoying their panna cotta. Also it is well documented how badly I suck at baking. So you’ll have to Fudgie-the-Whale-it for dessert. Sorry!
So start flipping through, and start cooking! Nothing would make me happier than to know that this book has helped make your life a little bit more flavorful and interesting. I’m sure I’ll be hearing from every single one of you really soon, so I’ll begin clearing out my in-box . . . as soon as I clear my plate.