Contributor

When I met my husband, he lived in Los Angeles and I lived in New York. Whenever he traveled east to visit me, he'd invariably arrive at my apartment after 10 p.m., so I had plenty of time to kill. I spent it finding recipes, trying them out and realizing that my short but highly focused time in the kitchen was worth an hour of deep-tissue massage therapy.
A light dinner to celebrate his arrival may have consisted of asparagus wrapped in prosciutto, a Nicoise salad and some pasta with peppercorns and parmigiano-reggiano. And everything was always good and pretty because the recipes came from the always reliable Gourmet magazine.
In the obits following the magazine's unceremonious death this week, all I read was about how sophisticated its pages were and how its editors may have missed the mark by catering to the culinary elite.
Please.
I suck as a cook and, though I appreciate and pay New York prices for good food, I'd never regard myself as part of that "elite" readership. I barely read the magazine's features and I couldn't deal with any recipe requiring a food processor.
The appeal for me was that I could count on several dishes that made me immediately hungry and that I could cook that same night because they were so doable and the ingredients so easily obtainable.
More importantly, I could always count on the final product to taste and look good.
Simple and easy, with a wow factor, that was Gourmet for me.
So I'm pretty devastated with the news of its demise, and now more than ever I treasure the folders of recipes I've collected through the last decade.
So long, Gourmet. I hope to find you again in books and on the Web.
In the meantime, thank you for the egg and smoked salmon sandwiches with capers that are always a hit at brunch.
And the jam-lacquered chicken wings so beloved by my stepkids.
And the garlic potatoes that made dinner for ten such a breeze.
And the ricotta cheese tart that I could eat by myself.
And all the delicious memories.