I bought my first issue of Gourmet in November, 1997. I had just started a Ph.D. program, adopted a dog, and lived with a boyfriend whom I knew I would marry. The holidays were coming;  it seemed like a good time to learn how to cook.

Not surprisingly, the cover that November featured a nicely browned turkey, with sage leaves springing from its bottom Hieronymus Bosch style. I didn’t make a turkey that year, but I did make the Currant Tea Scones on page 172. They were delicious – sweet and crumbly and, in the waning days before Starbucks put scones on every corner, almost sophisticated. I made those scones at least once a week for months, and I bought Gourmet religiously for the next six years. That first issue is now held together with a big old binder clip, and, scones aside, the sausage, cranberry and cornbread stuffing is a family holiday staple.

Why Gourmet? Because after just one or two issues, it felt like a kitchen I knew my way around in, while Bon Appetit always felt like a restaurant I couldn’t afford or just plain didn’t like. I skipped the froofy travel stuff about Michelin stars and went straight for my favorite sections, “You Asked For It,” “Quick Kitchen” (now “Gourmet Every Day”) and “The Last Touch.” I didn’t know a goddamn thing about food, but Gourmet never talked down to me. Gourmet didn’t care that I’d never tried foie gras (still haven’t); Gourmet said it was okay to make easy-awesome beer-battered fish tacos instead. And easy-awesome orzo with pine nuts and feta. And easy-awesome ribeye steak in a balsamic reduction. And the the decidedly un-easy but definitely awesome, best effing mac and cheese in the world.

It’s been a while since I subscribed to Gourmet. I always read it, but the actual cooking slowed and stopped; I’m at an age, it seems, when, as with music, I turn to old favorites instead of new ideas. Frankly, I was never a big fan of Ruth Reichl’s, either. Gourmet never seemed snooty, but Reichl sometimes did, even though she tried hard not to, in a Ratatouille-esque, “everyone-can-cook” sort of way. (Don’t even get me started on THAT.) Still, the image of her packing up her desk/stove is a little tough to take.

I’m a single mom now (dog stayed; guy didn’t), and most of my cooking is aimed at pleasing skittish little girl palates. They eat chicken piccata instead of chicken fingers, but that’s about as awesome as we get. (As we speak, my seven year old is browsing a kid-friendly Paula Deen she found at the library.) Should I snag a free night with my boyfriend, I usually prefer to go out, although I have been known to braise short ribs in red wine and thyme. I always meant to re-subscribe to Gourmet. I guess I was waiting to have the sort of life that lent itself to easy-awesome on a regular basis.

I guess I waited too long. I’m sorry, Gourmet. I will let more media-savvy folks debate the rationale behind your demise. All I have to offer is a lonely toast and a lame assurance that this year’s Thanksgiving feast is dedicated to you.

Image courtesy of jlastras