This is the life of cook books, isn’t it? When they aren’t in the kitchen, getting splattered with hot sauce or providing a resting place for wooden spoons, they’re loaned around, pages marked, moving between hungry friends: you must read this! You must make this! Cookin’ with Coolio is where my mind went when I woke up one morning last week and learned that Coolio had died. Being a 90s person, I think this news would always bum me out. But having read and loved Coolio’s cook book, I’m ashamed to say it all struck a bit deeper. Over the following days when all these stories started to come out about how brilliant Coolio was - how kind, how thoughtful and perceptive and funny - none of that was really a surprise? Why? Because I had read Cookin’ with Coolio.
