I’m in love with a cookbook. I keep flipping through it, re-reading recipes, running my hands across the pages and gazing at the gorgeous photos for long, longing moments. “But wait,” you say. “Isn’t that normal for you foodie types?” Well, maybe for others, but not for me.

A section from Mad Hungry by Lucinda Scala Quinn

While I’ve always revered creative food photography, I’ve mostly treated cookbooks — from Julia’s masterpiece to Jamie’s latest — as utilitarian.

But not this one. Perhaps it is special. Perhaps I am mending my ways.

It is Mad Hungry by Lucinda Scala Quinn.

Purchased at Rabelais (of course!) in late October, it has earned an honored spot at my bedside. I’ve scoured through every page – and have yet to cook a thing! It’s more memoir — a love letter to the family meal — than pure cookbook. With the subtitle Feeding Men & Boys – Recipes, Strategies and Survival Techniques, Quinn tosses out advice (never be caught without bacon) and opinion (men love hot sauce) in between more detailed counsel on shopping with children and how to stock a guy-friendly pantry.

I don’t have sons, or even kids, and I’m devouring every word of it.

It probably doesn’t hurt that Jennifer S. Muller, the brilliant designer behind the look of the new Maine Magazine, lent her creative eye to the cleverly structured pages. Simple graphics, spot color and cunning use of pull-out sections make it a joy to peruse.

Each recipe starts with either a family story or a tidy justification for its inclusion. While none are elaborate — they range from “perfect fried egg every time” to “roast leg of lamb with lemon, garlic and oregano” — they all touch on home and hearth.

Quinn’s not shy about sharing her views, “Make boys eat breakfast. Brainwash them; it works. Tell them they’ll be smarter, have fewer zits, anything.”  She somehow manages to scold, cajole and pontificate in a way that is accessible and charming. Her suggestions and theories aren’t groundbreaking, but are presented with humor and intent.

I guarantee, even the most seasoned gourmand will learn a thing or two.

I didn’t expect to like it. I really despise sweet wines, and the meads I’ve sipped in the past have failed (miserably) to impress. Grain alcohol mixed with honey was the usual sensation. But, Eli, Ben and the crew at Maine Mead Works are doing something different, better – right. And, much to my surprise, I’ve become a big fan.

Maine Mead Works co-owner, Ben Alexander, describes the fermentation process

The secret to great mead is the continuous fermentation process and the guys at Maine Mead Works have it nailed. They use a proprietary yeast strain to ferment the honey in what look like large test tubes bubbling with golden liquid. After bulk aging, the mead is hand bottled, labeled and stored a few more weeks before leaving the company’s tiny Anderson Street factory.

Granted, it is the Dry that has evolved into my go-to mead. Done right, dry mead hits the nose full of sweetness and light – displaying floral notes of the wildflowers blooming when the honey was in season. On the palate, it smooths out into a subtle, smoky earthiness.

Dry mead pairs wonderfully with spicy foods and (great for Maine) lobster. But, I have to admit that I also have enjoyed the Blueberry on occasion, and I’m not-so patiently awaiting the pre-Thanksgiving release of the Cranberry.

However, it is the limited-release Dry aged in a bourbon cask that I’m REALLY anxiously anticipating. Eli let that nugget slip on my most recent factory visit and I’ve been checking my email for the heads-up ever since.

I plan to run-not-walk to the warehouse-only sale of this special edition.

It was a beautiful day, so we should have known better. We should have averted our eyes and kept on strolling in the sunshine along Commercial Street. But walking by Le Roux Kitchen is just not something I am physically capable of doing. And anyway, we NEEDED a new pepper grinder.

EVOO & Balsamic Ready for Taste-Testing

Once in the door, we immediately veared to the right toward the shiny little silver barrels sitting shoulder-high in a gleaming, beckoning row. Filled with flavored olive oils and balsamic vinegars, these tasting barrels are a LeRoux must-do.  A turn of a spigot yields sweet, spicy and savory combinations that will blow your socks off. Hint: try a combo of the fig balsamic vinegar and the blood-orange olive oil.

At the end of one row sit two barrels in a place of honor: the white and black truffle oils. Intensely flavored and rich, these are not for the faint of heart. One whiff can send me over the edge – craving a plate of buttery mashed potatoes or risotto to absorb the thick nectar.

After a full half-hour of tasting we sauntered through the hardwood cutting board aisle, peered at the martini shakers, and stood mesmerized in front of the Kitchen Aid mixers and Le Crecet vessels for a full 20 minutes before finally making our way to the salt and pepper shelves.  We were immediately overwhelmed. Should we buy the brand recommended by Mario Batali or the expensive French mill? We liked the look of one blond wood mill, but it was labeled for salt. After a few minutes of bewilderment, Adam turned to me and queried, “Is there really a difference between a salt grinder and a pepper grinder anyway?”

Matt strolled over to help us out (or set us straight, depending on how you look at it). A culinary school graduate and former chef, Matt has truly found his calling as a LeRoux sales rep and general foodie advisor. “Look at it this way man, pepper is a seed and salt is a rock. You definitely need two different tools.” After that sage advice and a lengthy chat with Matt we finally made our choice and headed for the checkout counter. Outside the sun was setting and a chill filled the air.

Another sunny afternoon spent in the foodie cave.