In my kitchen, I have a small collection of cookbooks, which I consider prized possessions. One of them, the classic Betty Crocker Cookbook, was a wedding gift, and trust me, it’s seen more than its share of splatters and dog-eared/ripped pages. And I wouldn’t part with it for anything.
Another features 100 things to do with an ordinary cake mix. It is fabulous—or, I should say, it used to be.
