When Pooja Dhingra found courage in the pages of an old recipe book

Before we had reels and YouTube (oh my god, I sound old), we had good old-fashioned cookbooks. We still do, of course. I’ve even written my fair share of them. But sometimes I wonder if we still use them the way we once did.

I grew up reading recipe books like storybooks. My mother, who started learning to cook after her marriage, had a small but precious collection that I was in complete awe of. Alongside them were journals filled with newspaper clippings and handwritten notes, recipes she’d torn out of magazines, tweaked, rewritten, and made her own. Those pages felt alive. They smelled faintly of ink, food stains, and effort.

I started my own collection when I was 13. The first book I ever cooked from was a Tarla Dalal cookbook for kids. It was bright green, and to this day, I can still taste the flapjacks we baked from it. Every holiday abroad meant a visit to a bookstore, where I’d head straight to the cooking section, usually the baking aisle, and pick up a book to bring home. Kinokuniya in Japan was a favourite. Over the years, those books became companions, some I returned to again and again, others quietly took a backseat.

I’ll be honest: It’s easier now to look up recipes online. It’s faster and more convenient. Somewhere along the way, some of my books slipped into the bottom drawers and shelves, forgotten, but not unloved. One of them was a cookbook by a bakery called Tartine in the US, written by Chad Robertson and Elisabeth Prueitt.

I bought it nearly 15 years ago, shortly after opening Le15 in Mumbai. I loved the book deeply. It felt like hope bound between covers. I would read through the recipes slowly, feeling like I was getting to know the chefs behind them. I spent hours poring over its pages, admiring the photographs, the way the light fell on the bread, and the honesty of the writing. I imagined what my own first cookbook might someday look like. I told myself that one day, I’d visit this bakery.

And then life happened.

I opened my first store. Then the second. Then more. I wrote my first book, The Big Book of Treats, in 2014, then the second, then more. I experienced career highs I’d once only dreamed of, baking for people who lived on my wish list, being recognised for my work, becoming a judge on MasterChef India (2023).

There were lows too. Stores that closed. A café that didn’t survive covid. The sobering reality of trying to scale a business. Feeling lost for a while. Having my heart broken. None of that was particularly fun.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, I found fitness. It started simply with showing up at the gym every day. Then saying yes to my first fitness racing Hyrox in Mumbai last year. Then my second. And before I knew it, I’d finished my first international half marathon in Bangkok in November.

Last year, I was invited by Apple to Los Angeles to experience Apple Fitness. It was November, and Santa Monica felt like renewal. I’d just signed a space for a new café in Mumbai, decided to move my central kitchen, and launched my first children’s fiction book Aria & the Magic Apron. Life felt full, scary, exciting, overwhelming, and expansive all at once.

After a day at the Apple Fitness studio, a few of us decided to grab lunch. Someone suggested a wholesome, rustic café nearby. As the cab pulled over, my jaw dropped.

I saw a sign I’d seen so many times before. A sign that had once felt like a distant dream.

“Do you like this place?” my friend Niraj asked.

I smiled. “It feels like life has come full circle.”

I pushed open the door and walked into Tartine.

I felt absurdly happy just standing at the counter, taking it all in. I ordered a salmon tartine with a poached egg, a lemon tart and a coffee. I noticed every tiny detail, the warmth, the rhythm of the space, the quiet confidence of it all. I realised I hadn’t thought about the cookbook in years. I hoped I hadn’t misplaced it.

That lunch felt truly special. The weather was perfect. The light fell softly on our table. And in that moment, coffee in hand, fork breaking into that lemon tart, something settled.

I’d been nervous about starting something new again. About pushing my creative boundaries while still craving comfort. About putting myself out there in a different format. It felt safe where I was, but I knew I’d have to let go of fear to move forward.

Sitting there, something told me everything would be okay. I made a mental note to find the book when I got home.

Back in India, I went straight to my bookshelf. Right at the bottom, there it was. Worn and used, clearly loved. I flipped through its pages and couldn’t help but smile. I’m looking forward to making the Hazelnut Biscotti—it’s been a while since I baked them.

New beginnings are always scary. And exciting. Sometimes you just need an old recipe book to remind you that you’ve done this before. That you’ve trusted yourself once, and you can do it again.

No matter what the outcome is, the journey of doing it again will be beautiful.

Pooja Dhingra is a Mumbai-based pastry chef, entrepreneur and author. She is the founder of Le15 Patisserie.