In today’s Perennial Goods, we’re talking to Megs Senk, creative director-turned-rural-Maine-restauranteur and — as of last week — Upstairs Books owner, about the garden-to-table cookbooks that belong on your shelves.
🌱 But first: “Lately on Gardening Internet:”
I accidentally wrote a gardening essay for my local paper of record, the Ojai Valley News.
As Pam Anderson proves, gardening is good business.
Ina Garten doesn’t really garden. She “points.”
The case for being neurotic about natives. Or, maybe, the case for not being neurotic about natives?
Matthew Malin and Andrew Goetz (of rum body wash fame) have a gorgeous Hudson Valley kitchen garden and I’m jealous. That is all.
Also: has anyone successfully used bird netting to ward off raccoons from a fruit tree?? Tips and advice would be appreciated.
Despite it being at the top of my list, I’ve never been to Maine. So last year, while lying on the brand new, still-hard mattress that replaced the perfectly-molded-to-our-bodies one we threw away after the L.A. wildfires, an Architectural Digest profile stopped my scroll. It was about a couple with a background in advertising and tech who blew up their lives in the best way by opening St. George Pizza, a warm, stylish pizza parlor/community space in Warren, Maine (approximately 90 minutes from Portland, the state’s largest city).
As someone who was (and still very much is) designing a new house, I gravitated towards photos of the dusty blue Shaker cabinetry (made by Senk’s father) and the simple, locally-sourced antiques that filled the space (I took more than one screen shot). But I especially loved that the couple name checked the local farmers who supply their restaurant and talked about their community in such an adoring way. Now that I live in a small town where neighbors get together for coffee and donuts before walking to the local July 4th parade, and lines of cars will pull over to help look for a stranger’s lost dog, Megs and George’s own story made me want to visit Maine more than ever.
In addition to gardening, I also like to dabble in the culinary arts and have a longstanding love affair with cookbooks (when we moved into our new house and got back the things that could be salvaged and cleaned, my cookbooks — roughly 80 of them — were the very first items I unpacked).
So a few weeks back, when I read Senk’s darling Substack about the secret room she accidentally discovered in her restaurant following a plumbing disaster and her plan to turn it into a used cookbook store called Upstairs Books, I couldn’t not reach out.
This is the second time Senk — a creative director who has worked with the likes of Nike, Google and The Obama Foundation — has owned a food-themed shop. Her previous iteration, which was located a few miles away from her current space before it closed in the summer of 2024, also carried a variety of cookbooks. Given her experience as a cookbook seller (and the joy I get from visiting culinary bookstores including New York’s famed Kitchen Arts & Letters, L.A.’s Now Serving, and the kitchen room at Bart’s Books), I was curious to know if she’d share a few favorite books about garden-to-table cooking and making the most of your crops. Her list did not disappoint (my copy of Too Many Tomatoes is currently en route).
Below, in addition to her produce-themed employee picks, Senk talks about her own cookbook collection and where she’s currently expending energy that would otherwise be spent in the garden.
First things first: you just officially opened Upstairs Books! Do you have anything special planned for the beginning of business?
Megs Senk: We just opened this past weekend, on July 31st (squeaking in justttttt before August). Aside from the doors actually opening, nothing special was planned, which was sort of by design. [My husband] George and I wanted the space to be this quiet, cozy respite — we don’t even have anyone working up there, you pay downstairs at the pizza counter. So, we kept the festivities to a modest cheersing of margaritas at St. George Pizza.
Tell me about your own personal cookbook collection. How many cookbooks do you have at home? What kinds of cookbooks do you typically gravitate towards?
M.S. I have around 40 to 50 cookbooks and that was very recently culled down when I grabbed a bunch to stock the bookstore. I would say our household has two distinct categories of cookbooks: incredibly functional workhorses that my husband uses frequently (as he is the chef of the family) like Ruhlman’s How to Roast and Pizza Camp; and all the weird and amusing oddities that bring my art director heart joy like Better Home and Garden’s Brown Baggers and Le Corbuffet. I’m drawn to more esoteric cookbooks for the unique writing, photography and recipes despite the fact that I rarely cook from them.
I want to know more about your previous brick-and-mortar general store. Specifically, the cookbooks. What made you decide to carry cookbooks in your shop? What kind of sourcing wisdom did you live by when hunting for books to carry in the space?
M.S. Our previous shop, Goods, was a sandwich shop/market that due to my proclivities had a humorous sense of design married with New England practicality. I loved the idea of having a cookbook section to complement the many ingredients we were selling, it felt like an obvious (and fun) move. We carried both new cookbooks as well as vintage and their sourcing was quite different — the contemporary books were chosen for their ability to be unique yet still have a sliver of mass appeal (something like Smallhold’s Mushroom in the Middle sold quite well to a variety of customers). As with the vintage, those were almost exclusively supplied to me by my friend Alex who lived for a time in Cape Elizabeth and would grab anything he saw in the town’s rather upscale transfer station free pile. Unfortunately for my current bookstore, he has since moved.
What about cookbook sourcing excites you? Why do you enjoy it so much?
M.S. Cookbooks are such a singular culmination of creative elements: recipe writing (an art form in its own right), food styling, food photography, storytelling, editing — the list goes on. On a personal level, I’m inspired and energized by the people behind the production process. And as a bookseller, there’s something special about how people handle cookbooks, discuss them, share them. Food connects us all, and I feel privileged to bring people together over it — now with the pizzeria, and eventually with cookbooks too.
Ok so my Substack is about gardening. And though I have many non-gardening cookbooks in my own collection, there are some pretty incredible ones that really focus on cooks who grow their own food and promote farm to table practices. Think of this as an employee pick card at an amazing bookstore: name five gardening cookbooks from any era that you happen to love and/or have already sourced for the store.
Eat Weeds by Diego Bonetto
This is the book for anyone whose relationship with their yard is “it grows things, some of them I even meant to plant.” Less “cookbook,” more permission slip to stop fighting the dandelions...and you know, eat them
Complete Guide to Home Canning, Preserving and Freezing, United States Department of Agriculture
This is the government telling you, in a flat, unbothered voice, exactly how not to give your family botulism. And honestly, that’s how I want to be told that.
Six Seasons by Joshua McFadden
This book really changed the way my household approached meals, especially living in a place like Maine, where we get a huge huge portion of our produce from local farms. McFadden organizes by season and basically dares you to let one vegetable be the whole point of the meal instead of a supporting player.
Too Many Tomatoes, Squash, Beans and Other Good Things by Laura G. Myers and Lois M. Landau
A cookbook that understands the actual emotional experience of gardening, which is: excitement in May, dread by August. This exists for the exact moment mid-tomato season where you think you’ll barf just hearing “BLT.”
The Vermont Farm to Table Cookbook by Jenna Rice and Nora Rice
Full disclosure, I’m from Vermont, so I’m obviously biased but also, it is the perfect place. The whole book runs on Vermont-grown ingredients only (olive oil, salt, and pepper get a pass because let’s not be dramatic about it) and issues a challenge on how far “local” can actually go if you commit to it.
It seems like you’re very into using local produce and ingredients at St. George. How do you find your farmers and develop these relationships?
M.S. St. George Pizza was born because my husband and I didn’t want to see the only community gathering center in town be turned into a “remote working space” (actual idea by our now landlord). And while we are passionate about pizza, we are even more passionate about where we live and the people that reside here. For us, working with family farms in Warren makes the most sense from both ideological and practical standpoints. Also, it doesn’t hurt that the farmers are all wonderful people that we enjoy spending time with.
Tell me a little bit about your own gardening habits.
M.S. Right now my horticultural energy goes toward the plants that dress up the pizzeria and bookstore: a rose bush by the front door, boxes of geraniums lining the interior windows (mostly gifted by a friend), a huge Chinese money plant we’ve propagated several times over in the dining room, basil in the kitchen window, hanging geraniums on the porch, and a big zinnia next to the stairs up to the bookstore.
I loved reading your AD profile about starting St. George. And it’s been really fun reading your Substack and following your Upstairs Books journey. It seems like you’re always diving into new things, building the plane while flying it and focusing on growing in ways that really bring you and your family fulfillment. These feel like gardening principles too. What’s one piece of advice you wish everyone who is embarking on a new venture (whether that’s a very robust new business or a few herb containers on a terrace) would tattoo on themselves and chant every day?
M.S. Let your plans develop. As the eldest daughter of a type-A Shaker furniture builder, I’m a recovering perfectionist. I used to start projects with an exacting idea of how they needed to come to life — no deviation allowed. Years and projects later, I’ve found the best process and results come from optimistic adaptation. When things divert from the path I’ve psychotically outlined, I see what used to be barriers as simply new boundaries to work within. Much easier said than done, but when you can roll with things, your creative process is better for it.
Was so lovely chatting cookbooks, gardening and life you with you!