WHAT NO ONE TELLS YOU ABOUT WRITING A COOKBOOK

Laying it all out on the table

Graydon Herriott for Third Culture Cooking

I’m hoping this newsletter reaches people outside my usual audience. As a brief introduction, my name is Zaynab Issa. My debut cookbook, Third Culture Cooking, was released on April 1st. It explores the intersection of identity and culinary tradition with practical recipes I’ve developed over the years, both through my personal experiences and my formal background as a recipe developer and food editor. I previously worked as an Associate Food Editor at Bon Appétit and am now a contributor to New York Times Cooking.

I’m currently on tour promoting the book. I’m in Los Angeles for the next few days—the book talk tonight with Molly Baz is sold out, but I’ll be at the L.A. Times Festival of Books on Saturday, then I head to Chicago for a pop-up dinner at Cellar Door Provisions.

When it comes to the launch of this cookbook, I won’t bore you with details about the overwhelming emotions I’ve been experiencing, but I will say I’ve cried more in the past few months than I have in the past few years. There’s a lot to discuss, so I’ve broken it down into a fairly succinct list in case (1) you hope to write a book one day, (2) you love books, or (3) you’re curious about this seemingly glorious process. I hope this information is helpful to someone, somewhere. That’s why I’m sharing it.

“AUTHOR”

Probably the most surprising thing I discovered about authoring a cookbook is that ghostwriters, and sometimes even ghost recipe developers (I’ve even been approached by a very popular TikTok creator for this), are very common.

Cookbooks require expertise in writing, cooking, recipe development, and recipe writing, and while you might expect all cookbook authors to be an authority in all of the above, the reality is many, especially nowadays, are given deals for their notoriety or social media following (built in audience to sell the book) which, spoiler alert: is not necessarily the same thing as being a writer or recipe developer. So, if that’s the case, outsourcing is really the only way to make sure the book is complete and functional. It’s not a bad thing—it’s actually smart, particularly if you’re treating the cookbook as a business decision. Hiring someone to lighten your workload allows you to continue focusing on your existing commitments and continue earning while brand building through a book.

I didn’t hire a ghost writer for this book, and ended up going ghost instead—I disappeared from all my usual obligations to accommodate the workload that came with writing a cookbook. I quit my job at Bon Appetit and slowed down on freelance recipe development, social media partnerships, and posting in general. On top of that, my personal life was also shaky—my eldest sister was diagnosed with cancer a year into the process so I was traveling between New York and Florida often to help with child care. I moved from Long Island to Brooklyn during that time as well, and readjusting to new surroundings always comes with its own challenges.

Now, I have a book I can honestly say I’ve authored, but in some ways, I sacrificed the very things that got me here to do so. To shift perspective, it’s been an opportunity for growth. But it’s scary to let go of what’s working (no pun intended), especially when it comes to my livelihood. Overall, I am happy with my decision and feel proud of the recipes and writing in this book.

While I didn’t hire a recipe developer, ghostwriter, or even use AI to write any part of this book, I did hire my sister, Fatema, to top-edit the recipes and headnotes. She’s a great copywriter, and since this book is deeply personal, I knew she’d understand the lived experience I wanted to convey (side note: there aren’t enough POC editors—but that’s a conversation for another time.) My cookbook-loving assistant, Tia, helped with fact-checking, something she had experience with from working on other books.

YOU NEED TO BE ORGANIZED

No one chased me down for recipes or chapters. My brilliant editor, Holly, requested ten sample recipes for feedback, then over a year later, I submitted the manuscript and photos. No real policing, just occasional check-ins and personal accountability.

To stay on top of it all, I created a spreadsheet tracking each recipe from development to testing to finalization (18 columns). If you’re interested, email me—I’m happy to share it. Organization was integral to my process, and if I can make it easier for someone else, I’d love to.

IT’S NOT JUST WRITING RECIPES

I’ve also come to learn that while recipes are valuable, the real value of a cookbook lies in its storytelling, readability, and ability to inform. A cookbook isn’t just a collection of recipes—it’s also a self-help book. The narrative is crucial to framing the recipes, providing context, and giving readers a "why" to connect with.

Third Culture Cooking contains over 100 recipes, each with their own photo, but of its 270+ pages, 25% of those are not recipes. They are dedicated to articles, images, design, credits, an index, and everything else that makes a book, a book.

THE MANUSCRIPT IS JUST THE BEGINNING

Completing the manuscript and producing photos feels monumental, but it's the tip of the iceberg when considering what lies ahead. Editing, design, marketing, sales, publicity—all major undertakings. There’s months of back and forth with copy editors, the designer, the sales team, the publicist, brands for sponsorship, venues for tour events, restaurants for pop-ups, designers for promotional materials–the list goes on.

PUBLICITY IS IMPORTANT, AND EXPENSIVE

I was lucky to work with a great in-house publicist at Abrams, Natasha. If I had hired a PR team, it would’ve cost $10-15K for a three-month retainer. Between my connections and Natasha’s, we landed some great media placements. You don’t pay for placements but you do need to actively pitch them along with a galley (pdf) of the book for editorial consideration. Then there’s follow ups, and providing the relevant information, assets, and press release information. And, that is why people usually hire the job out to a PR team, because doing it solo or, even just with the publisher's publicist, requires a massive time commitment.

& DON’T FORGET THE TOUR

I’m a couple weeks in, and I already have so many thoughts. It’s incredible, very special, overwhelming, and daunting. I do miss being home and developing recipes in my kitchen.

THE MONEY IS COMPLICATED

This one is talked about in the industry (kind of), but it still feels shocking. How could you not make huge money from a huge project?

There is money in it, but so much of it goes toward producing the book. Between hiring freelancers, covering logistics, and promoting the book, there isn’t much left. And sure, you could cut production costs—but I'd bet the trade-off would be significant, and in the end, you'd wish you'd enlisted some help. Time is money, and money is time.

I’ve come to the conclusion that only celebrity-status cookbook authors stand to make real money. And, for what it’s worth, at the time, I had considered my advance substantial. Now, I wouldn’t do it for any less.

For those wondering how cookbook deals work: You write a proposal with the guidance of a literary agent, the agent shops it to publishers, publishers bid a dollar value for the advance. The book typically goes to the highest bidder, though other factors matter too: the publisher’s track record, communication with the editor, marketing and publicity resources, and, for me, creative control over the production team (designer, photographer, stylists).

The advance is paid out to the author in installments, usually three or four, and less the agreed upon commissions due to both the talent and literary agents that facilitated the deal.

In my case, the first two payments went entirely toward producing the book. And the remaining, will going toward the tour with a little leftover (I hope).

GET COMFORTABLE BEING UNCOMFORTABLE

While I would in no way classify myself as a people pleaser, I am deeply and certainly non-confrontational (read: avoidant). I will never send back a plate at a restaurant, snarl at someone else for not holding the door open, or even feed into a microaggression. It’s much more peaceful for me to look past it.

This cookbook has pushed me to stand by what I care about. And, while we can and should always be polite, sometimes speaking up to get the job done right is more important, especially when the stakes are this high. That was a hard lesson for me to learn.

There is an innate doubt that comes from doing something for the first time. I found myself caught between the idea that everyone else I’m working with knows better because they’ve done this before, while also being aware that this book is the reason we’re working together in the first place, and as the writer and creative director of it, I have a say.

In all the very many elements that make a cookbook, there are bound to be back and forths and disagreements between the many people involved. There will be battles, and yes, pick them wisely.

An example: I knew I wanted multiple photos on the cover from day one. The publisher’s office immediately noted that people purchase books digitally and the thumbnail would be unrecognizable so the concept wouldn’t be green-lit. I understood. To my surprise, round one of the cover options had an absolutely beautiful beige 16-photo cover I loved–I think of it almost every day. The cover took dramatic turns with each round and somehow landed as a lavender (a beautiful color, but not me at all), 12-photo cover. The thought of needing to hold up that book for the rest of my life made me sick, and when I tried to communicate that, I remember being told, “worry about what’s inside.” That wasn’t easy to hear.

In the end, hard conversations were had and the cover is exactly what we all wanted and needed it to be: compelling and beautiful. All that to say, compromise is a real part of any working relationship and it should mean still seeing yourself represented in the solution.

IT’S ISOLATING

Interestingly enough, in creating something meant to be incredibly valuable to the many people (hopefully) who interact with it, I ended up feeling so alone. Venting can quickly seem ungrateful and talking about the book too much might come across as bragging, and those aren’t impressions I’m trying to leave, so I often kept to myself.

The journey in its entirety felt unrelatable to anyone I regularly interact with, be it family or friends. It’s one of those things that’s only understood as a lived experience - like motherhood or marriage. Yes, it’s an incredible opportunity, but there are real pros and cons.

I’m grateful to the other cookbook authors that have given me advice and offered an ear. And, while I try not to focus on the fact that many of my colleagues who’ve done this before are white and older, I can’t seem to ignore the fact that being 25 year old muslim woman living in New York City while wearing a hijab in this particular industry is a very specific existence.

It’s also so frequently mentioned in sales and marketing conversations that the people who buy cookbooks are white and middle aged. I am neither of those. How do I write a "successful" book for an audience with whom I can’t relate? The thought isn’t rational, but it makes me feel othered in a way that’s difficult to shake.

GET READY TO BE VULNERABLE

This whole process feels raw. I wouldn’t say embarrassing, but definitely vulnerable. I wrote this book for myself, but it was always intended for public consumption. Living with that reality is more uncomfortable than I expected.

MAKING "THE LIST"?

A rather surprising number of people have asked if I think I’ll make the New York Times Best Seller list. My honest answer is, “no”.

It’s not self-deprecating—just realistic. The list relies on quantity, and the books that make it are usually written by authors who have much larger followings, equating to months of pre-orders stacked up. I think of my audience as a reflection of me: a little more niche.

I know this book is a triumph for culture and modern home cooking, and the recipes are fantastically make-able and actually work, but I think it could take time for it to find its people. The idea of ‘Third Culture Cooking’ has the power to fill a void in the way we think about modern cooking—no one wants to think of their food as fusion, but everyone’s food is kind of third culture cooking in some way. Celebrating the convergence of influences and cultures and the intersection of them is so liberating, and the concept as a whole is really comforting and kind of universal.

That said, this isn’t an obvious concept like ‘salads!’ or “30 minute dinners’ so I’ll need to extensively market it, explain the ethos, and get it into the right hands.

Also, my publisher doesn’t have an author portal where I can be actively checking on sales and it isn’t my style to incessantly check in, so the number of books I’ve sold at any given moment is a mystery to me. I am ok with that.

Note: I wrote this section before the list for my publication week was posted. It has since been released, and Third Culture Cooking was not on the list. I chose to keep this section in this post for the sake of transparency.

KNOW YOUR WHY

I know religion is very uncool (lol), but I hope the scarf I wear communicates that I am Muslim, and I do believe in God.

Throughout this process, and in the past few weeks specifically, that belief has been an anchor. This whole experience feels so surreal that it can only be understood and rationalized by a divine plan or purpose. The idea that this is what I’m meant to be doing by design and not something I’m chasing or competing for has kept me from quitting.

My belief system has always revolved around the idea that we are created and are here for a reason. That reason is different from person to person, but contributing our strengths to society to better it and further it is part of it. Only through that, and by way of self actualization, will personal fulfillment come.

This whole project wasn’t for me; it was for us. That’s how anything thrives bountifully.