I like to cook. And I like cookbooks. The real kind, made of paper, whose pages you can turn. Over the years, those pages, with their stains and smudges of splashed ingredients, tell their stories. But as my kitchen bookshelves become overloaded, I have to choose (with the delicacy of Sophie or Solomon) which volumes need to find new homes. Here, a selection in the out box. Some went to my friend Bonnie, a cookbook vendor in NYC; some to the library, some into a yard sale pile. See any you'd like?