You didn't lose your touch — the old way just got to be too much. All that choppin, the standin, an hour on your feet, till some nights it's easier to skip supper than fix it. I had to learn the easy way myself, so I set these down plain: small batches that don't go to waste, font big enough to read across the counter, and air-fryer and dump-and-go suppers that near about cook themselves and hardly dirty a dish. The good food you grew up on — made easy enough to fix tonight.
When Corinne passed, the easy thing was the drive-thru and the gas-station sandwich — and it near about ate me alive, in the wallet and every other way. A man cookin for one out of these books eats better than any drive-thru and keeps a pile of money besides. Here's the money part, plain, and then I'll tell you what really matters.
A pot of pintos and a pan of cornbread feeds one old man the better part of a week — right around a dollar a bowl.
Cook your suppers from the books instead of buyin them out, and you keep about $216 a month — better than $2,500 a year — for right around $2 a plate. Your real number depends on how often you eat out now. Typical, not guaranteed.
But the dollars are the least of it. What you're really gettin back is a hot supper worth sittin down to — on the nights it'd be easier to skip it.
Not one book padded out — three real ones, each for a different easy way to feed yourself when it's just you. The air fryer, the slow cooker, and everything a fellow can do in one pot or one pan. Written plain as I could, the way I wish somebody had written it down for me that first lonely winter.
Small batches, big flavor, and about a minute to wash up after. No grease, no splatter, no standing over a spitting skillet — the one tool a man who can't cook can't mess up.
Everything in the crock in the morning, lid on, walk away. Come home to a hot plate with nothing left to tend — the honest definition of easy.
One pot, one skillet, one sheet pan, one muffin tin — sized for one or two, with the freezer-friendly ones marked so nothing goes to waste.
Tucked in the collection are a handful of my wife Corinne's own recipes — the ones I found in her little tin box by the stove and finally taught myself to make. Her meatloaf, her pot of beans, her cornbread in the iron skillet. I can't read half her writin, but it's in there, made simple enough that even I can't ruin it. She did all the cookin for forty-seven years. This is the reason any of the rest of it exists.
Mixed right in the pan, patted loose so it stays tender. One pan to wash.
A dry rub, the basket, flip once. No grease, no splatter, no fuss.
Two pots feed one man most of a week — about a dollar a bowl.
Melt the butter, pour the batter, lay the fruit on. Don't stir — it makes its own crust.
I'll tell you straight, friend. This collection is brand new, so I don't have a wall of reviews to show you yet — and I'd sooner tell you plain what you're gettin than put up words I made up.
You're gettin three cookbooks I taught myself to cook and wrote down myself — The Air Fryer, The Slow Cooker, and Easy Everyday Suppers — 349 real, doable recipes in all. Every one built simple, built small, and made for one, so a fellow startin from nothin can put a good hot supper on the table tonight and hardly have a thing to wash after.
A handful of my wife Corinne's own recipes are in there too, the ones I finally taught myself to make. Every book comes in big, easy-on-the-eyes large print and on your phone or e-reader. Cook one thing inside thirty days, and if it's not what you hoped, one email gets every dollar back — and you keep it all.

I was born and raised out a red-clay road outside Albany, down in the southwest corner of Georgia, under the same pecan trees my sister Ruby came up under. She was the oldest girl, cookin noon dinner for the whole table by the time she was ten. Me, I was out in the shop with my daddy and the hogs. I spent about forty years keepin the diesel engines runnin at the peanut mill, and I could rebuild an injector pump in the dark. I never once made myself a hot meal. The women did the cookin; I ate it and said thank you.
My wife Corinne did every bit of it for forty-seven years — supper on the table when I came in off a double, a cake for every birthday. When she passed in 2019, I stood in that kitchen a grown man of sixty-eight and didn't know where to start. My first meatloaf came out like a brick. I scorched a whole pot of rice the week after and threw the pan out with it. I was lookin at livin on cold cereal and whatever the gas station had.
So I taught myself — the easy way, because that was the only way my hands and my patience would allow. Few dishes, made small, hardly a thing to wash after. I wrote every bit of it down, plain as I could, the way I wish somebody had written it down for me. I'm no chef, and I never trained in anybody's kitchen. I couldn't boil an egg at sixty-eight. I can feed myself good now — and if I can do it, so can you.
It ain't a keepsake to set on a shelf. It's supper — easy enough to make tonight, even when it's just you.
Instant access — in your inbox within 60 seconds of payment. All three cookbooks, every bonus, large print and e-reader. Read on any phone, tablet, or computer. Print one for the counter if you like one by the stove. 30-day money-back guarantee, no questions asked — if it's not for you, email and the $37 comes back the same day.
$37 once — all three cookbooks, every bonus, large print and e-reader beside them. Your download link lands in your email within a minute. Read it on your phone, tablet, or computer. Pay once — no subscription, ever — and it's yours to keep.
It comes with a big-type large-print edition of every book and an e-reader copy for your phone or tablet — made for tired eyes and one pair of hands.
You're still worth feedin good — even on the nights it's just you, and especially then.
More than the money, though: it's a hot supper worth sittin down to, on the nights it'd be easier to skip it.
$37 once — all three cookbooks and every bonus, no subscription, yours to keep. Cook a few this month; if the food never feels right, one email gets a full refund, and you keep it all.
Take the five easiest suppers in the collection, free — the ones I'd have a fellow cook his very first week. Pop your email in and they're yours.
There they are, friend — your 5 suppers are downloading now. If they don't open, tap here to get 'em.