I have a problem with books. I have too many. Correction: I have many. (One can never have too many.) The shelves have long been filled, and now every other surface in my house is covered with them. The windowsills. The floors. The tables. I think of it as less a Homer and Langley situation, and more a semi-organized maze of chaos that extends to the kitchen. Because I can't pile books on the counters (too risky with the amount of coffee and olive oil being flung around each day), my cookbook collection is limited to the existing shelves along one wall. So, usually, when a new cookbook comes in, one must go out.