What a Cookbook Coach Actually Does (And 3 Signs You're Ready to Hire One)

Photo by Amanda Polick

"I didn't even know there was a thing."

That's what most people say when I tell them I'm a cookbook coach.

I get it. Five and a half years ago, when I pivoted from my previous work to book coaching, I started noticing that most of my clients were food creators and influencers. So I coined the term "cookbook coach"—not because it's an official title, but because it's just... easier. When I say it, people immediately understand.

But here's what most aspiring cookbook authors don't understand: Writing a cookbook isn't just about having great recipes. It's not even primarily about the recipes. Agents and publishers ASSUME your recipes will work. What they're actually looking for is your story—your narrative, your specific perspective, your ability to connect with readers on a deeper level than "here's how to make pasta."

And that's where a cookbook coach comes in.

In this post, I'm pulling back the curtain on what I actually do, who I work with (and who I don't), and the real timeline of going from "I have an idea" to "I have a book deal." If you've been thinking about writing a cookbook, this is everything you need to know.

The Cookbook Coach Role: More Partnership Than Teacher

Let me start with what I'm NOT: I'm not a ghostwriter.

I'm not someone who's going to write your book for you. There are people you can hire for that—collaborators or full ghostwriters who sign away their rights for good payment. (Fun fact: That's the majority of celebrity cookbooks. Sorry to burst your bubble.) But that's not what I do.

I'm a coach. A partner. Someone who helps you develop YOUR voice, YOUR story, YOUR recipes into a compelling proposal that agents and publishers can't ignore. The process starts with a detailed intake form, and I mean DETAILED. When I first started, it was kind of detailed. Now? It's comprehensive. Because I've learned that this form tells me everything I need to know about whether we'll work well together.

One of the sections asks for up to 10 pages of your work. It can be notes, random thoughts, sample recipes, a rough chapter—anything. I explicitly state: "I understand this is a work in progress. I just need to see your writing." And the pushback I get on this section? It's revealing.

I've had people tell me: "I'm not going to submit anything. Read my Substack instead." Or "I want to develop the idea with you first—I don't want to show you anything before I'm ready." I even had someone send me a Canva video. In French. When I asked for an English translation, she said: "I'm not going to translate anything until I know that the idea is good."

Here's the thing: If you can't be willing to be bad first, you'll never get to be great. Writing a book—any book—is going to show you how bad you are at certain things. You're going to put words on the page that you hate. That's part of the process. The clients who succeed? They're the ones who show up messy, submit imperfect pages, follow explicit instructions (even when they don't fully understand them yet), and trust that there's a reason for everything I ask. Because this isn't just about me being difficult or having arbitrary rules—it's about preparing you for what comes next.

The Book Proposal: Your Business Plan for Success

Before you write a single word of your actual cookbook, you need a book proposal. For nonfiction books (which includes cookbooks), the proposal IS the book deal. You're not writing the entire book and then hoping someone wants to publish it. You're selling the IDEA—the marketing plan, the concept, why YOU're the person to write it, and yes, some sample recipes.

I've written extensively about how to write a cookbook proposal, laying out all the sections, all the components, all the resources you need. But even with that guide, the task is overwhelming. That's why people hire me.

The book proposal needs to be tight. Agents and publishers look at these things all day long, and they don't want to do extra work. You have to connect all the dots and make it effortless for them to say yes. One of my clients had an editor tell them their proposal was "so tight" they could just take it and run with it during the actual book writing process. THAT'S the sign of really good work.

But getting there? It takes time. I work with clients in 1-3 month contracts. I used to offer longer contracts, but I found that anything beyond three months gets overwhelming. Life happens. Creative blocks show up. People need breaks. And here's the pattern I've noticed: Around month four of working together (not necessarily consecutively), there's always a wall.

You feel like you're writing the same thing over and over. Nothing's clicking. You're probably wondering: "Why does she keep giving me the same feedback?" (Trust me, I'm wondering: "Why do I have to keep writing the same thing?") But then... it clicks. I can't tell you exactly when it will happen, but it does. Suddenly you either know "THIS is how I'm moving forward with my story" or "This is NOT the story I should be telling." Both are breakthroughs, and both are valuable ways forward.

Platform Matters—But Not How You Think

Let's talk about platform. Yes, you need one. But no, you don't need millions of followers.

The clients I work with have healthy followings or are very well connected. They're part of the food media, writing, publishing, and creation world. They understand what all of this means. They also understand something crucial: Cookbooks probably aren't going to make them millions of dollars. (I mean, it would be SO COOL if you made millions from a book sale. And I don't want to tell anyone what they can or cannot do. But let's be realistic.)

Here's what cookbooks actually ARE: incredible marketing tools. When your book is on those shelves, you get to use it for teaching classes, speaking engagements, submitting for awards (and adding "award-winning author" to your credentials), increasing speaking fees, brand partnerships, and all kinds of additional prestige and opportunities. That's the real value of traditional publishing.

But one thing I notice: People often underestimate the amount of additional platform work you need to do WHILE working on your proposal. You can't just coast on your current numbers. You need to be actively building, engaging, creating content, showing publishers that you understand how to market yourself and your book. Because here's the truth: They're not just buying your recipes or your story. They're buying YOUR ABILITY to sell that story to your audience. That's why the intake form asks about your platform in such detail—I need to know that you understand this isn't just about the book itself.

Be Specific: The Counterintuitive Secret to Universal Appeal

Here's my final piece of advice, and it's the one people resist the most: Stop trying to make your cookbook "for everyone." It's not. And that's okay.

There's a tendency with food to think: "Well, everyone eats, so my book should appeal to everyone!" But when you're uber-specific about what your book is and YOUR story... it becomes universal. I don't know why that happens. It just does.

The clients who land deals? They're the weird ones. The specific ones. The ones who say "this is for busy parents who feel guilty about feeding their kids frozen pizza" instead of "this is for anyone who cooks for their family." You need to be the weird person who you are. Bring out your quirks. Say the things you want to say. Let people see who you really are.

Because THAT'S the person agents want to sign. That's who publishers want to work with. That's who readers want to follow and subscribe to. Your book is a way to expand people's knowledge of who you are beyond your Instagram reels or blog posts. So don't play it safe. Be specifically, wonderfully, weirdly YOU.

Ready to Take the Next Step?

Writing a cookbook is an investment—of time, energy, money, and vulnerability. But if you're a food creator or influencer who has a story to tell, who understands that your platform is a tool (not the end goal), and who's willing to be bad before you're great? Then you might be ready for a cookbook coach.

The key is understanding that this is a true partnership. You bring the ideas, the passion, the willingness to be vulnerable. I bring the structure, the feedback, the industry knowledge that helps you shape those messy ideas into a proposal that agents can't ignore. And together? We create something that reflects who you actually are—not who you think you should be.

Ready to explore working together? Click here.

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