“I will, don’t worry” I answered. But inside, I was skeptical. Come on- cakes made with vegetables instead of butter? Who’s buying that one?

The premise behind Red Velvet & Chocolate Heartache is that cakes can be healthy, or at the very least, not unhealthy. The author, Harry Eastwood, was one of four women behind Channel 4′s 2007 series Cook Yourself Thin, and is a self-confessed cake junkie. She wrote this cookbook because she believes that enjoying cake- real, delicious cake- should be a regular activity, and not an infrequent indulgence.

How to achieve this, without sacrificing flavour for health? Reduce the fat, sugar and calorie content of classic cake recipes by replacing the butter with a combination of ground almonds (for fat and texture) and finely grated vegetables (for moisture and fluff). Used together, this nuts-and-veg combination is meant to magically create a moist, tender crumb without compromising on taste. What I thought? We’ll see about that.

The book looks lovely, if a bit cute and girly for some tastes. Most of the food shots are beautifully styled and a treat to look at, and the only ones that truly bother me are those where cupcakes are displayed in an antique doll’s house (yes, really) or the ones featuring little girls dressed up like fairies. The thick, matte paper is a nice quality, and the layouts are pretty, but clean and effective.

The eight chapters, rather infuriatingly, have been given colours as well as names, such as The Pale Pink Chapter – Birthday Cake or The Purple Chapter – Lemon and Lavender Drizzle Cake. Obviously there is more than one recipe per chapter (those named are simply the leading one), and there has been an effort to group these somewhat logically. For instance, The Orange Chapter – Chocolate and Peanut Butter Cupcakes contains recipes of an autumnal feel, many containing citrus, toffee or fall fruits. This “system” of organization is slightly confusing, but not a huge annoyance.

No, the huge annoyance here is the writing. As nearly every review of this book has mentioned, the author’s girly, twee, altogether too-cutesy-for-words style grates like fingernails on a blackboard. She seems strangely preoccupied with personification: every vegetable and cake gets a personality, and usually a gender too. Absurd to the point of hilarity, it does get a tad annoying when you realise that, instead of offering any useful information about each recipe, there’s nothing but a little story. For example, the blurb about Orange Blossoms:

These little cupcakes are light, bright and pretty. They’re also a little fickle, and not without ambition. Don’t be surprised if they compliment you on your hair, the week before your birthday party invitations are being handed out… (pg. 13)

(A word to the wise: if your cupcakes do, in fact, begin to compliment you, step away. They’re likely laced with more than just vegetables.)

If you can move past this to the actual recipes, you’re in for a delicious surprise. After first trying some of my sister’s veggie baking, I was astonished; these cakes are good. My own first effort was Ginger Millies (pg. 15), a butternut squash-based cupcake with a unbelievably moist crumb. I then tried the Sunken Apricot and Almond Cake (pg. 49) which rivals many traditional (and far less healthy) treats in both taste and texture.

Next on my list are the Forbidden Chocolate Brownies (pg. 137), which get their “squidge” factor from beetroot, and the Ginger Sticky Toffee Pudding (pg. 172), which contains parsnip. Not limited to cakes, Red Velvet & Chocolate Heartache also contains recipes for preserves like Sharpie Strawberry Jam (pg. 7), teatime treats such as Port Mary Scones (pg. 94) and other intriguing delights, like Parsnip Vanilla Fudge (pg. 169).

Not everything is super-healthy, though many cakes are low in calories (there is a useful nutritional table at the back). Since the vegetables contain natural sugars, there is little extra added- good news for those of us who don’t like our cakes too sweet. Also unusually, all the recipes have been tested with white rice flour (though they can be made with plain flour), which makes them suitable for those with gluten allergies. While almost all of the recipes are notable for their lack of butter, many of the icings, sauces and toppings in the book do rely on it, as Harry claims to be “all for butter- when you can taste it” (xiii).

So, have I been convinced? Yes and no. I’d like to hang on to Red Velvet & Chocolate Heartache for a while, though I’m not sure I’ll be investing in my own copy. While these cakes are light years better than I expected them to be, they’re hardly the Most Delicious Cakes I’ve Ever Had or anything. I also feel that, while the texture of Harry’s cakes are indeed wonderful, the flavour isn’t always there (butter adds more than just fat and moisture to baked goods, after all).

When all is said and done, though, I (grudgingly) admit that Red Velvet & Chocolate Heartache is a great cookbook. If you’re a health-conscious cake lover, a concerned parent looking for some healthy treats, or have a gluten allergy, you can’t go wrong with this book. If you can get past the nauseating writing, there are some wonderful recipes in here. Four twinkly, sparkly, dancing little stars, then.

I know. You’re probably thinking “that’s it?” While fun to flip through, The New Family Bread Book is hardly a looker. No, I don’t have anything against cute kids enjoying some home-baked goodness, but it’s a little, as I’m sure you’ll agree, meh. Inside, it’s pretty much the same story: ok photos, all right layout, but nothing special. It’s a prime example of safe, mainstream cookbook design- inoffensive yet unexciting. 

The author, Ursula Ferrigno, is an acclaimed Italian baker and cooking teacher, and she clearly knows her yeast. The first section of the book is dedicated to the basics of ingredients and techniques. It’s here we learn about the different kinds of flour used for bread-making, and what choosing one over another will mean for our breads. She also explains in detail about the different kinds of leavens, including fresh yeast, easy-blend (instant) yeast, starters and chemical leavens. And of course we learn all about kneading, rising, knocking back and shaping loaves. 

The first five chapters of recipes are dedicated to Classic Breads, Rolls and Buns, Pizzas and Flatbreads, Savory Breads, and Sweet Breads. The selection within the chapters seems slightly random, if I’m honest. In Classic Breads, there is Tomato and Basil Fougasse (pg. 43), but no Baguette? And do Chocolate Brioche (pg. 51) really belong here? Wouldn’t they fit better in with Rolls and Buns, or maybe Sweet Breads? 

Maybe I’m just being overly picky- there are some great-looking recipes here, after all. Classic standbys like Cheese and Onion Rolls (pg. 56) and Hot Cross Buns (pg. 66) sit comfortably next to new ideas like Curry Bread (pg. 116) and Saffron and Raisin Breadsticks (pg. 133).

Also, I have few qualms with any of the recipes I’ve tried from this book. Simple Focaccia (pg. 36) was indeed simple and fast to make, with a light crumb and great flavour. I adapted the Quick-rise Pizza Dough (pg. 76) for a stromboli, and while I needed at least twice the amount of water specified, the resulting dough was easy to handle and delicious. Though I accidently burnt the top of my Treacle and Date Bread (pg. 125) through my own negligence, it was still one of the most delicious breads I’ve ever tasted, let alone made.  

Where I think this book begins to let itself down is in the last two chapters, Yeast-free Breads and Pies, Tarts and Leftovers. To be honest, I’m not really sure what the point of including them was. Yes, I’ll concede that some of the recipes here, like Griddled Flatbread (pg. 161) and Irish Soda Bread (pg. 164) do seem to make sense in the context of the book. But do Corn and Carrot Muffins (pg. 159) or Savory Spinach Pie (pg. 173) really belong in a book about bread baking? Or, for that matter, does a recipe for Tuscan Tomato Soup (pg. 184)? 

I’m not so sure. Pastry, quickbreads and savory pies are all perfectly deserving areas of baking, but they’re separate from the specifics of baking with yeast, so shouldn’t they be treated as such? To just throw a simple scone recipe into a book about bread-baking, is to my mind, in insult to both scones and bread. Both deserve more. I think The New Family Bread Book falls into the trap of trying to be all things to all people, instead of focusing on doing one thing well. 

As a beginner’s guide to bread-baking, I would like to give this book a good rating for its demystifying explanations, clear instructions and some lovely recipes. But for aiming a touch too far beyond its reach, and for a depressingly pedestrian design, I have to give The New Family Bread Book only three stars. I am sure that there are better guides to bread-baking out there, and I’m definitely on the lookout. This one, though, will be going back to my sister.

I do, however, have Breakfast, Lunch, Tea, the cookbook written by Rose Carrarini, one of the co-founders of Rose Bakery. I was lucky enough to receive this book as a Christmas present , and have been soaking it up since then. The look of the book is typical of its publisher, Phaidon: modern and pared-down, with beautiful photographs and attention to layout. The photos, a mixture of food shots and scenes of bakery life, perfectly evoke the buzzy, friendly, slightly bohemian vibe of the bakery itself. 

Rose Bakery is known for a strong focus on quality, fresh ingredients, something that the introduction of Breakfast, Lunch, Tea deals with at length, though not in boring or prescriptive way. The fact that so many delicious commercial recipes (and that is what these are, essentially- just scaled down) are made with such simple ingredients is truly something special. I can’t even begin to imagine what goes into some of the baked goods you find in London- a little synthetic preservative here, a little citric acid there- you get the idea.

A collection of Rose Bakery’s most popular recipes, the book is divided into three sections. Breakfast is a perfect mix of sweet and savory, featuring cereals, scones, pancakes, fruit and egg dishes. The Lunch chapter is also, and perhaps surprisingly, enticing and varied: soups and salads, tarts and risottos, even some more substantial fish and meat dishes feature here. Tea, however, is where this book really shines. The chapter is filled with delicious-looking and -sounding tarts, cakes, biscuits, bars and puddings.  

All this deliciousness probably delayed me actually cooking from this book. For the first two months it was in my possession, I was content to simply read Breakfast, Lunch, Tea, being, if I’m honest, a little too intimidated to try the recipes. I can now attest, though, that I’ve been well and truly cured of that, and this book is one of my favourites to bake from now. I started with the best-selling Carrot Cake (pg. 128), which I made for my sister’s birthday. Everyone who tasted it loved it, and I will go so far as to say that it was the best carrot cake I’ve ever tasted, let alone made. The breakfasts I’ve made have been winners, too; both the Plain Scones (pg. 58) and Maple Syrup Scones (pg. 62) were delicious, though a bit crumbly-er than some might care for. From the savory recipes, I’ve made the Squash Tart (pg. 89), which I adapted and blogged about, and the Celeriac and Porcini Soup (pg. 73), both of which turned out well. 

I actually struggle to think of anything negative to say about this book. It isn’t trying to be a one-size-fits-all baking manual, but rather a collection of the bakery’s most popular recipes, so I can’t very well complain about things left out. Every recipe I’ve made has delivered, so nothing wrong there. Even my fallback complaint, that a book is too meaty, clearly isn’t going to help me. The best I can do in terms of complaints is say that most of the recipes, oh, aren’t that healthy, but even I think that’s a weak one- it’s a baking book, for heaven’s sake!  

Someone looking for a comprehensive, only-baking-book-you’ll-ever-need type tome might be better off to keep looking, but if all you want is a well-edited selection of lovely recipes from a tested source, however, you can’t go wrong with this book.

I’ve been cooking from my sister’s copy of How to be a Domestic Goddess for years, but since it’s currently across the Atlantic at my parents’ house, I invested in my own copy last year. While I consider myself to be more of a cook than a baker, with leanings toward savory rather than sweet, there are times when only baking will do. When I’m stressed or simply bored, and no regular meal is approaching, I’ll often convince myself that there are cookies/cakes/brownies that need baking, just to have something to focus my mind on. (Hint: the trick is never to buy treats, that way you’ll always have the “Well, there isn’t anything sweet in the house!” excuse at hand.) At those times, I usually turn to this book. While there are many other food writers and cookbooks with wonderful baking recipes, they’re often buried between more practical dishes, and there is something to be said for opening a book and knowing that, within ten seconds, you’re likely to come across just the thing that you’re craving.

How to be a Domestic Goddess is a paean to what in 2003 Nigella considered the lost art of baking. Divided into nine chapters on cakes, biscuits, pies, puddings, chocolate, children, christmas, bread and yeast, and the Domestic Goddess’s Larder, the book is comprehensive, if not exhaustive. Intended as a celebration of baking rather than a manual, it nonetheless has a recipe for almost any baked good you might think of. With the addition of some useful conversion charts in the front, it’s as close to a baking bible as my kitchen is likely to see. 

The recipes themselves are fairly simple, and rarely contain difficult-to-find ingredients or fiddly instructions. They range from basic (Madeira Cake, pg. 5) to impressive (Molten Chocolate Babycakes, pg. 179). It’s not all sweet stuff- the pie chapter is split 50/50 between dinner and dessert (Supper Onion Pie, pg. 85, is delicious), and bread chapter contains recipes for several “practical” loaves. Something that strikes me about the recipes compiled here is the breadth of ethnic influences at work. As expected in a British baking book, there is Victoria Sponge (pg. 14) and Mince Pies (pg. 259), but nestled between them are recipes for Egyptian Om Ali (pg. 140), Norwegian Mountain Loaf (pg. 302), Turkish Lahmacun (pg. 312) and German Plum Tart (pg. 316). It’s a bit of a whirlwind trip around the world of baking, with Nigella as your anecdote-filled tour guide. 

Recipes aside, How to be a Domestic Goddess is beautiful to look at, with the stylish layouts and stunning photography we’ve come to expect from a Nigella Lawson book. Each chapter begins with a two-page spread, a photo printed on matt gold paper that somehow reinforces the book’s message- that baking is something special, to be treasured. The recipes are simply laid out, and clearly state ingredients and equipment needed. (A sticking point for many, and with good reason- who wants to get halfway through a recipe only to find you have to wrong sized pan?) Those who prefer recipes written in numbered steps won’t like Nigella’s paragraphic, colloquial style, but it’s a minor issue. Overall, there isn’t much to dislike here. 

To most of this I say rubbish; I’ve rarely encountered problems with recipes from this book. Granted, the “smooth and springy” dough of Norwegian Cinnamon Buns (pg. 322) was more like a gooey paste escaping across my countertop, but adding a bit more flour fixed the problem, and the resulting breakfast was delicious. And while I had lukewarm feelings toward the Night-and-Day Cupcakes (too dry, with too runny an icing, pg. 201), the Christmas-Morning Muffins (pg. 277) are lovely. In fact, this book inspired me to make several items that I’d previously thought were best left to professionals, including Bagels (pg. 304) and Danish Pastries (pg. 327), both with surprisingly good results.  

Overall, I think How to be a Domestic Goddess is a wonderful baking resource to have around, and certainly essential for anyone who enjoys procrastination or distraction of the culinary kind.