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.

On first impression, however, I felt that I could handle cooking from this book. Reassuringly simple ingredient lists, beautiful photography and straightforward instructions convinced me that this was good, modern Indian food. I was surprised, then, when my Mum told me that this very book had in fact been sitting in her kitchen for about a decade. Originally published in 1996, Quick & Easy Indian Cooking is simply a clever re-print.

But what a re-print! Colourful, beautifully photographed and enhanced with evocative Indian-style graphics, this book is a real looker. Softcover and with a landscape layout, it feels much more modern, accessible and digestible than my Mum’s battered old copy.

Of course, anyone who’s been at all interested in food writing in the past 30 years or so will know that Madhur Jaffrey is the word in Indian cooking. Her books introduced a generation of North Americans to this vibrant cuisine, and is still the first person many people think of when they think of Indian food. To the modern cookbook-addict, however, Madhur’s prose takes some getting used to. Once I’d read the book through for the first time, I remember telling my Mum that while I loved recipes, I had trouble warming to their author. She just didn’t seem like a real person to me. To which Mum replied “Oh, well; Madhur came along before food writers were expected to be personalities as well as cooks.” Huh? But it’s true- the slightly more distant tone of writers past can be a bit of a shock to those of us who imagine we’re on a first-name basis with our favourite authors. (Yup, that’s me.)

As for the recipes- everything I’ve made out of this book comes with rave reviews. Stir-Fried Shrimp in an Aromatic Tomato-Cream Sauce (pg. 73) was a great place to start; the flavours felt Western enough to ease me into Indian cooking gently, yet Eastern enough to feel like I’d achieved something. At my parents’ urging we then tried the delicious Garlicky Mushroom Masala Omelette (pg. 44) which has since become a house favourite. Curried Tuna (pg. 76) is incredible in sandwiches, and Whole Green Lentils with Cilantro and Mint (pg. 86) is a wonderfully fresh, summery curry. In the future, I’m looking forward to trying the Carrot and Green Bean Pickle (pg. 117) and even tackling some of the desserts- Minty Lassi (pg. 122) and Banana Halva (pg. 128) look especially good.

There are things here that I won’t be trying, of course. The book has a slightly meaty slant, and obviously I won’t be tucking into Lamb Vindaloo (pg. 34) anytime soon. The omnivores among you will love it, though: the meat recipes all look delicious. Even the photo of “Hamburger” Kebabs (pg. 25) is enough to make me consider throwing my vegetarianism to the wind; if I read the description, I’m in trouble. While there are many vegetarian options in the Legumes and Vegetables chapter, most of them read like sides, and a couple more vegetarian mains wouldn’t have gone amiss here.

All in all, Quick & Easy Indian Cooking is a great introduction to Indian cooking, featuring recipes that are simple to prepare yet impressively authentic. My confidence has improved to the point where I’m ready to branch out and try other Indian cookbooks, which of course is the point of an introductory book like this. For anyone looking to try their hand at the flavours of India, I would definitely recommend this book.

First of all, I need to impart, but am not sure I can adequately put into words, just how freakin’ gorgeous this book is. As somebody who is generally aesthetically-led, I like my instructional manuals with a little eye candy on the side. Having said that, I can appreciate many different styles of cookbook, from spare and encyclopedic to colourful and over-the-top, if done well. Jamie at Home, however, is hands-down my current favourite, combining superb photos, charming illustrations and gorgeous typography. The photos alone are enough to sell it to me- not limited to the dishes themselves, there are also pictures of Jamie’s own garden in Essex, animals frolicking in the British countryside, and wild mushrooms sheltering in idyllic woodland. Printed on quality matte paper, and with as much attention to detail as to abundance, it’s 400 pages of pure gastronomic joy. 

First impressions aside, the content of this book is also something to behold. Divided into Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter, each part is further broken down into mini-chapters on seasonal produce. Asparagus for Spring, Beans for Summer, Game for Autumn, and so on. Because Jamie at Home is not simply a recipe book but a kitchen-garden manual of sorts, each mini-chapter contains a lot of information, in addition to the recipes. Everything from nutritional facts to an in-depth “How I Grow…” section, which gives instructions and tips on planting and harvesting the veg in question. Not very helpful to me, with my precisely zero square feet of outside space, but I can see how this would be immensely useful to someone who had the space and inclination to grow their own food. 

Now to the good stuff: the recipes. Almost everything in this book looks incredible, making it difficult to decide what to try first. The recipes are mainly British with a strong Italian slant, but Spanish, French and other flavours are also employed here. Obviously, there is a strong emphasis on local, seasonal ingredients, so the recipes that I’ve tried so far are mainly from the Autumn and Winter chapters. Among them, there have been some real winners- Butternut Squash Muffins with a Frosty Top (pg. 364) were so good I blogged about them on Kitchenist, English Onion Soup with Sage and Cheddar (pg. 146) was silky and flavourful, and Pappardelle with Slow-Braised Leeks and Crispy Porcini Pangattato (pg. 333) has become a real staple in my house. In the spirit of eating seasonally, I am waiting until warmer weather brings the ingredients I need to make some of the other dishes I’ve been eyeing, including Incredible Smashed Peas and Fava Beans on Toast (pg. 156) and Warm Strawberries with Pimm’s and Vanilla Ice Cream (pg. 201)

Of course with the good often comes the bad, and there is no exception here. Some recipes I tried fell short of my expectations; the enticing Italian Bread and Cabbage Soup with Sage Butter (pg. 388) delivered a slimy, salty disappointment, and my boyfriend announced that Jamie’s recipe for Calzone (pg. 180) tasted like “farm”, and not in a good way. (I had no idea what he was talking about at first, but as I ate on, I had to agree, and the calzone was left unfinished. Perhaps I’m just incredibly impressionable?)

It’s also all a bit “meaty” for my liking. Besides that actual meat, poultry and game recipes, Jamie always seems to be adding meat to things that would otherwise make lovely vegetarian dishes. A few slices of proscuitto here, some chopped pancetta there, some anchovy fillets in this sauce- the man just can’t help himself. While I really don’t have a problem with this in theory (I simply leave out the offending ingredient), I find it strange that a book which presents itself as being all about vegetables contains so few truly vegetarian recipes. Of course, if you aren’t vegetarian, this won’t matter at all to you- more meaty bang for your buck, right? 

In all likelihood, however, I won’t be letting a few failed recipes turn me off. Now that I’ve dived in, Jamie’s beautiful books and down-to-earth writing style have made an impression on me, and I’m looking forward to reviewing more of his books in the future.

As for Jamie at Home, I’ll be working my way through it as the seasons change, hoping for more hits than misses. The gardening sections will certainly be helpful if there is a backyard somewhere in my future, meaning that for now at least, this book is a keeper. 

See, up to that point in my life, I thought of cookbooks as, well, books you looked in when you wanted to cook. Purely and simply resources. It never occurred to me that food writing could actually be exciting. But here was Nigella in all her glory, her gorgeous face and her even more gorgeous food, luring me into her world, where pasta was slurped with wild abandon and chocolate was consumed guilt-free. All of a sudden there was a cookbook that I wanted to read- on the couch, in the bath- and to cook from. Imagine my excitement when I discovered that Nigella was also a contributor to the British version of my favourite magazine, Vogue. 

So, for many years, I was a Nigella disciple. There were more books, there were afternoons spent cooking with my sister, there were memories. But, as people do, I grew up and moved on, finding new books and new writers to enthuse about. My rediscovery came about last Christmas, when my cousin received Nigella Express as a present. I spent the better part  of the afternoon pouring through it, reacquainting myself with an old friend. As soon as I arrived back in Britain (for by now I had moved here myself), I was off to Waterstone’s to purchase my own copy.

Since, then, Nigella Express has become a fixture in my house, both by my couch and in the kitchen. A collection of quick recipes for time-pressed cooks, the book is organized into chapters with titles like “Workday Winners” and “Get Up and Go”. This approach, rather than the more usual organization-by-type, allows for Nigella’s own cooking style to come through. For instance, “Instant Calmer” contains recipes for quick versions of the comfort food for which Nigella is known, and “Holiday Snaps” features her own brand of impressive party food at breakneck pace. 

These dishes are fast, but not necessarily because of quick cooking times. The time-saving secret of this book lies with the ingredients. Nigella calls into service a wide variety of shortcut products, from pre-chopped vegetables to garlic- and ginger-infused oil (sold as Wok oil or Stir-fry oil here in the UK) to various condiments and, in one case, dried mashed potato granules. The problem with these specialty items is that they’re a) unnecessarily expensive, b) often unhealthy, and c) difficult to find, depending on where you live.

Luckily for me, I don’t care about speed in the kitchen. While I don’t want to be standing over the stove all day, I’m much more concerned that a meal be delicious than quick to prepare. After all, I like being in the kitchen. So, where Nigella reaches for a quick-fix ingredient, I just reach for the real thing. Soaked and simmered chickpeas rather than canned, raw prawns rather than precooked, lettuce that you actually have to wash and trim yourself- you get the picture. (Confession: I did try the infused oil, but it didn’t pack enough of a flavour punch for me, so I ended up adding extra garlic and ginger, somewhat defeating the point.)

Among these are some real gems: Spaghettini with Prawns and Chili (pg. 293) is delicious, as is White Bean Mash (pg. 140) and Sesame Peanut Noodles (pg. 261). The Tuscan-influenced Tuna and Beans (pg. 284) has become a weekend lunch staple for me, and the Caramel Croissant Pudding (pg. 23) is so delicious that my boyfriend rarely requests another dessert. 

Of course, Nigella Express isn’t all winners. In true Nigella style, the ratio of sweets to mains is rather high, some might say inappropriately so for a book about quick meals. (I was always under the impression that eating “real food” should be the priority, and dessert should come after, if one has time and room.) Similarly, the focus on entertaining and starters seemed odd to me- or am I the only one not regularly having company over on weeknights? Some recipes barely seem to count as recipes at all, merely suggestions for ingredient combinations (Naan pizza, pg. 19). Add to this the abundance of meat dishes that I can’t eat, and those dishes I just plain don’t want to eat (New Orleans Coleslaw, pg. 277), and I  have to admit, this isn’t my favourite Nigella book. 

Don’t let that dissuade you, though. There are plenty of great ideas in Nigella Express, and most of the recipes are the kind that are easily adaptable to what you have on hand. Of course, if you’re a Nigella-junkie like me, you’ve probably already got it anyway.

Mark needs to stay in the kitchen, because quite frankly, I wouldn’t know what to do without him. (If you’re interested, the other two are Jamie at Home and Nigella Express, but they’re just there because they match the decor.)

How to Cook Everything Vegetarian is, at its simplest, an amended version of Mark’s bestselling and exhaustive How to Cook Everything. The chapters focusing on meat have been removed, and those about vegetarian staples like grains, legumes, and alternative proteins have been expanded on. As he explains in the introduction, Mark himself isn’t a vegetarian, but encourages a low-meat diet as one that is healthier for both Americans and the planet. The book seems to be aimed toward people who are looking to eat less meat for these reasons, but works equally well for strict vegetarians and vegans.

The 996-page, 4.4 lb book (I weighed it with my kitchen scale) is roughly divided into two parts. The introductory chapters cover the basics of ingredients, equipment and techniques. Mark discusses the complications of shopping for ingredients (even touching on the battle of organic vs. local), shares with us his list of pantry essentials, and goes into detail about choosing and using a variety of kitchen tools. Everything from what to look for in a good soy sauce, to proper knife skills, to how to season a cast iron pan is covered.

The second part of the book is given over to more specific information on ingredients. 11 chapters of information, starting with Salads and progressing through Soups, Vegetables, High-Protein Foods and Breads, to name just a few. Almost any type of ingredient you can think of is mentioned here, as well as information on how best to prepare it, appropriate substitutions, and of course a comprehensive collection of recipes. Recipes that range from absurdly basic (Cheese Omelet, pg. 172) to mouthwatering (Paella with Oranges, Olives and Saffron, pg. 523) to faintly ridiculous (Homemade Tofu, pg. 656). Most recipes are followed by several variations on the basic formula, with simple ways to change the flavour with different seasonings. Many also feature adjustments to make them vegan, if they aren’t already.

It is possibly for this reason that Bittman is a particularly polarizing food writer. Some find his style of providing a basic formula and umpteen variations unnecessary and annoying. Why not just give us one good recipe? they think. While I agree that six variations on Chickpea Fondue (pg. 615), might be pushing it just a little (in fact, chickpea fondue itself might be pushing it), I really like this style. It helps, I think, not to think of this book as a collection of prescribed recipes, but as a tool in learning to cook. Understanding how to combine flavours and adapt techniques is just as important as the ability to follow steps in a recipe, and besides, encouraging creative thought in the kitchen is rarely a bad thing.

It’s my belief that food writing (good food writing, at least), is divided into two types: the kind you read in the kitchen while preparing a meal, and the kind you read in bed (or the bath, or curled up on the couch, or whatever). Mark is definitely a purveyor of the former. His writing style is simple and straightforward, what I think of as a man’s food writer. He doesn’t wax poetic about the green of a savoy cabbage or the aroma of freshly baked bread, but he doesn’t need to: it isn’t his style, and his love of good food comes through all the same. Blessedly unpretentious, he seems aware of time and budget constraints, and unlike with some other writers, you have no problem thinking of him as an actual person.

Similarly, the look of How to Cook Everything Vegetarian is pared-down and modern. Perhaps predictably, the cover is green, as are the recipe titles, charts and lists inside the book. The two columns of text per page are printed with modern typefaces and simple graphic touches. There are no photos, but techniques (forming dumplings, rolling sushi) are illustrated textbook-style. Not the most beautiful cookbook you’ll come across, but the aesthetic suits the content and encyclopedia-like feel of the book.

Where I think this book could do more is in the Desserts chapter. The introduction makes the point that vegetarians usually eat the same desserts as omnivores, and bizarrely uses this as reason not to include these dishes, instead focusing on recipes which “contain more whole grains, natural sweeteners… [and] unexpected ingredients like vegetables and herbs”. Well, I don’t know about you, but I became a vegetarian because I wanted to stop eating meat, not cheesecake. Not that the desserts in the book don’t seem delicious (many do), just that they aren’t exactly what I’m looking for in a book that presents itself as a comprehensive guide to cooking, vegetarian or otherwise. I mean, the section on Brownies doesn’t even contain a recipe for a basic chocolate version.

All in all, though, How to Cook Everything Vegetarian is a great cookbook. Its comprehensive nature makes it a great buy for anyone just beginning to find their way around a kitchen. I think it would be a perfect choice for a young vegetarian going off to university or moving into their first apartment, for example. But more experienced cooks shouldn’t be quick to write it off; there are hundreds of great ideas in here, particularly for those looking to adopt healthier and more eco-friendly eating habits. Personally, I found this book an invaluable resource during my first year as a vegetarian, and rarely do I open it without being struck by the sudden urge to cook something new. So, for the foreseeable future at least, How to Cook Everything Vegetarian will remain at home in my kitchen.