Not only am I apparently obsessed with Jamie, but I’m obsessed with Italian food. It’s a cliché, I know, but what a delicious one. I should have been born Italian- I’m convinced that it was only a cruel twist of fate that made me Canadian instead.

Understandably then, this book has been on my to-buy list for quite a while. I pick it up whenever I’m in a bookstore, love taking a sneak peek at the recipes and photos inside, but somehow never manage to actually purchase it. I recently got around to joining my local library, though (after living here for over two years- I know, pathetic) and can you guess what the very first book I borrowed was? Of course you can. 

Like the more recently published Jamie at Home,  Jamie’s Italy is a visual feast. The lovely matte paper hosts gorgeous food and travel photography, which celebrates the food of Italy in a way which appears personal and real, not contrived. This isn’t standing around sipping prosecco in a picture-perfect seaside town, this is grandmothers making pasta, street-food vendors, a rustic picnic and hunters proudly displaying their (somewhat gruesome) catch. 

Divided into seven chapters, the book covers both the topics you’d expect (antipasti, pasta, meat dishes, desserts) and those you might not (street food and side dishes). With the exception of the meat chapter, nearly everything here looks wonderful to me. Not that the meat dishes don’t look delicious- in fact, I can’t look at Sausages and Green Lentils with Tomato Salsa (pg. 221) for too long, for fear of breaking my vegetarian resolve.

So far I’ve made several things from the book, with an impressive success rate. Pasta with Chickpeas (pg. 76) was tasty and nourishing, while a strawberry version of Jamie’s Blackberry Tart (pg. 287) was one of my favourite desserts of the year. The only recipe I’ve tried that went even remotely awry was Artichoke Risotto (pg. 136), but I’m pretty sure that was due to the artichokes I used, rather than Jamie’s recipe. Anyway, I managed to save the dish, and it too was delicious in the end. I’m by no means done with the book, either. Florentine Rice Tart (pg. 284) definitely has a place in my future, and I’m considering making Spaghetti alla Trapanese (pg. 121) for dinner tonight.

Now comes the point in a review where I’m supposed to write something negative. Hmm. See, it’s not as though there’s nothing that could be improved on here- there could be a few more pizza recipes, a more in-depth look at making handmade pasta, or a couple more recipes for Italian gelato, but all that would just be icing on the cake. In a way, the only thing that could improve Jamie’s Italy would be if there was more of it. So Jamie, if you’re reading this, perhaps a sequel?

In conclusion, then: I love Jamie’s Italy. I love how it looks, how it reads, and I love the recipes. I should clearly throw my pride to the wind and become a card-carrying member of the Jamie Oliver Fan Club. I see library late fines in my future.

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.

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.