“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.

Tender is actually a two-part publication, the first volume of which focuses on vegetables. In Volume II, which is due out next year, the emphasis will be on fruit. As fruit doesn’t interest me nearly as much as vegetables (I dislike it cooked, anyway), I’m thrilled that Nigel saw fit to start at the beginning.

And “at the beginning” is apt: in the vein of Jamie at Home and others like it, Tender is as much about growing vegetables as cooking them. The introduction speaks of Nigel’s love for growing food, and in particular for his west London garden, which was transformed over several years to provide him with a generous, if not entirely self-sustaining, amount of fresh produce with which to cook.

This introduction (all 12 pages of it) is strangely one of my favourite parts of the book. It’s not that I find the subject matter all that interesting, but the prose is a treat to take in. Nigel Slater is beloved by the British in part due to his wonderful writing, which is at once charming, self-deprecating, witty and honest. He even manages to make a section titled “Slugs, snails and other buggerances” sound amusing, which I imagine is quite a feat.

While all of Nigel’s books are wonderfully readable, Tender is probably one of the prettiest to date, at least in my opinion. Printed on beautiful matte paper, the pages are full of simple type, wonderful photography and enough clean white space to bring it all together. The photos especially, mainly of food but occasionally of Nigel’s garden or some raw ingredients, are considered and elegant without being styled to death. In short: this is my kind of book.

Broken into 30 chapters, each covering a different vegetable, the books is large but hardly an exhaustive vegetable lexicon. Of course, it wouldn’t be; Tender is all about eating locally and cooking seasonally, so it only covers those vegetables grown by Nigel here in Britain. This makes it especially useful for those of us who buy produce at farmers’ markets, or who grow our own food.

Each chapter follows the same basic formula: an introduction, some information about growing the vegetable in question, a “diary” following the planting, growing and harvesting in 2008, and some information on the different varieties available to gardeners. Following this is a bit about cooking with the vegetable (methods, classic flavour pairings, tips and things to try), and around 5-10 recipes using it. This may sound like rather a lot of “extra stuff” taking up room in a cookbook, but it’s far more interesting than it sounds. In fact, there are just as many ideas for dishes hidden in these sections of prose as there are recipes themselves.

Now, about those recipes. While I haven’t been cooking from Tender for all that long, I don’t need to cook everything here to know it will be delicious. Nigel’s recipes rarely disappoint me; in fact, I’d consider him one of my most trusted food writers, in terms of “doing what it says on the tin”. And he hasn’t strayed far from his trademark cooking style here, relying heavily on fresh ingredients, simple cooking methods, and the occasional indulgence. (Nigel seems to be a man who likes a good dose of cream or cheese now and then.) While the recipes aren’t strictly vegetarian, non-meat-eaters will find little to complain about, as it only makes a rare and subtle appearance here. Additionally, very few things read as “sides” to me, leaning instead toward being meals in their own right.

I first tackled A Rich Dish of Sprouts and Cheese for a Very Cold Night (pg. 126), which was so good that my boyfriend went back for thirds (quite something, considering that he’d previously claimed to dislike Brussels sprouts). Pasta with Sprouting and Cream (pg. 114) was also a success, as was Kale with Golden Raisins and Onions (pg. 321). I hope to try the Carrot Cake with a Frosting of Mascarpone and Orange (pg. 179) soon, and I’ve currently got some chickpeas on the stove for tonight’s dinnner of Chickpeas with Pumpkin, Lemongrass and Coriander (pg. 506).

The negatives of this book are few and far between. If you aren’t interested in gardening or eating locally it probably won’t be for you, as you’ll get more bang for your buck with a larger, more comprehensive vegetable cookbook. I suppose Tender could contain more recipes; I mean, four broccoli dishes is hardly all the vegetable has to offer, is it?

Still, what Tender does, it does very well. This is a collection of reliable recipes, made from ingredients local to many of us living in the Northern Hemisphere. I’m giving Tender a solid four stars and a strong suggestion that you check it out. While cooking from this book might not feel exactly like sitting down to dine with the author, it’s as close as I’m likely to get.

For some reason, I felt that owning a copy of Deborah Madison‘s Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone was a prerequisite for being a “real” vegetarian. As if not owning this book were somehow an admittance of amateurism, or an open invitation for mocking by more “serious” vegetarians.

My parents (despite not being vegetarian themselves) have been cooking from this comprehensive book for years, but living across the ocean from them as I do, it was imperative to buy my own copy. Luckily, there was a 10 year anniversary edition out, so it was with a firm heart and aching back and that I lugged a copy home from a trip to New York City last May. (It was cheaper in North America, and luckily my lifestyle change coincided with a planned holiday.)

Like most encyclopedia-style cookbooks, Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone starts off with several introductory chapters, covering things like shopping in season, menu planning, kitchen tools and cooking techniques. The recipes themselves are organized into an impressive fifteen chapters, covering the to-be-expected Vegetables, Grains, Eggs and Cheese and Desserts, as well as the less common Sandwiches, The Soy Pantry and Breads by Hand. Within these chapters ingredients are given due respect; you can find out which potatoes are best for which recipes (pg. 408), brush up on types of cheeses (pg. 584-587), or learn about how different varieties of rice are processed (pg. 536).

Most everything I’ve made from this book has turned out well. Penne with Tomatoes, Olives, Lemon and Basil (pg. 454) is a favourite, as is Curried Quinoa with Peas and Cashews (pg. 534). The Polenta Gratin with Tomato, Fontina and Rosemary (pg. 526) was even good enough to impress my Mum when she was visiting. Deborah’s breads and baked goods are similarly dependable; her recipe for Naan (pg. 674) is my go-to one for serving with curries, and her Ginger Cream Scones (pg. 651) go down a treat. Add to these successes the fact that the ingredient lists here tend toward short and the instructions toward clear, and you’ve got a winner.

Why then, don’t I reach for this book more often? As much as I love Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone, more often than not it stays on the shelf while I reach for my trusty copy of How to Cook Everything Vegetarian instead. Deborah and Mark’s books are similarly structured, and though Deborah came along a decade earlier, I can’t help feeling that Mark does the whole vegetarian-encyclopedia thing a bit better.

A quick internet search reveals that I’m not alone in feeling this way; for some reason, Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone doesn’t feel as relevant today as it perhaps used to. Whether it’s the style of the food, the style of the writing or both, I can’t be sure. It could be simply down to the look of the book, which though clean and attractive, is hardly all that modern or exciting.

I don’t think we should be too hard on this book, though, as there are things it does very well. While Mark’s recipes have an “everyday” feel to them, Deborah’s food comes off as a bit more special. While I prefer How to Cook Everything Vegetarian on a stressful mid-week evening, I’m more likely to reach for Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone on a lazy Sunday afternoon, or when I really want to pull out all the stops and impress someone. I definitely think there’s room for both books in a vegetarian kitchen.

Having considered it, I think Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone deserves a solid four stars. The quality of the information and recipes is top-notch, and you’ll find both classic dishes and new ideas in here. The only drawback is a slight lack of that elusive “pull” factor, and even that’s probably just personal preference. In any case, I can’t imagine anyone would be disappointed after buying this book. (But maybe just order it online: trust me, it’s a bit heavy for a trans-Atlantic flight.)

Anyway, moving swiftly on. Where I’m going with this is, often my foodie family is gifted with small kitchen- and cooking-related items, which are always a highlight. Two years ago, my Mum found these River Café Pocket Books while on holiday in the UK, and, diligently thinking ahead to Christmas, purchased three of them. 

Written by Rose Gray and Ruth Rogers of the The River Café restaurant in London, there are four books in this series: Pasta & Ravioli, Fish & Shellfish, Puddings, Cakes & Ice Creams, and Salads & Vegetables. I recieved the last one, probably as I wasn’t yet a vegetarian at that point, and my Mum was worried that I wasn’t getting enough leafy greens. (She really has no right to complain that I’m difficult to feed now- look what she started!)

The book is, as it says on the tin, one of those long, thin, “pocket-sized” numbers. This in itself has always confused me- surely nobody really carries around cookbooks with them, for a little light train-reading? The size also makes it impractical to cook from; these books never stay open by themselves, necessitating a knife, plate, or other heavy object precariously balanced on top to keep the page open. Other than that, I have no qualms with the look of the book: the layout is clean, the typography modern,  and the photographs good, if nothing particularly special.  

In that way, this book is much like the River Cafe itself: substance over style, and for that I can hardly fault it. The recipes here are simple and honest, relying on the flavour of a few key ingredients, rather than lots of fancy seasoning. Fresh produce is definitely the word of the day here, which makes most of these recipes extremely seasonal. In some cases, this actually works against the book, because where on earth am I going to find fresh borlotti beans in London, at any time of year? 

The dishes I have made the effort to try, whether by seeking out the elusive fresh ingredients or by cheating and using (shh) canned, have been lovely. I particularly liked Broad Beans braised in Milk with Sage (#42) which, eaten with garlic toast, is a great simple dinner. Potato and Pancetta Gratin (#101) is delicious, as are Grilled Leeks with Thyme (#36). 

To be honest, I don’t cook from this book that much anymore. Since I stopped eating meat, the need for vegetarian sides has receded, and these days I’m mainly a one-pot-meal kind of girl. I assume my former omnivorous prejudice had relegated Salads & Vegetables to side-dish territory, and written it off for that reason. Flipping though the book right now, though, there are loads of things I could make, many meals in themselves. Ricotta and Chard on Pasta Frolla (#96) seems right up my alley, but for some reason, I know it’s low on my to-cook list.

After much consideration, I’m going to give this book three stars. If you’re looking for a small but varied guide to cooking vegetables, and have access to lots of fresh produce, you might love it; I certainly can’t fault the recipes themselves. For me, though, it doesn’t draw me in enough for top marks. 

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. 

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.