Kate Colquhoun is a UK food writer whose work has appeared in the Daily Telegraph, The Times, Country Life and Delicious magazine, among others. She is known as a crusader against food waste, on a mission to turn the British public into better, and more thrifty, cooks.

The Thrifty Cookbook is, then, a sort of manifesto. The first two chapters, What’s Thrifty Cooking? and How to Waste Less Food lay the groundwork: a shocking amount of food is wasted every year from ordinary kitchens, simply because people don’t know what to do with it. The 14 chapters that follow put those ideas into practice, and include the expected Some Basics, Soups, Pies, Tarts and Pizzas and Eggs and Cheese, but also chapters like Things to do with Bread and Fruit Past its Best.

Within these chapters, the book follows the style that seems to be trending in the cookbook market this days: several basic recipes, with umpteen variations. For instance, a recipe for classic Bubble and Squeak (pg. 151) has 14 adaptations, including Rösti, Parsnip and Apple, and Spanish Trinxat. This does mean that there’s rather a lot of reading to be done here, if you want to extract maximum recipe potential.

Of course, that’s not a bad thing; the design of The Thrifty Cookbook makes flipping through its pages a treat. Printed on attractive recycled paper in a user-friendly 6 x 9″ format, it features a simple layout and thoughtful organization. The book is also peppered with cute and whimsical line drawings, included both for instruction purposes (as in how to make Plain Risotto, pg. 176) and for visual relief. Some might miss photos in a cookbook (there aren’t any here), but that’s personal preference. I like the sketches, and don’t feel that such simple meals really need photographs, anyway.

So, on to the recipes. They are as I say, simple, with a focus on grasping basic kitchen techniques before building on them to create dishes. Basics include Making Stocks (pg. 27), Jams and Preserves (pg. 39), Stews (pg. 72) and Pizzas (pg. 125), all of which are great for using up leftovers and refrigerator odds and ends. I tried the recipe for Onion Tart (pg. 120) and both the filling and Shortcrust Pastry (pg. 110) get the thumbs-up. I also liked the Savoury Pancakes (pg. 196) and the Cheese Soufflé with Broccoli (pg. 204).

It’s difficult for me to be objective about whether or not The Thrifty Cookbook meets its “thrifty” goals. Cooking with leftovers and planning ahead are things that come naturally to me, so I can’t say for sure whether this book would help anyone else reduce waste. There are useful tips here, such as how to refresh and re-use leftover pasta (pg. 182) and Recipes Using Separated Eggs (pg. 199). Other ideas, such as using over-ripe bananas to make Banana Cake (pg. 246) leave me a bit cold. I mean, duh.

At the end of the day, I think The Thrifty Cookbook is a great resource for a specific audience. Those just learning their way around the kitchen, students living away from home for the first time, and people finding themselves with a suddenly reduced food budget would all find the information between its pages useful and inspiring.

For my purposes though, I feel a bit beyond the book’s teachings, and for that reason am awarding The Thrifty Cookbook three stars. However, they’re well-deserved ones, and I’m sure in some kitchens this book would be worth more.

For those of you not familiar with Rachel Allen, this blonde-haired, blue-eyed lass is the heir apparent of the Irish culinary scene; she studied at the world-famous Ballymaloe Cookery School and ended up marrying the owners’ son. Now a celebrity chef in her own right, she’s written books, starred in TV series, and even released her own line of electrical appliances.

Home Cooking is her latest offering, a collection of recipes for comforting soul food and family-friendly fare. Its eight chapters include Breakfast, Lunch, Sunday lunch (more festive than the former), Dessert, Snacks, treats and sweets and even Baby purées (not useful for me, but charming nonetheless). This is the type of food that you’ll make day-to-day or for family celebrations: good ingredients, simple to prepare and downright delicious.

Rachel’s personal brand could be defined as “feminine country”, and her books reflect this. Home Cooking makes prolific use of cutesy typefaces, the colour pink, small-scale patterns and photos of her angelic troupe of blonde children. While normally this kind of in-your-face girliness irks me to no end, I barely notice it here; the design is well handled and supports the content, rather than distracting from it.

Recipe pages are clearly laid out, with servings, ingredients, equipment and variations noted. There’s also a particularly useful “Vegetarian” heading for any dishes not containing meat (and there are more than you’d think). I also appreciate that Rachel doesn’t waste loads of time talking; while there are food writers whose words I lap up as eagerly as their food, she is clearly in the “cook who writes” camp (rather than the inverse), and knows it.

So if it’s not the design or the writing that makes me love this book so, it’s gotta be the food. Rachel’s cooking is perfectly up my ally, and I can hardly flip through this book without bookmarking something new to try. It’s not the most experimental or creative cookbook you’ll find, but neither is this all traditional Lamb Stew or Soda Bread. As my lovely (and Irish) friend Dawn put it over at Kitchenist,

I also like that her cooking is a fairly accurate reflection of Irish cooking now- one part traditional Irish food, some Mediterranean influences, a hit of Indian and Chinese flavours, and more American influences as well.

Most everything I’ve made from Home Cooking has been delicious. Smoked Salmon, Leek and Potato Pie (pg. 114) and Dark and White Chocolate Fudge Pudding with Zesty Orange (pg. 229) made for a delicious New Year’s Eve dinner, and Spotted Dog bread (pg. 32) was wonderful the next morning. I’ve tried the Brussels Sprout Soup (pg. 50), Tagliatelle with Smoked Salmon, Watercress and Peas (pg. 84) and Squashed Fly Biscuits (pg. 277), all to triumphant success.

In fact, the only disappointment so far was the Pizza Dough (pg. 149). Rachel’s recipe contains butter, an anomaly which confused and intrigued me. But besides making my hands extra-soft during the kneading process, I saw no benefit; the resulting dough was bland and tasteless, with an bizarre soft texture.

Still, one disappointment isn’t bad, and I’m hopeful it’ll be the last from this book. Next on my to-try list is Kedgeree (pg. 36), Carrots with Nutty Buttered Crumbs (pg. 126), and Fluffy Lemon Pudding (pg. 245).

There isn’t much I can say against Home Cooking; it “does what it says on the tin”, as they say.  The mix of recipes is good, though I would likely find it even more useful if I was omnivorous or had small children to feed. It’s probably too soon to say whether my love for it is the real thing or a passing infatuation, but either way I’ve been eating well in 2010 so far. A solid four stars.

I bought my copy of Nigella Christmas during the holiday sales last year; it’s been available for more than a year in Britain, but the American edition was only recently published. Regular readers know of my long-harboured love for Nigella, so will understand why I just had to buy this. Though If I’m honest, I never do much holiday cooking- instead I hop on a plane back to my parents house, where I rely on others to do it for me.

The coffee table-sized Nigella Christmas is intended as a one-stop shop for those who do engage in Christmas cooking. The nine chapters include The More The Merrier (holiday mass catering), Come On Over… (a useful chapter on stress-free suppers), The Main Event (everything you could possibly want for a traditional, or non-traditional, holiday meal), Joy To The World (holiday baking and sweet treats) and All Wrapped Up (edible presents and preserves). All in, it contains 150 recipes, making it Nigella’s most comprehensive-feeling book since Feast.

If I’m honest, I’m not crazy about the design of the book- it leans rather too heavily on a kitschy and clichéd red, white and green idea of Christmas. But while festive red type and cutesy photo styling might not be my style, but it’s not overtly offensive- and it is Christmassy, admittedly.

The design is successful in other ways- clear, well-presented recipes, loads of full-colour photography, and even step-by-step photographs for some recipes. On each recipe page there’s a clearly marked “Make Ahead Tip”, particularly useful for holiday cooking. The Main Event chapter, which contains traditional recipes for Christmas lunch/dinner, is printed on red-edged pages, making it easy to find in the middle of the book.

For the most part, the recipes in Nigella Christmas are traditional British holiday fare, sometimes with a twist. Canapés like Drunken Devils on Horseback (pg. 22) have a retro appeal, while Gleaming Maple Cheesecake (pg. 74) is a contemporary spin on seasonal flavours. For the Christmas meal itself, Nigella offers up not only Roast Turkey with Allspice Gravy (pg. 115), but Roast Goose (pg. 149), Roast Rib of Beef (pg. 155), Rolled Stuffed Loin of Pork (pg. 158) and Roast Stuffed Pumpkin (pg. 165). There are even recipes for using up the leftovers of each of these- if I was still eating meat, Ed’s Victorious Turkey Hash (pg. 146) would be right up my alley.

I’ve tried a few recipes so far, with good results. Pumpkin and Goat’s Cheese Lasagne (pg. 34) made a yummy Autumnal dinner, and I’m counting down the days until I can make the wonderful Sticky Gingerbread (pg. 201) again. I liked the Roast Squash and Sweet Potato Soup (pg. 53), and Christmas Morning Muffins (pg. 214) made a simple, tasty start to the day (not Christmas Day, though- I made them last winter).

Next on my list are some of the preserves and edible gifts- I want to do all homemade presents this year, so might try my hand at the Chili Jam (pg. 241), Christmas Ketchup (pg. 242), or Peanut Brittle (pg. 244).

The drawbacks of Nigella Christmas are pretty much what you’d guess. It is, of course, a Christmas cookbook, so not exactly a kitchen workhorse. The recipes are mainly appropriate for cold weather, and there’s not so much as a fresh green salad to be found. Whether the recipes are to your taste or not will also be a deciding factor in how useful you’d find it, and while I like traditional British food, I can only take so many recipes for fruit cakes and steamed puddings.

Also- and this is surprising, coming from me- there’s rather a lot of talking. While I love Nigella’s writing, this book has convinced me that it’s best in small doses. Too much of her trademark self-deprecation can wear a bit thin.

If I may, I’d also argue against the very existence of a Christmas-themed cookbook; do people really want new ideas at such a tradition-laden time of year? For me, Christmas is a time for family recipes, passed down through generations. Even if you don’t particularly like these dishes (my family’s herring salad comes to mind), you’d probably rather have them than something prescribed by a celebrity chef.

I like Nigella Christmas, but I doubt my cookbook collection would really miss it, had it never been written. Whether you’ll like it is entirely up to you, but as long as you a) are obsessed with Christmas to the point of hosting multiple holiday parties and making all your own gifts, b) like the sound of a British Christmas feast, but c) aren’t overly hampered by your own traditions, I think you’ll love it. For me, though, it’s a three star book.

“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.

Unfortunately, since then The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook has been weighing on my mind, rather than my kitchen counter. I’ve been putting off writing this review for months because, to be honest, I’ve barely touched this book. Every now and then I pick it up and give it a halfhearted flip-through, but mainly it stays in the bookshelf, propping up some novels and attempting to make me feel bad about myself.

Firstly, some background. The Big Sur Bakery and Restaurant is a family-run restaurant dedicated to making delicious food out of local, seasonal ingredients. Embodying the spirit of the Big Sur area of California’s coastline, the place has been a local success story, attracting locals and tourists for nearly a decade. The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook is the first cookbook by the restaurant’s owners, Michelle and Philip Wojtowicz and Michael Gibson, and aims to not only share the food they prepare in the kitchen, but the story of the restaurant and Big Sur itself.

The book is presented as a “year in the life” of the restaurant, and is organized into chapters by month. Beginning with March (I’m not exactly sure why) and working through to February, it includes recipes for breads, soups, pizzas, meats, fish, salads and desserts. As might be expected from a bakery on the west coast, there’s a strong emphasis on baking and seafood.

The design of the book is attractive, if nothing really special. There are certainly many lovely photographs, and I like the illustrations on the chapter intro pages, but it’s far from the clean, modern style that I prefer. I also found there to be rather a lot of “stuff” clogging up The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook. In keeping with the goal of it being a story as well as a cookbook, its pages are peppered with histories on the area, treatises about growing food, anecdotes of various holidays and all manner of profiles on vendors and employees. Though this might be of interest to some people (particularly if you’ve actually been to the bakery, and enjoyed it), I could have done without it. I don’t really care how cute Jim the Pasture Farmer is, thank you, I’d rather have more recipes.

Unfortunately, the recipes are another problem here, at least for me. Don’t get me wrong- I’ve enjoyed the ones I’ve tried- but The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook contains rather a lot of meat recipes for this vegetarian. And I do mean a lot; out of the 80 recipes in the book, just over half are vegetarian-friendly. That may sound like a good ratio, but for a non meat-eater it’s a bit lean, especially if the other recipes aren’t exactly your cup of tea.

I don’t want to be completely unfair here; some dishes look and sound wonderful. Meyer Lemon Bars (pg. 22) look delicious, and Spring Risotto (pg. 60) is right up my alley. I’ve made and enjoyed the Butternut Squash Soup (pg. 164), and had my eye on the Native American Succotash (pg. 98) for a while. The omnivores among you might like the sound of Pork Belly Pizza with Barbecue Sauce (pg. 78) or Salmon Trout Wrapped in Prosciutto (pg. 186).

When all’s said and done, The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook just isn’t earning its spot on my bookshelf.  In an effort to cull my cookbook collection before it takes over the flat, I’ll likely give this away to a friend or local charity shop. (Incidentally, Dana, a fellow food-bloggin’ vegetarian, also found this book too meaty and had a giveaway for her copy.)

Because of this, I’ve battled over what rating to give here. To me, The Big Sur Bakery Cookbook is a two-star book; some good recipes (not nearly enough), but a lack of draw and interest. To you, particularly if you’re a meat-eater, it might be a 3- or even a 4-star book. In the end though, I’m going with my first instinct. (Hopefully it won’t be the first instinct of publishers, after reading this, to never send me another book!)

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.

Until then, happy cooking!

I was surprised, then, to find out how much I liked the idea of this book. Vefa’s Kitchen was published this year by Phaidon Press*, and is the London-based publisher’s Greek equivalent to its previously-published Italian food bible, The Silver Spoon. Vefa Alexiadou is, as Google tells me, much like a Greek Delia Smith or Julia Child: a cookery writer and television presenter for 30 years, she is considered the leading authority on Greek cuisine.

*In the interest of transparency, a disclaimer: Some of you might have noticed that I’ve reviewed several Phaidon books here. Though I do have a friend who works for the company and gets a (very much appreciated) employee discount, all are paid for and none are freebies. As a sucker for good design and good food, I just really like them!

To start off, let’s talk about that good design. I loved the look of this book from the first page. While slightly less playful with type and illustration than its Italian counterpart, Vefa’s Kitchen more than makes up for it with wonderful photographs. They cover everything you’d want in a book like this, from evocative images of postcard-perfect Greece to simply-styled, modern but timeless food photography. The rest of the book is lovely too, with a watercolour “Greek key” cover design and matching page-keepers.

Like any good foreign-food manual, Vefa’s Kitchen kicks off with an introduction to Greek cuisine, which includes an informative (and surprisingly interesting) breakdown of the different Greek regions, their histories and native foods. It then moves on to its 21 recipe-filled chapters, which include Mezedes, Pasta, Shellfish, Pork, Lamb, Bread, Cakes, Candies and Preserves, and Menus from Celebrated Greek Chefs. Phew.

I was surprised, perhaps naively, by how approachable many of the recipes here seemed. While there is an awful lot of pickling, frying and yes, stuffing things into other things, there are also many dishes which are familiar and comforting to a Western palate. Feta Omelette with Egg Noodles (pg. 271) is just Greek enough to make you feel like you’ve achieved something new, while Sesame Bread Rings (pg. 528) look like little Greek bagels. If it’s Greek food you want though, Eggplant Fritters (pg. 100), Octopus Stifado (pg. 332), Moussaka (pg. 419) or Sweet Cheese Tarts (pg. 548) will do you nicely.

The recipes here are also very well organized, with a ton of information included. Incredibly (and usefully) all weights and measures are given in both metric and imperial, and oven temperatures in Celsius, Fahrenheit and Gas Mark. I particularly like the attention paid to the recipe names: each one is given in English, in Greek and phonetically.

Of course, not everything is calm seas and smooth sailing. Like The Silver Spoon, Vefa’s Kitchen suffers somewhat from a lack of space. While the type and layout here make the recipes easier to read, instructions are still crammed into a too-small space in a paragraphical format. Numbered steps or shorter paragraphs would have been preferable, particularly when dealing with foreign ingredients and techniques.

Perhaps it’s unfair of me to keep comparing Vefa’s Kitchen to The Silver Spoon. After all, if you like Greek food but hate Italian (or vice versa), they’ll be no contest. I simply can’t help it though; these two tomes are from the same publisher, and both are attempting to summarize a nation’s cuisine in fewer than 1000 pages.

Taking that into account, I’ve decided to give Vefa’s Kitchen a three-star rating, one less than its sister. The look, photography and draw of this book make it more appealing, but given that I haven’t quite been converted from my all-consuming love of Italian food, I’ll probably use it less often. Someone who loves Greek food might feel differently though, so if that’s you- you can’t go wrong with this one.

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.)

Regular readers of my blogs know that I adore Italian food, and this adoration tends to extend to most Italian cookbooks. But although I’ve had The Silver Spoon in my possession for almost nine months now, I’ve delayed reviewing it here. Frankly, this thing is so huge and comprehensive that I’m a little intimidated by it, and somewhat stumped as to how to present a well-rounded critique. To simply tell you about the dishes I’ve cooked from this book would be futile; with over 2000 recipes, it’s only ever going to be a tiny percentage.

Visually, The Silver Spoon is somewhat dry. Though published by the design-centric Phaidon Press, it’s not favourite cookbook of theirs; it certainly doesn’t fill me with delight like my copy of Breakfast, Lunch, Tea. With so much content to work with, the designers clearly had to make compromises to avoid ending up with a book the size of a small car. As a result, the recipes themselves are somewhat cramped, and what scant photography there is contributes little to the overall feel of the book. 

There are things I do like about the design though, including the use of type in the section headings, and the charming line drawings scattered through the pages. Many of the most successful visual devices here are actually in the name of organization; for example each section is colour-coded, and clever tabs along the top of the page allow you to quickly find what you want. If you can keep track of 15 different colours and what they mean, of course. 

Yup, The Silver Spoon contains an astonishing 15 chapters, beginning with the standard Cooking Terms and Tools and Equipment, before moving into those including (but not limited to) Antipasti, Appetizers and Pizzas, First Courses, Meat and Offal, Cheese and Desserts and Baking. Each chapter is further broken down by ingredient, and then by recipe. At the end of the book, there’s a sizable Menus chapter, which contains Italian-themed menus and recipes by celebrated chefs from around the world.

As for the recipes themselves, they’re delightfully varied: in the Vegetables section, for instance, you’ll find three for Dandelions (pg. 435), four for Pumpkin (pg. 575), and 17 for Tomatoes (pg. 538). All the classic Italian favourites are present (including Bruschetta, pg. 95 and Milanese Risotto, pg. 330), along with some that are slightly less, er, mainstream. (Brain Roulades with Truffle, pg. 855, anybody?) But neither is The Silver Spoon a tour of stereotypical, cookie-cutter Italy. The presence of many international dishes like Indonesian Rice (pg. 318) and English Bread and Butter Pudding (pg. 1027) are a testament to how varied the country’s cuisine really is.

Be warned, though: while this book may teach you how to cook Italian food, it won’t teach you how to cook. Unless you’re at least somewhat confident with the ins and outs of a kitchen, you’ll find The Silver Spoon confusing, as explanation and clear instruction is somewhat lacking. I also find that there’s rather a lot of jumping around between recipes, with certain dishes almost nothing more than a combination of others. Not that I really mind this; it’s simply a book that assumes you know how to cook, and are using it first and foremost for the recipes.

Well, I do know how to cook, and still I’ll admit: I haven’t used this book nearly as often as I first imagined. Oh, don’t get me wrong- I love reading it, and I’ve used it as a reference countless times, but it’s not the first book I reach for when I need a new recipe. Whether that’s because of its intimidating size or lack of visual enticement, I can’t really say. I do have a hunch that The Silver Spoon is more of a long-term love than a quick fling, though, and I’ll probably be using and treasuring my copy for years to come. After all, generations of Italian brides can’t be wrong. 

With careful consideration, I’ve decided to give this book four stars. Deserving of top marks for its breadth and authenticity, The Silver Spoon nonetheless loses out for the depth of its instructions, and for failing, just slightly, to draw me in. Still, if you’re looking for the mamma of all Italian cookbooks, this is it.