Our cookbook selection this time around offers a varied bunch of books. Longing to indulge? "Big Fat Cookies" offers plenty of chubby sweet treats (if you can not take the title personally). Want to eat healthy? "Vegetarian Suppers from Deborah Madison's Kitchen" made our meat-loving reviewer say "I love tofu."
Some books bring exotic cuisines home. "La Cocina de Mama" presents a simple yet irresistible concept: Polling great Spanish chefs for their own mothers' treasured recipes. Yet not every concept worked. We were disappointed with some books, including a book about gourmet burgers that had our reviewer craving a simple, basic American beef burger.
That said, we hope you find something tasty in this cookbook roundup. And save us the leftovers.
Cookie monsters
Do you ever wonder about the names of certain restaurants? Doesn't "Blimpie" make you think you shouldn't eat at that sandwich chain if you care at all about your weight? Did that name really test well with consumers? Is there a whole audience out there just longing to gain weight?
The cookbook "Big Fat Cookies" (by Elinor Klivans, Chronicle, $18) would seem to have the same attached baggage. But try not to think about the name and its implied calorie count — the cookie recipes within are simple and delicious. I thought the fudge-filled chocolate chip cookies on the cover looked over the top, but a friend who wandered into the kitchen moaned "Why aren't you making THOSE?" (The other cookie on the cover, peppermint patties, mix a fudgy but dry chocolate cookie with lightly mint-spiked filling.)
Sizing the cookies was a bit of a crap shoot. They're intended to be large, but we thought the lemon-ginger cookie sandwiches worked better at a smaller, more Oreo-esque, size. (The cookies, utilizing ground toasted almonds and a delightfully sweet and light lemon filling, were a hit at any size.) I attempted to follow Klivan's size instructions for the peppermint patties, but somehow only got 6 cookies out of a recipe that supposedly makes 9.
The elegant butterscotch marble blondie drops didn't come out as art-gallery perfect as in the book, but their crisp butterscotchy flavor had a co-worker clamoring for the recipe. Super S'more crisps combine those favorite campground ingredients — chocolate, marshmallow, and graham — for a bumpy, unusual treat. Least satisfying: The maple cranberry oatmeal cookies were a bit flavorless.
Cookies are rarely difficult to make, and after a while, cookie recipe books tend to run together. Yet Klivans' stands out for exactly the reason her title states — the cookies are hefty handfuls, more a dessert than a snack. Just try not to think about the calories. —Gael Fashingbauer Cooper
You've got the look
Perhaps this is unfair to a woman who may be a talented chef, but the first — really the only — thing you notice about Giada De Laurentiis’ first book, “Everyday Italian” (Clarkson Potter, $30), is her model-quality looks, displayed on every spare inch of paper. Let’s call it the Nigella Lawson problem, after another well-built chef whose looks vie with her recipes for attention.
The dust cover of “Everyday Italian” is dominated by a candid of Giada (granddaughter of film mogul Dino De Laurentiis) snapping asparagus in a tight, cleavage-revealing black shirt. Flip inside: Here’s Giada in the same shirt, wantonly leaning over as she whips a bowl of cream; there’s Giada taking a sultry taste of sauce. This book contains more pouting candids than a copy of Vogue.
Her food? It’s exactly as the title promises: basic Italian fare, slightly biased toward the southern end of the boot, presumably meant to accompany the Roman-born Giada’s Food Network series. Some are examples of elegant simplicity; others, while not failures, are felled by curious oversights. Under no twist of imagination should four pounds of sautéed broccoli rabe be rationed a stingy three garlic cloves. And the book is curiously absent a foolproof pizza dough recipe De Laurentiis previously published in Food and Wine.
But food isn’t what’s being sold here. I’m not sure who the audience for all these glamour shots is supposed to be, but “Everyday Italian” wraps some pretty rote recipes around a lot of cheesecake. (Photographic cheesecake, that is.)
I’m sure Giada’s a charming woman, and she may well be a talented, innovative chef. But none of that was discernable here. I prefer to keep my food lust separate from other desires, at least in the pages of a cookbook. —Jon Bonné
From a Spanish home kitchen
It’s a hopeful sign when a cookbook that promises recipes from the “hottest chefs” actually subordinates celebrity in favor of good food.
For “La Cocina de Mamá” (Broadway Books, $29,95), Penelope Casas polled some of Spain’s biggest names, such as lauded culinary scientist Ferran Adrià and Basque wonder Juan Mari Arzak. Casas, an expert in Spanish cuisine, presents a simple concept: great Iberian chefs passing along their mothers’ treasured recipes. The result is a nearly flawless compilation of Spanish home cooking that’s at once stripped of pretense and yet relentlessly innovative.
Even the simplest preparations translated into clear, focused flavors. The cazuela de boquerones Mediterraneos — a layered dish of white fish, tomatoes and bread crumbs — was savory without losing its subtle fish flavor. A greens and potato tart, sort of a baked tortilla Española without so much egg, was downright addictive, even if we were skeptical about the inclusion of romaine lettuce. A Malaga-style white gazpacho was one of the best I’ve ever had, despite taking just 20 minutes to prepare (though several hours to develop flavors).
I couldn’t find a weak recipe; each was clearly explained and briefly prefaced — with only passing nods to the chefs’ fame. The key to success might be that these recipes were largely developed in home kitchens, for feeding hungry families. Ironically, Adrià’s mother contributes one of the simplest recipes: an artichoke omelet with just five ingredients, a sign that even the most dazzling kitchen wizards rely on humble roots.
A worthwhile cookbook should prove its utility for years to come, and given the long list of recipes I’m still eager to try from “Cocina,” it’s safe to say Casas has more than achieved that goal. —J.B.
Vegging out
Nothing throws a carnivorous cook into more of a tailspin than trying to plan a meal for vegetarian guests. "Vegetarian Suppers from Deborah Madison’s Kitchen" (Broadway, $27.50) attempts to solve that problem with an attractive collection of vegetarian entrees, accompanied by suggestions for side dishes and wine.
Madison’s book is designed for a fairly confident home cook — instructions like “cook over a lively heat” may confuse a beginner. But while Madison’s approach is informal, the results are anything but. An onion and rosemary tart with fromage blanc served with mushrooms and spinach wowed my friends. My husband can’t stop talking about Madison's spinach quesadillas, despite my fear that they didn’t have nearly enough cheese. (The overload of spinach and chilies made all but a bit of good cheese seem superfluous.) Madison loads almost all of her dishes — from quesadillas to pasta — with plenty of extra vegetables, and it works.
This book is not just for vegetarians — even rabid meat-eaters may be swayed by the skillet-seared tofu. (I never expected the words “I love tofu” to come out of my mouth.)
Unfortunately, Madison’s suggested side dishes are not included in "Vegetarian Suppers." Some, but not all, are in Madison’s earlier books, "Vegetarian Cooking for Everyone" and "Local Flavors." This is inconvenient if you don’t own her previous works, but none of the side dishes are so complex that they can't be improvised. The wine suggestions, however, were hard to find and often out of the “everyday supper” price range.
In this cookbook, Deborah Madison has created an invaluable tool for those who want to rethink supper. —Hannah Meehan Spector
Reinventing the burger
What makes a perfect burger? That’s a topic for endless debate, but I’ll stand by my belief that it should combine the best beef you can afford with a good bun, maybe some fresh lettuce and tomato, and well-made condiments. It’s all about the flavor of the meat.
London chef Paul Gayler agrees in “The Gourmet Burger” (Gibbs Smith, $25), arguing that “the better the meat, the better your burgers will taste.” So why, I kept asking myself as I spent nearly an hour prepping each of his haute burger concoctions, was he masking great meat with unnecessarily complicated salads and sauces and sides? After sampling each creation, what my dining companions and I really wanted was a simple well-made burger.
Consider the Bloody Mary burger, Gayler’s vodka-less homage to the drink. Despite chunks of onion and celery mixed into the meat, which was then spiced with Worcestershire and horseradish, the patties tasted dull and struggled to cling together. A celeriac Waldorf salad meant for garnish was tasty, but also labor-intensive and a distraction. When diners’ only praise comes for the Tabasco-cumin ketchup, you know something’s amiss.
Gayler attempts to reinvent the wheel here — or at least the patty — and I think he tries too hard. I conceptually appreciate the indulgence of the fillet burger Rossini, which combines ground beef and steak filets with a foie gras garnish. But it’s all too much.
His condiment recipes, especially, may be appropriate for a hotel chef with 40 extra pairs of hands, but the chopping and grinding needed for a relish to top an already elaborate hunk of ground protein strikes me as pointless drudgery. And his admonition not to overwork meat — instead, to softly press it into a ball — left me puzzled as to how the fat was supposed to bind the whole mess together. The burgers too often tasted loose and mushy.
The more tarted up these recipes became, the more I craved the beauty of the original hamburger. Hold the remoulade. —J.B.
Retro disappointment
I was perhaps too excited about "Retro Baking: 100 Classic Contest Winners Updated for Today" by Maureen Fischer (Collectors Press, $17). But the charming vintage-look cover and enticing subtitle sounded unbeatable. I'm fascinated with the evolution of how and what we cook, and am a fan of Cooking Light magazine's column where they lighten up favorite recipes. I guess I expected something similar.
Sadly, "Retro Baking" is more a design achievement than a cookbook. While the book does list recipes, there's no acknowledgment of what contest the recipe won, and when. There's no indication of how the recipe was lightened up or how it looked originally.
And while the pages are decorated with cute, vintage-looking images, that's almost more of a detriment than a plus. The image that shares a page with a certain recipe is not of that dish, which is sometimes obvious but other times puzzling. On the page with the recipe for choco-peanut sandwich cookies, an image was chosen of a similar looking cookie, but not a sandwich cookie. It's a shame, because when I made the recipe, I could have really used an image to see how the cookies were assembled. The two batters in the recipe were tasty, but they kind of melded together in the oven, hardly what I'd call a sandwich cookie.
Some of the recipes seemed stuck in a time warp. I've only lived in Seattle for three years, but that's long enough to know that no Northwesterner is going to call something "Northwest's Best Salmon Pie" that includes canned salmon. Ditto Northwest Cranberry Cobbler, which called for canned cranberry sauce. I'm certain canned products were relied upon when these contests were entered, but doesn't the whole idea of "updated for today" imply fresher, healthier ingredients?
"Retro Baking" gets an A for concept, but an F for execution. —G.F.C.
Gael Fashingbauer Cooper is MSNBC.com's Books Editor. Jon Bonné is an MSNBC.com writer and editor who specializes in writing about food and wine. Hannah Meehan Spector is a writer in Los Angeles.