Apparently a cookbook is considered a success if the average owner tries just two of its recipes. On that basis I either need more help than most or I own a lot of very successful books. I counted ten in my kitchen that met this criterion without even trying. Maybe it's out of sympathy: if someone's gone to the trouble of writing a book, the least I can do is flip through it from time to time. Even those I've forgotten buying or I got free with magazines are occasionally plundered for a cheeky store-cupboard after-work creation. Shame to let them go to waste.
There are favourites, of course: regular sources of inspiration, advice and instruction. Gordon Ramsay's Claridges Chicken Pie in his Secrets book holds the current record for the most stains. Fortunately, it's largely committed to memory.
The real gems, though, for me, are the cookbooks that stand up to being read as books in their own right: those that are worth reading cover to cover, over and over. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall's Meat was unashamedly written precisely with that in mind. Sure, it's full of great recipes - we've long since passed the "successful" stage - but more than half the book is given to facts, figures and occasional polemic on everything meat. It should be a must-read for anyone who eats meat. I'm sure I'm not the only one whose cooking - and particularly shopping - have changed completely (and for the better) as a result of this important book. It also has some fantastic recipes (although I don't rate the pork tenderloins stuffed with mincemeat).
Two other absolute crackers are Simon Hopkinson's Roast Chicken and Other Stories and its new-ish sequel Second Helpings of Roast Chicken. Both books have the same structure, 40 or so chapters each based on one of Hopkinson's favourite ingredients. Every chapter kicks off with a short, unfailingly entertaining essay about the ingredient and follows up with three or four recipes that use it. Such is the language and wit that these are worth reading in full, whether you plan to cook from them or not. The frustration, but also the joy, of this is in not quite knowing where to look for the recipe you might need. If you fancy pork belly, for instance, you might give up on book two when you find there's no piggy chapter. If you've read the book in full, though, you'll remember a braised belly recipe in the chapter on fennel. If you haven't yet (like me) there's is a recipe index to help. But somehow that would spoil the fun.
Both Fearnley-Whittingstall and Hopkinson reproduce recipes for roast lamb spiked with anchovies, garlic and rosemary. I've tried this loads of times now, most recently last weekend with a fabulous leg of Herdwick mutton from Farmer Sharp. Like both authors, I can't imagine roasting it any other way now.
Contrasting nicely with cookbooks that stand up to casual reading is a new novel that could conceivably teach you a few things in the kitchen. The Oyster House Siege is the latest novel from Jay Rayner, Observer restaurant critic and son of Claire. It's the tale of a bungled jewel heist on the night of the 1983 general election that quickly descends into a tense hostage situation in the basement kitchen of an establishment restaurant on Jermyn Street. Negotiations are handled by a seasoned cop who's a big foodie and who quickly strikes up a rapport with the chef and her captor, a troubled Brixton boy who struggles to control his psychotic partner in crime. Subtle messages about the worsening situation downstairs are conveyed to the outside world via knowing requests for ingredient lists for classic restaurant dishes such as Weiner Holstein, Coq au Vin and Rum Baba. Such is the meticulous research that's clearly gone into this book, you could just about prepare these dishes at home using this book alone (although you might want to reduce the sauce a bit before serving up the coq).
This is a book packed with carefully honed detail, from the tunes playing on the radio to the clothes the trendy (and not so trendy) protagonists are wearing. And of course the bits that deal with the ins and outs of the restaurant, and particularly the kitchen, are as meticulous and fascinating as you'd expect from so respected a food critic. My only frustration was that there wasn't more of this stuff - maybe a couple of other eighties menus classics dealt with in detail - but, to be fair, this would have stretched one of the central storylines beyond authenticity, and Rayner has clearly tried to be as true to life as possible: the fate of the restaurant critic who gets caught up in the siege seems particularly plausible!
Overall, an engaging, entertaining read. It's out next month.
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