Hail to the Chief

The arrival of a new cookbook invariably fills me with all the enthusiasm of a tired, elderly mule. I have, as my Recording Angel knows, read, reviewed, cooked by and written so many cookbooks that I feel I owe nothing to anyone on the subject. But when a book like James Beard’s American Cookery (Little, Brown, $12.95) comes into one’s life, all that for years has been shoddy, meretricious, untested, swiped from others, and so on in the cookbook line, is forgotten in the joy of having a masterwork in one’s hands. N.B.: I have never said this of any cookbook before.

The first criterion of a cookbook is whether it makes you want to cook; the second, whether the recipes come out. Then, there are additional judgments: Is the book what it claims to be, namely a genuine compendium of the Haute Cuisine of the Knights of Malta or the Basse Cuisine of stars of stage and screen in their playful moments? Are the recipes reasonably genuine? (I use the word “reasonably” with deliberation because there really aren’t many new recipes. But at least one can expect a new version of a recipe, with a personal twist, rather than a word-for-word copy of recipes one knows, including one’s own, as I know to my sorrow. I only wish recipe swipers would at least take the trouble not to reproduce the inaccuracies which are bound to come up.) Or if the book makes a particular claim, such as “glorious meals in fifteen minutes” or “how to stay out of the kitchen when you have guests,” is that claim true or, at least, nearly true? You see, there are few absolutes in the cookbook business. When you are in it, you get wary and suspicious, which is not nice for one’s character. But if you don’t, you are a fool.

NH

About the Author

Nika Hazelton

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The arrival of a new cookbook invariably fills me with all the enthusiasm of a tired, elderly mule. I have, as my Recording Angel knows, read, reviewed, cooked by and written so many cookbooks that I feel I owe nothing to anyone on the subject. But when a book like James Beard’s American Cookery (Little, Brown, $12.95) comes into one’s life, all that for years has been shoddy, meretricious, untested, swiped from others, and so on in the cookbook line, is forgotten in the joy of having a masterwork in one’s hands. N.B.: I have never said this of any cookbook before.

The first criterion of a cookbook is whether it makes you want to cook; the second, whether the recipes come out. Then, there are additional judgments: Is the book what it claims to be, namely a genuine compendium of the Haute Cuisine of the Knights of Malta or the Basse Cuisine of stars of stage and screen in their playful moments? Are the recipes reasonably genuine? (I use the word “reasonably” with deliberation because there really aren’t many new recipes. But at least one can expect a new version of a recipe, with a personal twist, rather than a word-for-word copy of recipes one knows, including one’s own, as I know to my sorrow. I only wish recipe swipers would at least take the trouble not to reproduce the inaccuracies which are bound to come up.) Or if the book makes a particular claim, such as “glorious meals in fifteen minutes” or “how to stay out of the kitchen when you have guests,” is that claim true or, at least, nearly true? You see, there are few absolutes in the cookbook business. When you are in it, you get wary and suspicious, which is not nice for one’s character. But if you don’t, you are a fool.