Recently in Cookbook Reviews Category

It's that time of the year, folks, when everyone's thoughts turn to baking. Coincidentally it's when the new crop of baking books are released, just in time for the sweet surge. This has been a pretty interesting year for cookbooks as the trends seem to be returning to books geared towards home bakers and cooks. Thankfully in my opinion.

Although some of these books were written by pastry chefs, all are geared towards the home cook. I've been making notes in each of them which desserts I plan to try in the upcoming months and I hope to share them with you as well.

The long-awaited book from pastry chef Elizabeth Falkner, Demolition Desserts show how this very talented San Francisco baker breaks down classic desserts, and reconstructions them into whimsical, yet sophisticated presentations.

Although at first glance these look complicated, I envision many of these recipes being adaptable and great on their own. Tapioca with Concord Grapes is one winning combination I'm eyeing.

But there's also simple Citizen Cake bakery classics: Chocolate Chip Cookies, Sticky Toffee Cupcakes, and puffy marshmallows which get dipped in a thin layer of dark chocolate at her bakery. If you're not afraid to tackle some projects in the kitchen—and many recipes aren't all that complicated—Elizabeth's book is a wild, wacky ride through the world of modern baking.

When Alice Medrich releases a new book, it's always a special event. And I've never made a recipe of hers that didn't go instantly into my 'winner' category.

During my interview at Chez Panisse, as I sat across the table from Alice Waters in the main dining room at the restaurant, she asked me, "What do you eat at home?"

Since I'm not exactly convincing when lying, I told her.

"I eat popcorn, mostly." And continued, "I'm a restaurant cook. I don't have time to eat at home."

(Although I did conveniently omit the fact that it was microwave popcorn...)

In spite of that, or because of my chutzpah, I got hired and worked at Chez Panisse for a long time. What nailed it for me and endeared me to Alice, years later, wasn't her politics or her philosophy on cooking. It was when I told her, "I really like to drink coffee leftover from the morning, with milk in it, that's been sitting on the counter all day."

And she said, "Me too."

A reader recently inquired that her and her husband were planning to visit France and since he couldn't tolerate any gluten, is there anything that I could recommend? She had attached a list of words in French for acceptable grains, like oatmeal and barley,

So I flipped through my French dictionary and looked under Special Dietary Needs, but there was a blank space. I didn't know what to tell them. I was (almost) defeated. I finally recommended that they rent an apartment so they could do much of their own cooking and more importantly, they should frequent the same restaurants over and over so that staff got to know them.

Not many people, no matter where they're from, are aware of which products have gluten. Even me.

For example, I didn't know that most soy sauces had gluten, as well as many bottled salad dressings, malt vinegar, various mustards, processed meats, and even some toothpastes and lipstick. (I could certainly give up one, but not the other.) And apparently I'm not the only one unaware gluten-free lifestyles: Even my local health food store stocks their gluten-free bread, unwrapped, on the same shelves with the regular bread, crumbs mingling and all.

I've had a hankering to try Heidi's recipe for Chocolate Chip Cookies with her secret ingredient—mesquite flour—for the longest time. But although the mesquite flour I eventually found encompasses several continents, like I do, it's not available in the one I live in. So when I went to Texas, which I figured would be the epicenter of mesquite last June, I wandered the well-stocked aisles at Central Market in search of it. And lo and behold, there is was.

But looking at the label, I was surprised to find that it was imported...from Argentina. By a California company.

And there I was in a supermarket in Texas buying it.

Which I then brought back to France.

And for that, I'm certain to have my locavore card revoked.

When Adam asked me to host him on his book tour through cyberspace, the first thing that went through my mind was—"Adam Roberts? Who cares about him?"

Especially when his mom pals around with the big boys...

My goodness, if Adam pops up one more time in my RSS feeder, I'm going to bop him in that big old schnozola of his. Well, that's not true. One of the highlights of my days (and nights) is when Adam posts to his fabulous blog, The Amateur Gourmet.

And for those of us who can't get enough of him popping up in our In boxes and blog feeders, he just released his first book: The Amateur Gourmet: How to Shop, Chop, and Table Hop like a Pro (Almost), so you can keep Adam in your kitchen, bring him into your bedroom and even take him in the loo with you.

But until I get a restraining order, I'm going to remain his mom, Mrs. Roberts, biggest fan. And I'm so in awe of her that she was featured in The Perfect Scoop (page 73).

Ben had to go shave before leaving to meet his pal Matt, but Mrs. Roberts agreed to stick around and answer my questions. Believe me, even without Ben around, I felt like I'd died and gone to nice-Jewish boy heaven...oy gevalt!

Q: When Adam tossed aside his promising career as a lawyer and came out to you, as a budding gourmand, what was your first reaction?

Mrs. Roberts: "WHAT?!"

That as my first reaction. But then my reaction was that I thought it was great. He's very creative, a very creative person, and he likes to write. He found an avenue to write and be creative so I was happy.

Q: Boy, my mother was ready to brain me when I tossed aside my promising career as a neurosurgeon to bake cookies. No wonder all those celebrities want to be seen with you.

I'm glad I'm not the only one around here who experiences what I call "Only in France" moments.

Recently I met up with Clotilde, who writes the popular Chocolate & Zucchini blog, for a drink one afternoon. I ordered a glass of wine and she, a mineral water. Although there was a large, unopened bottle of Badoit sparkling water standing prominently behind the bar, ripe for the taking, the serveuse told us they didn't have any bottled water.

Of course, neither one of us questioned that. But when she left to fetch our drinks, we both looked at each other, wrinkled up our perplexed faces, then shrugged it off. It's nice to know the locals find things as curious around here as I do.

Speaking of curious French things, if you're a regular reader of Chocolate & Zucchini, you're privy to her charming stories about her life in Paris accompanied by recipes. And you unless you've been hiding like a bottle of Badoit behind the bar, you've likely heard of her new book: Chocolate & Zucchini: Daily Adventures in a Parisian Kitchen.

Turning the pages and reading about her life in Montmarte is like spending the day with une vraie Parisienne, which seem to be an endless quest of finding the best markets and sourcing ingredients then taking them home and making them into fabulous dinners to share with friends and her lucky neighbors.

Before I met Clotilde, I was certain she was some burly truck-driver from Wisconsin pulling a fast one over on us all.

In spite of my reputation for serving guests only the finest cuisine I can muster up, I invited a friend for lunch yesterday and thought I could foist my can of salade Niçoise off on her, and I would be efficient and multitask with trying a recipe from a book I just finished.

Her visit, and my can of...um...salad?....presented me the opportunity to try The Spreadable Tuna Mousse from Mediterranean Summer by David Shalleck.

But then I opened the tin, took a look inside, and..."bleech!"

Ever the optimist, I dumped my fancy feast in my mortar and pestle anyways.

But the bottom looked even worse than the top—which you'll just have to trust me on since I felt uneasy subjecting you to photos of both. It was a real Mediterranean bummer and certainly not Nice...or even niçoise-ian by any definition (unless Nice is full of stinky fish sludge, with chunks of greasy vegetables mixed in.)