Matt Preston, Nigella Lawson, George Calombaris and others have Christmas cookbooks covered

Some years back, an Irish food critic came up with the idea of the seven-second restaurant review. It was a conceit, of course, but a clever one, riffing on the idea that first impressions really do count for something, and it certainly earned said critic his seven seconds of fame. 

So why not the seven-second cookbook review? Struggling as we all are to see daylight from under the pile arriving hourly on Santa’s sleigh, who will have time this month for more than a quick flick-through at the bookshop counter? With so many titles to choose from, the days of the slow and steady ponder seem well past.

Still, you don’t always want to judge a book by its cover. So in the interests of helping make your purchase the right one, we’ve also taken a closer look. Read on.

Nordic Cook Book: Fired by curiosity.

The Nordic Cook Book by Magnus Nilsson (Phaidon, price TBA). Seven-second review: The shaggy-haired chef of Faviken, in Sweden, cannot have been cooking much for the past few years. This vast and outrageously comprehensive compendium of food and recipes from the Nordic countries must have taken a large chunk out of his life. Still, you never know when you might need a recipe for puffin. On closer consideration: This is not about Nilsson’s progressive Faviken food. Oh no. It is about tradition and origin. It is expansive. Scholarly. Fired by curiosity. If the foods of Denmark, Norway, Finland, Iceland, Greenland, Sweden and the Faroe Islands hold appeal, and you wish to know more and even prepare/cook “Nordic” dishes, this book is a must. Ditto if you are simply interested in further understanding other food cultures, both historical and contemporary. Nilsson’s explanation of the phenomenon that is Swedish Taco Quiche (tacopaj) is intriguing. It is, however, full of recipes an Australian will never touch. Unless, of course, you have access to colostrum (baked colostrum pudding), sheep’s intestines (Faroese aged intestinal fat) or Icelandic Grouse (for soup). The verdict: Tak, Mr Nilsson. Now, back to the kitchen.

The Simple Secrets: A cracking read.

The Simple Secrets to Cooking Everything Better by Matt Preston (Pan Macmillan, $40). Seven-second review:Seriously? Another MasterChefpresenter’s book? It’s tempting to eye-roll and move on. Don’t. Open it and you’re grinning like a fool — Preston’s admirable humility, a broad church of kitchen favourites, some good advice and a Monty Pythonesque design approach makes for a cracking read. On closer consideration: Humorous — seagulls on the chip page, Meatloaf on the meat loaf, Freddy Krueger slashing the pork crackling — doesn’t mean it’s not serious. It’s all about cooking simple, flavoursome food and it’s well supported by full page photos and tips that are as direct as they are welcome. There’s no cheffy conceit here — “Always remove the poo shoot” — and enough clever insider tricks (cut gooey cakes with unwaxed dental floss) to keep seasoned cooks interested too. The verdict: This one’s a keeper or a stocking filler. It will appeal to cooks of all skills and ages, it’s blokey, fun and the kids will love it or its results.

Greek: Heartfelt and generous

Greek by George Calombaris (Lantern, $60). Seven-second review: Big, bold, busy, colourful, ink splats, graffiti handwriting fonts, full-colour full-page dripping, sloppy plates photographed by Earl Carter … What is it? A book for kids? A chef’s manual? A diary? Four pages are devoted to messages from uber-famous chefs telling us what a great guy George is. The design baffles and overwhelms and detracts from the purpose. It’s a pick up and put down, move-on-to-the-next-along-the-shelf kind of book. On closer consideration:Putting aside the design, there’s some good stuff in here. George Calombaris is a chef with big ideas and a personality that regularly lights up our televisions across Australia in the juggernaut that is MasterChef. In this, his fifth book, Calombaris takes his Greek roots and shakes out the soil, deconstructing many of the classics of his past but leaving enough intact to keep his mum happy. In fact, the section devoted to “Mum’s Recipes” make us want to pull up a pew at Mrs C’s kitchen table and tuck right in. The verdict: The commentary is warm, heartfelt and generous. So are the recipes. The photographs are stunning. What a shame the designers got hold of it.

Love Your Leftovers: Achievable and rustic.

River Cottage Love Your Leftovers by Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall (Bloomsbury, $45). Seven-second review: The subject is a pragmatic one, and the book comes across as such. No frills or boring chef adoration, images are simple, home-cooked, achievable and rustic, with lots of welcome illustrations and pleasant retro graphics that hark back to more frugal times. On closer consideration: The timing couldn’t be better coming into entertaining season. Hugh is your quintessential good egg, someone you can trust for super-practical advice, and indeed eggs (whites and yolks) are comprehensively addressed in this guide to creating terrific, real food with leftovers, and not just for everyday cooking — there are dinner parties within this book’s covers, no problem. Example: tajine of any kind will be improved by including preserved lemon (ridiculously expensive off the shelf) but has it ever occurred to you to salt-preserve leftover lemon rinds when you’ve used a whole lot of juice, for whatever reason? Us neither. The verdict: This book earns our ultimate accolade — something you will actually keep in the kitchen — and because it is part of the River Cottage franchise you know these recipes will work.

Prune: Simple yet inspired.

Prune by Gabrielle Hamilton (Hardie Grant, $65). Seven-second review: A weighty tome by — let’s face it — someone most Australians have never heard of (Gabrielle Hamilton, chef owner of NYC’s Prune). Doesn’t matter, her restaurant is legendary and this immediately marks itself as an unpretentious collection of her restaurant’s food and shortcuts, philosophy and procedures, all pieced together in a clever design that mimics a real restaurant menu manual. On closer consideration: A restaurant manual? Is that for me? In the case of Prune, yes. You don’t stay in business for decades doing simple food unless there is a little magic to, say, your warm lentil salad with fried chicken livers, poached egg and smoked tomato vinaigrette. Despite being a terrific writer, Hamilton — here — speaks with a kind of economical, no-nonsense NYC voice. Adjectives? Hyperbole? Ego? Not a scrap. But one look at her food, one pass through the pages of her tips and shortcuts, will have any enthusiastic eater aspiring to Prune’s simple yet inspired food. And isn’t that half the task of a book? The verdict: One of our favourite books of the year.

Spice Temple: Serious elegance.

Spice Temple by Neil Perry (Lantern, $70). Seven-second review: Is this a book you could bear to get dirty? Neil Perry Inc has — inevitably — turned the magic of Spice Temple into the ultimate Chinese takeaway (as in “take this away and do it yourself”). But like most things the stylish chef-entre­preneur does, this book has a serious elegance to it, from design and photography to production values such as stock (paper, not liquid) and the space given over to Earl Carter’s typically evocative food images. On closer consideration: I think I can, I think I can … I know I can. Spice Temple’s regionally focused Chinese food is classic “that’s what I go out for” stuff. But, you know, the northern-style lamb and fennel dumplings, one of the highlights at ST, seem achievable with this book at hand. Honestly. We are enormous fans of Perry’s books and this shares that same inspirational DNA as The Food I Love, a modern classic. A lot of the dishes are laborious, but don’t especially call for difficult technique. This book will give you that push over the edge. A visit to the restaurant could help, too. The verdict: Wok-loads of style, undoubtedly, but typically (for Perry) jammed with substance. A fine achievement for the author, and publisher, for preparing the challenging recipe of text, design, editing and imagery.

Supernormal: One for the (many) fans.

Supernormal by Andrew McConnell (Hardie Grant, $60). Seven-second review: If you’re a local, and a restaurant habitue, the book of Melbourne’s Supernormal probably needs little explanation. It’s a self-published companion to chef Andrew McConnell’s personal canteen, a place where Japan, Korea and China all provide reference but no strict dictates.On closer consideration: This book will appeal to fans of the restaurant and the author. That’s a sizeable print run right there. So even if you never cook from it — attempt the uniformly delicious food that comes out of the Supernormal kitchen — you’ll have a sparsely designed, aesthetically pleasing insight into the man behind it. But it would be a shame not to cook from Supernormal, particularly if Japanese/Asian flavours — reinterpreted — float your boat. For us, it’s a case of too much McConnell being barely enough. Verdict: One for the fans, of which there are — justifiably — many.

Alla Fratelli: A sensible primer.

Alla Fratelli by Barry McDonald (Murdoch Books, $50).Seven-second review: A question from those parts of Australia that are not Sydney: What’s Fratelli? That’s the immediate problem with this book: it’s parochial, to Sydney, of course. More than that, the quick-flick test suggests this is a parochial selling tool for author Barry McDonald’s business, Fratelli Fresh. On closer consideration: The message is that there is a certain joy, a certain attitude, a certain flavour to Italian that is hugely appealing, and why shouldn’t an outsider embrace it, see it without the regional biases of the natives? So Alla Fratelli is about feeling Italian. There’s a lot of good, simple stuff between the covers of this very Sydney book, and if you have only a small collection of food titles, it will make a sensible primer. Alla Fratelli is co-authored by Terry Durack; indeed there’s a picture of Durack inside. Very Sydney. The verdict: Too much of a Fratelli Fresh/McDonald brochure for someone with a stack of Italian books already, but if you’re that into the Fratelli restaurants, and have few Italian books thus far, worth a look.

Nopi: For serious foodies.

Nopi by Yotam Ottolenghi and Ramael Scully (Erbury Press, $60). Seven-second review: Spare, elegant, gilt-edged and hard-backed, Nopi is Ottolenghi but not as you know him. The same high-quality gloss and imagery, sure, but more grown-up and cheffy, intricate, multifaceted recipes. These are adapted recipes from the restaurant Nopi, not recipes conceived for domestic use. Big difference. More meat, more technique, more plating. A book for the serious foodie or fan of the restaurant ready to take things to the next level. On closer consideration: Beautiful type and photos can’t hide the intimidating lists of expensive or virtually impossible-to-find ingredients, complex steps and pages and pages of words. These are complete restaurant dishes adapted for amateurs and their desire for you to get it right eclipses the reality of home kitchens. The descriptions and images are mouth-watering but we were exhausted just reading the recipes. The verdict: You’ve gotta be keen. Really keen. And if you are? Go to London. Book a table.

Gelato Messina: Intimidating.

Gelato Messina: The Creative Department by Nick Palumbo and Donato Toce (Hardie Grant, $55). Seven second review: Who eats this stuff? And where? Extraordinary, imaginary, Willy Wonka’s wet dreams. Royale with cheese, the Messinawiener, the Yeeeah dawg, Honey I burnt the kids. There’s no questioning the imagination or the artistry here but this looks like vanity publishing at its best. On closer consideration: Anyone familiar with Spain’s outstanding official gastronomic publications will immediately identify with the styling, photography and layout. It’s wow stuff. Anyone else may be confused. The products look spectacular, the innovation is commendable but the recipes are intimidating. And impossible for anyone but the professional. The verdict: A book for a bloggers’ collection. A manual for the professional, or aspiring, pastry chef … or for the enthusiastic experimenter with more time on his hands than most.

Summer on Fat Pig Farm: Retro and contemporary.

Summer on Fat Pig Farm by Matthew Evans (Murdoch Books, $50). Seven-second review: An armchair trip to Tassie with recipes from TV’s Gourmet Farmer, Matthew Evans, complete with rather cheesy cover image. On closer consideration: A clever blend of retro and contemporary, Fat Pig harks back to a gentler era, when you popped around to the neighbour’s just as a tray of scones (“The Ultimate Flaky Scone”, in these pages) was emerging from the oven. Evans is a good ambassador for the bucolic idyll — “In a good year, we harvest masses of apricots and realise the commercial varieties really aren’t the goods” — while taking care to make his food accessible and achievable to home cooks anywhere. The mainly Anglo or Mediterranean recipes — big breakfasts, salads, barbecues — steer clear of faddish ingredients and thank heavens he doesn’t bang on about foraging, either. The verdict: It’s no insult to say Fat Pig is an updated version of a CWA cookbook, with celeb factor and pretty pix. - Necia Wilden

Falafel for Breakfast: For frugal but generous foodies.

Falafel for Breakfast by Michael Rantissi and Kristy Frawley (Murdoch Books, $50). Seven-second review:Bold, yellow, black and white cover roars for attention in the bookshelf jungle of floury aprons, dripping spoons and slim WASPY ladies with their gleaming teeth and perfect hair. It delivers satisfaction with rustic full-colour, full-page plates of accessible, imperfect, tousled salads and Middle Eastern-inspired dishes. On closer consideration: Ottolenghi comparisons are inevitable, but fans of the Sydney cafe and restaurant Kepos Street Kitchen (there are many) that gave rise to this food will be delighted. Recipes punch out robust flavours from breakfast to dessert banquets with vegetables elbowing their way to the front and many everyday favourites such as roast chicken or fish stew given twists of spice and colour that lift them from the everyday to something you crave, every day. It’s a generous collection designed to “inspire the chain of sharing that is at the heart of Middle Eastern cuisine … the more dishes, the more the chatter as people pass a dish here, and comment on it there”. The verdict: Our copy is already smeared, smudged and sticky-noted with reminders of successful experiments we want to cook again and again. Ingredients are widely available and usually fairly inexpensive, making this an ideal gift for the frugal but generous foodie, Ottolenghi fans and part-time vegetarians.

Luke Nguyen's France: A voyage of discovery.

Luke Nguyen’s France by Luke Nguyen (Hardie Grant, $59.95). Seven-second review: You saw the TV series, now … Oh, you didn’t see Nguyen’s France on SBS? Well, this is a classic companion title. The episodes in print, with lots of recipes. Lots. This is a substantial title, exploring French-Vietnamese colonial links through the eyes of a first-gen Vietnamese Australian. On closer consideration: Another collection of French dishes? Think again. Taking France region by region, Ngyuen gives us essentially three categories of food: straight French/Euro standards (such as rabbit in red wine, or bouillabaisse); straight Vietnamese/Asian (crab in tamarind, or chilli and lemongrass quail) and fascinating personal hybrids that merge Asia and Europe in most desirable ways, such as chocolate fondant with a chrysanthemum tea sauce, or pigeon with gingerbread, a riff on duck a l’orange. Nguyen’s our kind of celebrity chef. The verdict: Too many pictures of Nguyen for our liking. But. There’s a sense of joy in the author’s voyage of discovery that translates, and there’s plenty here you’d want to cook at home.

Simply Nigella: For thinking home cooks.

Simply Nigella — Feel Good Food by Nigella Lawson (Chatto & Windus, $60).Seven-second review: Why, why, why, Nigella? Why have you had so much work done? Your cover pic makes you look like a wind-up doll. Inside, the recipe pics look highly styled, too, but at least they look real. And no apologies for making this all about looks: you’re a telly star, and that’s the price. On closer consideration: Personal, opinionated, articulate, persuasive. With clever, simple food. Lawson’s 10th cookbook is a pleasure to read, her ideas as fresh as ever. Way too smart to fall for any modern culinary dogmas (she is withering about the cult of clean eating), her recipes reflect an abiding love of food and cooking, of the nourishing powers of the simple acts of chopping and stirring. The intro hints at her recent personal — and very public — travails: “With this book it has been different. I had to cook myself strong.” Every cloud, as they say … The verdict: A book for all thinking home cooks, as strong in the reading as the recipes. And this being Nigella, the sweeties chapter has much to recommend. - Necia Wilden

Win four cookbooks

Life and Murdoch Books are giving readers the chance to win a pack of four new-release, all-Australian cookbooks to put under the Christmas tree for a loved one (or squirrel away for yourself!). The 10 winners will each receive a copy of Biotaby James Viles, Falafel for Breakfast by Michael Rantissi and Kristy Frawley, Summer on Fat Pig Farm by Matthew Evans and Cornersmith by Alex Elliott-Howery and James Grant. Each pack of four high-quality hardbacks is valued at $210. To enter, just tell us in 25 words or fewer which cookbook you’d most like to receive for Christmas, and why. Send your entry, including your name, address, email and daytime phone number, to life@theaustralian.com.au or post to Cookbook Competition, Life, The Weekend Australian, GPO Box 4245, Sydney, 2001. Entries close 5pm on Monday, December 7. Winners will be notified by email or phone on Friday, December 11.

Source: The Australian, John Lethlean, 28^th November 2015
Originally published as: Matt Preston, Nigella Lawson, George Calombaris and others have Christmas cookbooks covered