An amusing collection of essays from one amateur cook to another - me. Barnes wants to cook good tssty food. He wants to expand his repertoire of dishes. Unlike me, he likes to follow recipes, so dislikes those recipe books which speak vaguely of 'lumps' and 'slugs',which are entirely to my taste (no Nigel Slater for him then). Still, we can both agree on a love for Jane Grigson.

A light and agreable read. ( )

Zipped through this in a day. A fun kitchen memoir - Barnes describes himself as a pedant for wanting absolute clarity in his recipes, but I think he pointlessly overdoes this a bit, I guess to give the book some identity. Good for the David/Grigson/Slater brigade, and one or two good tips on further reading. Insubstantial, but not unsatisfying. ( )

"Cooking is the transformation of uncertainty (the recipe) into certainty (the dish) via fuss".

Yes, Julian Barnes is a cook after my own heart. Like him, I first tentatively approached cooking as an adult, and have leaned heavily on having the cookbook handy when preparing a meal. Like him, my reach has often exceeded my grasp, with unfortunate results.

This short book is a collection of articles by Barnes where he recounts his misadventures in the kitchen, and renders plaudits and brickbats to the cookery writers he has tried to follow. There are plenty of laughs, and even more rueful smiles as one recognises oneself in his efforts. ( )

Barnes is not a natural cook, rather he is a follower of the recipe, an acolyte of the great cookery writers, but most of all a pendant.

In this delightful little book he takes several subjects and writes a short essay on each. He writes about dinner parties, the exact dimensions of a medium onion, the frustrations of some cook books and the delights of others.

There is some great advice in here too. When doing a dinner party, do as they do in France, and buy one of two of the courses. Don't ever make the River Cafe chocolate nemesis, dried pasta is as good as fresh and that the most useful gadget for a home kitchen is a sign saying; This is not a Restaurant.

I am starting to like Barnes as a writer more, Not a word is wasted, nor is there a morsel out of place. ( )

I would have missed this short but lively tome about the 'eccentricities' of cookbooks had it not been by the acclaimed Julian Barnes (Flaubert's Parrot)! The 'pedant' part comes from his ongoing argument with the inexactitude of cookbooks. I have the same problem! (BTW, there is one wonderful chapter removed from his dismissive doctrine, concerning that 'hodge-podge' drawer we all have in our kitchens: his contained 22 choptsticks, four bottle stoppers, a stolen airline fork, and an almond.) Herein, is my contribution to any potential sequel: I have before me this delicious-sounding recipe, Chicken & Potatoes with Mustard Vinaigrette. It says it takes 20 minutes, so by my standard, we are looking at an hour! It also makes six servings, so for me, that's about three! So now, I am fired up! But wait? It requires Kosher Salt! WTF is that? I already possess iodized AND non-iodized salt (and I have yet to know the difference), so now I need salt blessed by a rabbi? Why can't I use salt? Also, it requires one large garlic clove. How am I supposed to know about the size differential of garlic cloves? I am expected to know that? Oh, it is supposed to be 'minced;' I know that word: it describes the tiny steps Mick Jagger takes when he belts out "Satisfaction!" There can be no other meaning! Capers? Drained? What in God's name are those? (In Shakespeare's time, a 'caper' was a sort of joke.) And, finally, this kills me: the recipe asks for watercress, and it [?] must be 'stemmed.' What is watercress? And what is 'stemmed?' And, to make this recipe totally incomprehensibe, it wants me "to fold in" the mysterious stemmed watercress BEFORE serving! Fold in? Like paper folds? Like Ben Folds Five? I give up! No chicken for me, but rather a round mound of ground beef carefully grilled and put [folded?] into a mustard-laden 89-cent bun! I get it Julian Barnes! Let me into your club! ( )