End of the celebrity chef

Nigel Slater's food writing is far more than poetic whimsy.

Tender – Volume I, HarperCollins, $59.99

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A FEW months ago, I came to an awful conclusion: I own too many cookbooks.

Over the years, my trusty, over-sized Ikea bookcase has had to be reinforced to an almost industrial level to prevent it spilling its contents all over the house like a booky Mr Creosote. The sheer weight on its shelves had me concerned for the foundations of our old house.

Something had to be done, and so I have had a cull of almost biblical proportions. Deciding the fate of each book (all at one time over the past 15 years having been deemed a treasure) has been traumatic, but also strangely cathartic, and the process has led me to a startling conclusion: I am sick and tired of the cult of the celebrity chef. Many of the books I have let go are gloriously photographed, painstakingly written and lavishly praised, but have just been gathering dust for years.

They have not been paying their fair share of the rent. They include books by uber-chefs Charlie Trotter, Marco Pierre White, Pierre Koffman and Nico Ladenis, among others; all undoubted masters of their art, but in the stratosphere for most cooks of modest pretension, means and ability. And, looking at the titles being released, I think I am not alone in thinking this way: the majority of books on booksellers' shelves seem to be uncomplicated and championing ingredients and flavour rather than indulging the ego of a Michelin three-starred chef. Now, to earn a spot on my diminished shelves, a book must deliver the goods, and be approachable, interesting, well-written and pragmatic. And so I was delighted to welcome the latest offering from Nigel Slater to join the ranks of the saved. Tender – Volume I (HarperCollins, $59.99) is without doubt one of the most inspiring books of 2009. It is an epic, and its heroes are at once humble and noble: onions, carrots, potatoes, leeks, pumpkins, asparagus, tomatoes, spinach.

Each is lovingly described – "The aubergine seduces. No other vegetable can offer flesh so soft, silken and tender. You don't so much chew an aubergine as let it dissolve on your tongue" – and the informative, evocative descriptions give us an insight into the Slater's world, "the first asparagus of the year is boiled within minutes of my walking through the door with it, butter carefully melted so that it is soft and formless but not yet liquid, then I eat it with the sort of reverence I usually reserve for a piece of exquisite sashimi. It is almost impossible not to respect those first spears of the year."

However, there is far more here than poetic whimsy – each chapter tells you how to grow them, which variety to look for (although you will need to seek New Zealand equivalents), which seasonings work well with each vegetable, and finally a glorious collection of inspiring recipes and sublime pairings – asparagus with pancetta, black cabbage and bacon, grilled lamb with aubergines and za'atar. I await with impatience the publication of Volume II (due later this year), which is devoted to fruit.

Donna Hay's approach to food is not a million miles away from Slater's. Seasons (HarperCollins, $54.99) is a collection of recipes from her magazine and is logically divided into Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. Her fans (and I am one) will recognise the sublime styling, the distinctive photography and the beautiful way this book is put together. It is a larger format than usual, making it slightly awkward to actually cook from, but as usual the recipes walk a culinary tightrope of balancing cookability with irresistibility. Even though these recipes may have been published before, having them all together in one book is a definite keeper for me.

Arriving at a similar destination via a different route to Slater and Hay is the infamous Gordon Ramsay. The professional swearer seems to be always either on our screens or in the papers. His early books were of the "let's all look at Gordon's beautiful food while we heat up our beans on toast" variety, but the last few years his approach has become far more pragmatic. Possibly chastened by his experiences in the hellholes of Kitchen Nightmares, Ramsay has latterly delivered food prepared with as much love, attention to detail and quality, but far humbler. He's happy to provide definitive versions of classic dishes and has joined the coterie of celebrity chefs clamouring to get us back into the kitchen cooking real food.

The latest to come our way is Gordon Ramsay's Great Escape (HarperCollins, $54.99), subtitled "100 of my favourite Indian recipes".

This really threw me – of course Ramsay enjoys a good curry as much as any Brit, but Indian is not a cuisine with which I associated him. A quick scan of the index does not resolve this dilemma – not much here which you couldn't find in many other Indian recipe books (butter chicken, lamb biryani, lamb korma etc). A closer inspection begins to reveal tantalising little nuggets: aubergine bhajis, lightly spiced and fried in a chickpea batter; Hyderabadi squid tamatar, looking like a Spanish squid stew, but with the fragrance of cloves, cinnamon and ginger; Malabar duck, delicate and rich with curry leaves, coconut milk and cashew nuts.

This book is squarely aimed at those who enjoy Indian food but are intimidated into not cooking it by lists of unfamiliar ingredients, and this is where I think it succeeds very well.

Even though his long-time right-hand man, Mark Sargeant, is credited with the recipe development, the Ramsay cachet and trustworthiness will have novices heading for their nearest spice merchant with confidence. Keith Floyd, Rick Stein and Gary Rhodes have all notably blazed this trail before, but this is still an interesting and worthwhile addition to the genre. And, of course, it is also a TV series.

Stephen Long is part-owner of Olive Restaurant and development chef at Grand Central Kitchen.

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