Unsolicited Advice for Cookbook Publishers
A few takeaways from an ever growing cookbook collection
I spend a lot of time leafing through my cookbook collection. I don’t know how many books I have, but it’s probably too many, and there’s no sign that I’m pulling back anytime soon. The books have taken over two shelving unites and are now stacking up on my coffee table like a Jenga tower.
I’m not here to ask for storage advice because quite frankly I’m beyond help on that front. Instead, I’d like to focus on some takeaways I’ve gathered from this unwieldily collection.
So, in the spirit of praising and complaining - simultaneously if possible - here are the things I’ve grown to adore and bemoan in cookbooks.
More of This: Formats That Serve Home Cooks
When it comes time to planning out a meal, I’m always looking for an excuse to dive into my cookbooks and try out a new recipe. But I have a lot of cookbooks and a lot of recipes. Any book that makes this process easier is going to earn my affection.
That’s why I love a cookbook whose format reflects the natural starting point for my meal-planning process: soups, vegetables, appetizers, mains, salads, dessert, e.g.. I always know exactly where I should turn to for the sort of dish I want to cook.
We need more of this intuitive organization. Special props to Queen Ina Garten for always staying tried and true to this ethos (except for the egregious menu-focused format of Barefoot Contessa Parties!).
I also do enjoy chapters dedicated to things like “One pot meals” or “Weeknight cooking” or “Weekend Projects.” That really helps narrow the field for me. These sort of books make me feel like the author has me in mind first and foremost.
Ugh: Formats That Serve Authors
The flip side are books whose structures seem intent on rethinking how we approach cookbooks. I get it - people want to try new things. But is this to help the reader or is it to earn a James Beard award? Sometimes I suspect the latter.
Here are some egregious examples.
Arranged by menu. None of us are ever going to truly replicate these menus, and all this does is scatter recipes across wide swaths of pages. Instead of having all the desserts together in the back of the book, now they’re anywhere and everywhere, and it’s up to us to tediously leaf through the entire book just to know what our options are.
Arranged by vegetable. Vegetable-forward cookbooks almost always push an ingredient-forward agenda. Chapters usually read like a shopping list: Nightshades! Brassicas! Leafy things! The idea is that we go off, find a vegetable, come back and start cooking from the book. That’s all great, and I definitely do that when I can, but it’s just not something that’s feasible on a day to day basis.
Arranged by location. Geographical cookbooks that divide content into regions are well-meaning but not useful. The upside: it’s educational. The downside: now I have to scour ever location to find some hors d’oeuvres options.
Arranged by pretension. I will never forgive the cookbook Bäco for its deeply pretentious format (luckily the recipes are wonderful; so that helps). Here are some chapter names: “Fresh | Green | Snappy | Light”, “ “Bright | Citrusy | Zesty | Hardy”, “Buttery | Crispy | Tangy | Herbal,” “Earthy | Sharp | Velvety | Savory.” None of this is helpful. Where do I even begin in this book? I imagine I’m supposed to declare “I’M IN THE MOOD FOR SOMETHING TANGY OR HERBAL TONIGHT” and then flip to that chapter, but I mean… it’s ridiculous. Books that arrange their recipes into abstract notions are probably my most pet peevish of pet peeves.
The common theme here is that endless leafing drives me nuts. Look, I love curling up with a cookbook and browsing through every recipe, but when dinner needs to get to the table, I don’t want to turn page after page after page. Help me out, people!
Love it: A Good Appendix
An appendix can solve everything. It can allow writers to still organize their recipes into fun little clumps without sacrificing the usability of the overall book. So, instead of arranging a whole cookbook by menu, how about giving the reader a few pages of menus ideas instead? Here’s my low-stakes pledge: if I ever do write a cookbook, there will be literally so many appendices that YOU WILL DIE. From joy! I’ll have one for menus, one for difficulty, one for dinner party sizes, one for technique (ie. one-pan, roasting, stovetop), and probably another two that I HAVEN’T EVEN THOUGHT OF.
TL;DR: Give me a beautiful appendix, and I will love your book forever.
Over it: Subrecipes
We’ve all been here. You’ve selected a recipe. It looks nice and simple. Just a few ingredients, even fewer steps. And then you notice a dreaded parenthetical: “(see page 23).”
You turn to page 23 and there are instructions for some ridiculous chili oil or pesto or pickled something-or-another. If you’re lucky, it’s just a little diversion to toast some almonds. But more likely it’s a labor-intensive step that involves frying. Or worse, a multi-hour infusion that fully destroys the beautiful timeline you had planned out for your evening.
Who wants a recipe Trojan-horsed within another recipe? Here’s why they are the worst: they add unexpected time, effort, and ingredients to a process, and on top of that, they make the grocery lists trickier to assemble. I can’t tell you how many times I missed something at the store because I forgot to check the subrecipe list. Sure, that’s a Ben problem. But also… is it really?
Sure, subrecipes can be unavoidable. And yes there are some perks (ie. they often contribute to a well stocked pantry and may make future recipes easier), but generally speaking, they just add sneaky labor to a recipe and clutter to a fridge.
Subrecipes are the top reason why I’ve moved away from buying restaurant cookbooks. Chefs will throw multiple subrecipes into one recipe - I suspect because it mirrors restaurant prep - and quite frankly, it’s too much. Too much I say!
For what it’s worth, I don’t mind a recipe containing multiple sections (ie. “For the sauce:” and “for the marinade:”). I’m more annoyed by a recipe masquerading as an ingredient.
Let’s Make This A Thing: Big Page Numbers
If you’re going to have us flipping from page to page with a subrecipe, at least give us big page numbers. Seems like a very, very specific request, but once you’ve had them in one book, you want them in all the books. Andy Baraghani’s cookbook The Cook You Want To Be has beautifully large page numbers, and I tell you - it’s a dream. You always know exactly what page you’re on. Let’s start the big page number revolution!
No More, Please: “Clever” Graphic Design
I know cookbooks want to make a splash; I know publishers are always trying to push the limits; and I know that sometimes it’s fun to shake up old, staid layouts. But let’s not lose sight that these books need to actually be used by humans.
My warm, unsolicited advice to authors and publishers: no light gray typefaces, no condensed kerning, and no overly cutesy and illegible fonts.
And while we’re at it: ingredient lists should be sidebars and nothing more. I’ve seen books where the ingredients are integrated into the text of the recipe. This is a literal nightmare. Imagine making a shopping list and having to scan through prose?
Speaking of prose, I declare that all recipes henceforth should be written as steps, not bulky paragraphs. I’m very into a numerical list — the more numbers the better. When a recipe unspools like Dostoyevsky, I almost always lose my place, and inevitably there’s some small, critical direction that gets lost in the wall of text. When something is bubbling on the stovetop or browning in a pan, the last thing I want to do is figure out where in the paragraph I left off. I rebuke it!
Feeling it: Useful notes
I love a small note on a recipe. Gives me the warm fuzzies. I feel looked after, tended to, considered. Carla Lalli Music, an icon and an inspiration, festoons her book That Sounds So Good with notes on every recipe - mainly in the form of ingredient substitutions. It’s wonderful.
Substitutions, it turns out, are truly my cookbook love language. I once had a cocktail book so pretentious I couldn’t even commit its name to memory. One recipe called for the juice of a specific lime that is only commercially grown in India. Naturally, the author’s Bay Area neighbor had one of these citrus trees, and so he built a recipe around the esoteric lime. That’s all fine and everything (lies - it’s ridiculous), but knowing that you’re working with a rare ingredient, one would think the writer would provide a decent sub. Of course he didn’t. And apparently one could not simply substitute a standard lime for this special lime. I have been clearly traumatized by this experience and may never recover.
It’s shocking how often we need subs for ingredients, and authors who anticipate this really do demonstrate a thoughtfulness towards the reader. And I love thoughtfulness, especially when it’s aimed my way.
A recipe note doesn’t have to only focus on substitutions though. Samantha Seneviratne’s Bake Smart is littered with handy tips and hacks. Placed joyfully on the page with swooping arrows, her notes might tell us how to soften butter in the microwave or make a better foil wrap sling. It’s all very Cook’s Illustrated-y (if you know, you know) in the best way.
Lastly, I enjoy a variation or recommendation. Let me know what other dishes in the book pair well with this recipe. How can I mix it up with a different approach? It’s all about stoking inspiration.
The Elephant Photo In The Room
For any recipe I cook, I definitely want a photo to go with it. This helps me know where I’m headed (and major bonus points for any series of photos that demonstrates technique). When a book has limited or no pictures (or even drawings), I don’t love it, but this is the rare case where I don’t get too huffy — and you know how I love to be huffy. Cookbooks cost money and sometimes a smaller writer simply doesn’t have a robust artwork budget. I get that.
So this one is sort of a push for me. And honestly, books like Salt Fat Acid Heat or Gâteau: The Surprising Simplicity of French Cakes work very nicely for me despite having no photos.
Having listed all these things, it’s clear I prize books that don’t waste my time but do fill me with inspiration. It’s not to say I won’t spend time cooking — I love a multi-hour project. But I don’t want the time I do spend to be frivolous. In the end, it’s all about feeling respected as a reader, and the books that lean into intuitive formats, clean presentation, and thoughtful content beyond the recipes are the ones that will win me over time and time again.
What are the things you look for in a cookbook? What are your pet peeves?
My contribution: It’s always amazed me that cookbooks are big hardbacks—it just seems so impractical for kitchen use. Someone tipped me off to take your cookbook to staples and get it spiral bound. I think I’ve only done it with paperbacks, but it’s possible it could work with hardback if the covers aren’t too thick. That said, I rarely make a recipe from a cookbook. I mean to but just never seem to remember when it’s time to make something and I’m hungry.
Looking forward to your Bravo-themed cookbook that you will someday write.
What a great post! I cannot stand when you have to flip to other pages for another involved recipe. I loved Paul Prudhomne in the ‘80s but he did that. My biggest pet peeve is British books. I love One Tin Bakes by the 1st winner of Great British Bake Off, Edd Kimber. BUT they have notes in the back of the book that I never read until months later saying things like : the eggs listed here are UK sized large. In the States, use XL.” What??? Put that info in the front! Same with Nancy Birtwhistle who won Season 5 - all the vital info is in the back to the book. Cheers