The Pedant in the Kitchen

Julian Barnes

Pedantry is back in fashion. And in Julian Barnes we cookery pedants have our champion. If you believe that step-by-step instructions are for ninnies, read no further. If you think dutifully following a recipe shows lack of creative spirit then there is nothing for you here. For this slim collection of essays is about our love/hate relationship with our cookery books And it's especially for anyone who has ever finished up with a soggy mess having slavishly followed the script. So while Julian Barnes is clearly a more advanced cook than I am (crikey, he can do salmon in pastry) I know in my heart we're fellow sticklers.

Who hasn't felt his spirits sag when a recipe asks us to consult our butcher? What about recipes which name drop an implement and you're thinking I don't even know what that is let alone own it. The kitchen pedant's special ire is reserved for Chefs Whose Recipes assume we have an army of teenage trainees (as they have) to do the laborious stuff. Like the River Cottage recipe for Penne with Tomato and Nutmeg which calls for the seeding and splitting of 2.5kg cherry tomatoes (that's roughly 300 of the blasted things, it turns out).

Of course, the non-pedants don't even have this stuff on their radar. Into the pot go the tomatoes, seeds and all. Call it extra roughage. But we pedants worry while we cook. So settle down in an easy chair, somewhere far from your kitchen, put away the scales, and raise a glass to Mr Barnes. Comfort reading.