Neil’s cookbook of the week: Recipes from Le Manoir by Raymond Blanc

Another classic from my collection this week: Raymond Blanc's Recipes from Le Manoir Aux Quat’ Saisons. I really like this book because it’s concise and features dishes that Blanc still makes today—truly classic and timeless. I recall many of the recipes from this book from my time cooking there. The kitchen was tough, but you learned quickly. It was fast-paced, with so many chefs, and it was always busy. The restaurant was constantly full, and there were a huge number of deliveries arriving daily. I remember the fridge filled with scores of foie gras terrines, the countless quail’s egg ravioli we made, and the dried vegetables brushed with truffle oil.

This is a great all-round cookbook that follows the seasons. The ideas are there for you to embrace and get inspired by. The book is filled with beautiful images, and with such a vast collection of recipes, it’s a noteworthy addition to any collection—simple yet always focused on the quality of the ingredients.

Blanc is a clever chef with a deep understanding of ingredients. He’s a great cook, supported by a vast team, and his garden is to die for. My favourite recipe is the terrine of foie gras; it’s decadent and utterly delicious, served with brioche and a sweet wine jelly—a perfect starter. Sadly, we no longer use foie gras, so its taste is just a memory now.

An abiding memory I have from working at Le Manoir is of scrubbing kilos of truffles. It was such a joy; even if the smell was a little overwhelming. Recipes from Le Manoir is a great addition to any bookcase. 

Neil’s cookbook of the week: The Scots Kitchen by F. Marian McNeill

There are many books in my collection, a few of which—that only come out on special occasions—are very carefully nestled in the bookcase of my ever-so-perfectly-kept home office. That last part is a lie, my office is a mess that resembles a cabbage chopped by a fledgling chef. Needless to say it’s mayhem, or rather, ‘organised chaos’. 

The Scots Kitchen by F. Marian McNeill is one such cherished book. I believe this copy came from my dear father, though I’m not certain how he acquired it. Originally published in 1929 and reprinted many times, this particular edition from 1940 is still delightful. A few scribbles inside suggest it was once given as a gift—a detail I absolutely adore. 

Perhaps you have heard of this book, or even own a copy. It captures a turning point in the history of Scottish cookery. It was very popular in its day, with readers devouring the authentic recipes and fascinating anecdotes. It’s still popular with me at least, as I love nothing more than delving into its pages on a rainy day. 

The book opens with: “this is to preserve the recipes of our old national dishes, many of which, in this age of standardisation, are in danger of falling into undeserved oblivion.” What a wonderful sentiment. As you read through the dishes, recipes, and the ways people ate over time, a rich story unfolds. I adore the rustic feel of the food—no tweezers here (take note, chefs).

The book offers everything from different types of oatcakes and Scots mutton pies to Howtowdie (fowl with a farce in a broth) and Powsowdie (a broth made with sheep heads and trotters). There are plenty of ideas for brose, using oats, oatmeal, peasemeal, and barley meal, or ‘beremeal’ as we call it. And a real fave of mine, how to dress a cod’s head and shoulders. There is also a Hollyrood pudding recipe. I’m pretty sure we have all seen a few of those in our time!

Meg Dods is name-checked throughout. She was a famous cook at the Cleikum Club at an old Borders inn, who was immortalised by Walter Scott in St. Ronans Well. She wrote her own cookery books and was very influential in the early 19th century. I will tell you more about her book in a future instalment…

There’s some absolutely fascinating stuff to be discovered in this book, including a brilliant appendix of Franco-Scottish domestic terms. Literally packed full of things we either don’t know or have forgotten. If you don’t have a copy, and you like all things Scottish food history, get your hands on one!

Neil’s cookbook of the week: The Savoy Food and Drink Book by Anton Edelmann

This week, I've pulled a true classic from my bookshelf: Anton Edelmann's The Savoy Food and Drink Book. As a young chef, I used to pore over its pages, mesmerised by the vivid pictures that still hold up well despite its 1988 origin. The cocktail selection remains particularly noteworthy, featuring both beloved classics and a few interesting new ones.

The Savoy Hotel holds a special place in my heart. I went there for an interview when I was 17, a year before this book came out, having driven all night from Scotland to be there for 9 am. The place was huge, there were kitchens within kitchens and it was terrifying. It was so long ago, I actually parked my Toyota Celica on the Strand, had my interview, and then drove to Reading to have an interview with John Burton Race. I didn’t take either job. However, later in life, I was asked to cook at The Savoy to celebrate Scottish food and drink. I was a guest of the hotel and had a suite overlooking the Thames, a floor down from where Monet painted that famous picture of the river. 

This book not only contains some remarkably simple-to-follow recipes, with very tasty dishes that are easy to recreate at home, but it also imparts invaluable kitchen wisdom, including essential knife skills and kitchen French terminology. It's been a continuous source of inspiration, especially knowing it connects me to culinary legends like Escoffier, who once graced those very kitchens. I find that astonishing. 

Anton Edelmann was a good friend of my dear friend and head chef at Kinnaird, John Webber—he visited us a few times and was a gentleman. Both John and Anton were sous chefs at the Dorchester hotel with another Anton, Anton Mosimann. It’s all connected somehow or other. John was head chef at Cliveden too…adding another leaf to our intertwined culinary family tree.

And let’s not forget that it was at The Savoy where the iconic omelette Arnold Bennet was born—a dish I had the pleasure of savouring for breakfast—a testament to the hotel's rich literary and gastronomic history. As I ponder my next read, I'm reminded of the fascinating tales yet to be uncovered in the world of food and drink.

Neil’s cookbook of the week: The Art of Anton Mosimann

My book choice this week is a blast from my past, as it was a book I often took to bed at night to pore over—looking at the pictures and trying to understand the thought processes and inspirations behind each dish. The Art of Anton Mosimann is a great book that really makes me ask questions. Do we eat with our eyes? If it's edible, it’s food, but at what point does food become art? Why does a dish look beautiful on one plate but better on another type of vessel? The beauty for me is in the produce, say a tomato, or a rare breed pork chop with a thick layer of fat. This book proves that produce can look good as well as taste good. The strawberry swan lake is quite incredible and so pretty. I also love the way he describes some of his dishes: a dialogue of fruit purées, gilded berry jewels, and an orgy of fruit de mer (an interesting one!).

Anton is hugely talented. He was born in Switzerland and by 16, after years of succeeding at sports, he went into the kitchen. At 25, he was head chef at Expo 1970, in charge of hundreds of chefs, and was well-respected. He’s well-known for a lighter approach to food and, for many years, was instrumental in helping to reduce the amount of butter, cream, and fats in our cooking. The food in this book is beautiful—some of the most elaborate food in any cookbook from my collection.

Another reason I like this book is that he takes a classic dish and turns it upside down, reducing the fat content and calories, so it can still be enjoyed. He uses lots of fruit for natural sweetness or poaches a fillet of beef—a dish I used to make years ago.

An old head chef of mine, John Webber, was his sous chef at the Dorchester Hotel in the ’80s, and he said Anton was always an absolute gentleman. My book is signed by him, but I can’t remember how I got it that way. It could have been passed down from my dad, who knew him. It’s worth getting a copy of this if you can, as it must be quite rare now. A piece of culinary history.

The Three Chimneys by Shirley Spear

I've been eagerly waiting to share this book with you. The Three Chimneys by Shirley Spear is truly exceptional, and one of my all-time favourites.

I often find myself flicking through it, and I can’t believe how old it is. The dishes are a brilliant collection of ingredients from the Isle of Skye, where the restaurant is located. The ability to transform these ingredients and old recipes into food that’s still relevant today is truly remarkable.

These days Skye has so many incredible places to eat. There’s Loch Bay, Edinbane Lodge, The Oyster Shed, The Stein Inn and Kinloch Lodge with their talented, hard-working chefs achieving fame and accolades. But this wasn’t always the case. 

I have immense respect for Shirley and what she, her husband Eddie, and their children created on Skye—it was truly trailblazing. Their story is wonderful; moving to the other side of the country, which back then felt like moving to the other side of the world, was a bold move.

The food I’ve had there has always been excellent—not pretentious or poncy, just really well done. I’m grateful to call the whole Spear family friends, having worked with several of them over the years. They are such lovely people.

The images are by another old pal, Alan Donaldson, a fantastic photographer. This book will always be an inspiration for me. It’s so similar to the food I love to cook and eat. If I were a young chef starting out, I’d buy this book right away. It covers everything you need to know about modern and historical Scottish cuisine, all still relevant today.

So many dishes stand out, and there are so many to choose from. Just imagine grouse, a perfect terrine, and a gooseberry tart—all absolutely delicious. Sadly, Shirley doesn’t cook at The Three Chimneys anymore, but I bet what she cooks at home is absolutely blooming delicious. She’s a real, genuine food hero of mine, and I adore this book. Thank you for creating it, Shirley.

Bistrot Bruno by Bruno Loubet

Bistrot Bruno: Cooking from L’Odéon Restaurant, by the talented Bruno Loubet, is truly a gem. Bruno arrived in the UK at a young age and swiftly made his mark as a brilliant cook. Nowadays, he's found down under, cooking on his own terms. He played a pivotal role in shaping the culinary landscape from the late '80s through the early '90s. After military service, cooking for an Admiral, he honed his skills at La Tante Claire under Pierre Koffman in London, followed by Le Manor with Raymond Blanc, and then earned a Michelin Star in his first year at the Four Seasons.

In 1995, he opened L’Odeon on Regent Street, a big place with 200 couverts. The food was good, honest and simple, the sort of food you want to eat, really proper, nothing poncy. Think aioli Provencal, huge salt cod with that tangy mayonnaise like garlic sauce, a salad of leeks with lardons and poached egg, and mussels cooked over a flame.The recipes are brilliantly simple, easy-to-follow, and as Shaun Hill says on the back cover, "this is bistrot cooking at its most exciting.”

I received this book as a Christmas gift back in 1996 from the train manager during my days on the Royal Scotsman – how time flies! If you get the chance, get your hands on this treasure.

The Homemakers' Cookbook and Guide to Nutrition

I will be honest and say this book is new to me. I picked it up just this week in a charity shop for a pound. What a bargain! The Homemakers’ Cookbook and Guide to Nutrition was written in 1946. After flipping through it several times, it seems to be a brilliant book. The significance of nutrition and healthy eating was recognised 80 years ago, but I wasn't aware it was emphasised so much.

I imagine that right after the war, nations were focused on building strength and improving the health of their populations for the new era. This book was published in Washington DC and exudes an American vibe, but in a charming way—similar to The Wizard of Oz in Kansas, where Judy Garland bakes delicious, healthy cookies, wheat germ muffins, or maybe Boston brown bread.

This reminds me of an updated Mrs. Beeton's, but it was quite modern for its time. It includes charts detailing calorie counts, fat content, and other valuable information such as vitamin content in different foods, along with straightforward recipes. Such a book shouldn't be sniffed at; it's a historical document that offers insights into everyday life just after the war—a period focused on rebuilding and moving forward.

One recipe I particularly enjoy is for 'glorified carrots,' essentially croquettes made from cooked, grated carrots and breadcrumbs. Another intriguing one is Berkshire soup, made with canned corn and a surprising addition of two tablespoons of sugar! Sounds interesting…

There really is something for everyone in this book - if you can find one! The sticker on the front says ‘poor’, but I think it’s excellent!

Nico by Nico Ladenis

Nico is a truly classic cookbook, written by a man who many chefs have worked for and are proud to have on their CV. I never did, although I was urged to by my father when he was lecturing at Westminster college in London. Nico had a restaurant just around the corner and he knew the chaps at the college, and they had a good relationship. 

Nico Ladenis was a self-taught chef. He was a trailblazer in the top-end dining scene of London in the 70s and 80s. He was bold, confident and a great cook. A bit controversial and a bit scary, but he had a heart of gold. He passed away last year at the age of 89.

Many of today’s great chefs came through his kitchen, taught to his impeccable standards, and he most certainly changed the way chefs cook now. I love this book for many reasons, but mostly because it’s the type of food I was taught to cook. Times change, and it’s a different world now. You might not have heard of him, but he was an absolute legend amongst us chefs.

Send it up Hot, How to be an 18th Century Cook, Recipes old and new from Castle Howard

I love this little book. I bought it for a fiver from Castle Howard’s gift shop when I visited a few years ago. And what a bargain for all that history! 

It’s such a vast building, it knocked me for six. There are beautiful grounds to walk around and the interiors are just gorgeous. Sadly there weren’t any kitchens to look at, at least none that I could find, but what a place. If you are ever in North Yorkshire, go and drink it all in. 

It’s hard to believe some of the recipes in this book were ever served. There are some tasty ones, but also a few horrors, even for me! Take gammon of badger, viper broth or snail water. They sound more like the lunch menu at Hogwarts than a stately home. 

Despite being one of the wealthiest homes in 18th century Britain, it did serve simple food like roast beef and Yorkshire puddings, and bacon and beans, for which there are recipes in this book. 

I also love the poetry of language in old recipes. For example, a recipe for roast chicken with garlic reads, 

“Chose a fine, large, young fowl, or a very fine capon, or paulard, but be nice in the choice of it, for unless it be in itself excellently good, the care and trouble of dressing will be thrown away.”

What a wonderful way to advise on sourcing the best ingredients. 

Throughout the book lots of lemons and oranges are used—perhaps to mask the flavour of badger—as well as plenty of spices, dried fruits and sugar used in the savoury dishes. I think my favourite dish from the book is a recipe from 1734 for trout with fennel. It sounds like something I’d cook today.

Fäviken by Magnus Nilsson

Fäviken by Magnus Nilsson is a beautifully-put-together piece of art. The book is packed with wonderful images of food, wild meadows, foraged herbs, hanging charcuterie and cooking over fire. In essence, it takes a step back in time to how we used to cook. 

Fäviken was a tiny ‘destination’ restaurant in a remote area of Sweden accessed by ox taxi or skidoo. I know a few folk who ate at this mystical place (that closed its doors in 2019). If you were lucky enough to have dined there, you might have devoured a scallop cooked over charcoal, or some meat from an old dairy cow, hung for a long time, cooked simply and served with something pickled, smoked or fermented. 

The food may appear to be simple, but it is not simplistic. Great care and a lot of attention to detail goes into creating dishes that use few ingredients. I understand this approach to cooking and believe that delving into the past is a great way to see into the future. Young chefs are becoming excited by old skills like fermenting, pickling and smoking, learning techniques from books like this. Old methods can teach us a lot and provide great inspiration. As long as we enjoy the process and we’re not too earnest about it, then I’m all for it.