Subtitled An intimate Guide to the Authentic Flavours of Venice, Francesco da Mosto`s Francesco's Kitchen is truly a delectable book, mixing some brilliantly composed photographs (and not just of the food, but of the settings in which they were prepared). Such is the charm of the aristocratic Francesco da Mosto — familiar to many of us from his evocative TV series (and books) on Venice and Italy that we are even prepared to forgive him the fact that that he appears to cook with a cigarette in his mouth.

As with his earlier work, it is the evocation of his country and lifestyle that makes this such a dream book for non-Italian readers (and, one imagines, for Italian readers who don't possess da Mosto's elegant lifestyle). Within these strikingly illustrated pages, Francesco matches the appeal of his personal tours of Venice and Italy with an idiosyncratic guide to the authentic food and flavours of Venice. As he points out, Venetian cuisine (much like the city itself) is a remarkable synthesis of elements which coalesced over the years as traders and travellers moved across the Mediterranean. Reflecting all the atmosphere of this glorious city, the book presents us with an astonishing variety of dishes based on fish, seafood, poultry, game and Mediterranean vegetables. Needless to say, the essentials of Italian cookery such as pastas and risotto are here alongside more exotic fare. There are, of course, some mouth-watering deserts — but this is book for those who are watching their calories. But for anyone seeking a culinary tour of Venice and its surrounding countryside, this evocation of the traditional food of the region will be very hard to beat. Readers will be looking forward to the next region of Italy that Francesco da Mosto turns his attention to. —Barry Forshaw

The life of a Michelin-starred chef is undeniably a stressful one, and no doubt many pause from time to time in the frenzy of the kitchen or the worry of the office to ask themselves if it's really all worth it. John Burton Race, who had clocked up two stars, had such a moment. He saw the business side of a highly successful restaurant taking over and himself losing contact with what had drawn him into cooking in the first place—food and its preparation. Following this epiphany (one might call it a naked-lunch moment, when, as William Burroughs remarked, you really see what's on the end of your fork) he determined to return to his roots, take a sabbatical and write a book about the pleasures of good, simple food. French Leave is the result. French because Race ambitiously decided that France was the best place to conduct his research and accordingly took his entire family (wife, six children and, eventually, Labrador puppy) with him. French leave is both a cookbook and a narrative of the we-survived-a-year-in-rural-France type so popular since that leathery old bellwether Peter Mayle first showed the way. The recipes are excellent—good, plain, traditional French eating, arranged seasonally, with classics such as Cassoulet, Confit of Duck and Daube de Boeuf featuring. There's practically nothing here that you won't find in books stretching all the way back to Elizabeth David and beyond, but it's very useful to have such a collection curated by a skilled and enthusiastic chef. The narrative parts of the book are somewhat mixed: when Race is talking to food producers and cooks of the Aude, his chosen region in the south-west of the country, he is fascinating and clearly enthralled. These are people with a profound love and respect for food, and Race is good at communicating this and demonstrating why quality is important. It's less easy to see why he chose to include so much about his family—quarrels, grumpy love-sick teenagers, school plays and so on—who probably won't thank him. And strangely, there's no mention whatsoever of the television crew, who must have been around quite a lot filming for the accompanying series. —Robin Davidson

Simon Hopkinson, as founder chef at Bibendum, knows all about good cooking in a restaurant. Simon Hopkinson, as food columnist for The Independent, knows all about good cooking at home. Gammon & Spinach sees him very much in domestic mode but the natural authority of his professional skills still splendidly permeates this book. Hopkinson has been writing his food columns since December 1994 and his must be the most ripped-out part of the paper. Reading these recipes collected together, it is remarkable how coherent is his philosophy of food considering it is usually delivered in weekly bite-size portions. His "screeches about pretentiousness" and endless reiteration of "the need to cook for pleasure rather than slavishness towards fashion", boldly shine through. His soups—something of a speciality—are velvetly tempting; the fish dishes strong flavoured, and the meat section robust in its enthusiasm for game and offal. This is a book to use and use regularly in a working kitchen. Even if only a single recipe takes your fancy says Hopkinson: "better that than the book sits on a coffee table gathering dust rather than in the splashes of a busy kitchen". One recipe? Who's he kidding? Anyone who doesn't get this book utterly greasy and stained just isn't trying. —Nick Wroe