Cookery book Review – Step by rustic step
There were 25,000 copies initially printed, but Marc Vetri’s new cookbook, Rustic Italian Food, went into its second printing before the Nov. 1 release date.
Compare that to Il Viaggio Di Vetri, his first book, which sold 25,000 copies after three years.
“I just got a $420 royalty check. . . . my first one, three years later,” says the chef, sitting on a broken-in brown leather sofa in his newly renovated home kitchen.
After two years of recipe testing, writing, and waiting, Vetri is ready to show the world his latest collection.
The photos in this new book, many of him cooking with his kids, Maurice, 5, and Catherine, 3 (little Mario, now 20 months, wasn’t quite camera-ready), were shot in his kitchen pre-renovation. The room was nice then, but it’s a real chef’s kitchen now, and reminiscent of the updated, rough-hewn designs of two of his restaurants, Amis and Osteria.
It’s more open, with more light, bright green painted cabinets, a smooth wooden countertop, and a huge island made of Carrara marble, perfect for rolling pasta and finagling dough.
The pizza stone has been heating in the new Wolf oven for a while, ready to crisp the round of dough that he’s deftly, with one hand, coaxing into the perfect round. He tops it with a few spoonfuls of marinara and a few chunks of fresh mozzarella, before sliding it onto the pizza peel and into the oven. It isn’t this pizzaiolo’s first day on the job. (Watch video of Vetri making perfect pizzas at philly.com/vetribook.)
With his first book, his publishers fought him on the name. “They said it was in another language, it’s not going to sell as much.” Which is why this time around, the James Beard award-winning chef, who is about to open his fourth city restaurant, deferred to the experts.
“They wanted a simple name. I was being sarcastic and joked around . . . ‘What, like Rustic Italian Food?’ Lo and behold, there wasn’t another book named that.”
It’s printed in clear, silver-foil letters along the book’s spine, and the hope is that the title will draw bookshelf perusers in. Even if they never heard of Marc Vetri.
Vetri says writing this cookbook was not about money. “Everyone is always asking me, how do you make this? How do you make that?” He’ll e-mail customers recipes, but with hesitation. Reducing a recipe for 40 to four servings is never ideal, and his cooking is more about technique than anything else.
He does admit, though, that cookbooks are great marketing tools that “definitely add to your relevance in the industry.” This time around, he learned a few things.
“We started looking at Il Viaggio again, and thought this is an awesome book, but if you don’t have experience cooking, you need more detailed, user-friendly explanations.”
Which is how Rustic Italian Food evolved from an artisanal cookbook to a multifaceted experience: It’s part reference (see chapters on meat curing and paragraphs on oils and cheese); part culinary philosophy (his opinion of molecular cooking and absentminded line cooks), part travelogue (like his laugh-out-loud search for the perfect Parisian baguette), part expert cookbook (homemade pastas, breadmaking, spit-roasting a pig), and part novice cookbook (some recipes, like the spinach gnudi, marinara, and salads, are downright Rachael Ray simple).
He culled most of the recipes from his files; he recently started giving his cooks the homeworklike (and useful) task of writing down the recipes they make on the line, to build up an archive. He then chose the dishes that felt right for Rustic Italian Food, tested and tweaked, and knocked out most of the writing while on vacation in Boulder, Colo.
The book took years; the pizza, which is now bubbly perfection, took minutes. And the aroma, as in a Folger’s commercial, lured toddler Mario into the kitchen. He’s no fool, lunch was being served.
The chef will soon hit the road to promote the new book, including signings and guest cooking gigs at restaurants in L.A., Chicago, Boston, and New York.
On the road, he’ll be spreading the rustic gospel, while locals who have eaten at Vetri’s restaurants already know that rustic doesn’t mean simple.
“There is nothing to hide behind,” says Vetri, who was nonchalantly mixing ricotta, spinach, egg, and flour in a bowl to make his next dish, gnudi. “You have to cook perfectly, you have to have perfect technique, always.”
Which is why some of the book’s most significant tidbits are not in the ingredient lists, but in the chapter introductions and cooking instructions. You might never make lamb mortadella, but reading about the process, in Vetri’s approachable, engaging dsescription, is captivating, in the same way people who have never turned on a stove watch Food Network cooking shows for hours.
“I started making sausage 15 years ago, and there has been an evolution in my understanding of it. It’s such interesting stuff and it’s not in a whole lot of books. They tell you to use this and use that, but they don’t tell you why.”
Why and how are big themes. He explains why pizza dough should come to room temperature: “It will stretch more easily when it’s warm.” And he has detailed step-by-step photo instructions on prepping a whole chicken for grilling. It’s like a stylish and relevant version of outdated cooking-school tomes.
Vetri reminds readers that the recipes need to work for them – it’s OK to use store-bought pasta – and the process will get easier with practice. And, most important, readers learn through his stories (like his missteps on Iron Chef) that messing up can be a good thing.
“If you don’t push yourself and make mistakes, you never learn anything.”
Case in point: With the gnudi dough mixed, he dropped one in boiling water to test it out. “Needs a little more flour,” he said before making the adjustment. Now, it’s perfect.
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