This Napoleonic classic is all too often overcomplicated, but this ode to the French-British author’s version is both simple and stunning

A few weeks ago, as part of the British Library’s food season, the novelist Michèle Roberts, biographer Francesca Wade, writer Eli Davies and food writer Rebecca May Johnson were brought together for a discussion on women’s culinary lives, and on the kitchen as a space of creativity, resistance and intellectual life. I couldn’t be there, but by all accounts it was a brilliant discussion, which I hope was recorded.

I have, though, read all four authors’ recent books. Davies’ perceptive and funny The Spinster Cookbook, which explores what it means to shop, cook (or not) for one in a society designed for couples and families; Wade’s tremendous and deeply researched exploration of the making and remaking of Gertrude Stein in Gertrude Stein: An Afterlife (was Stein a genius or the high priestess of the cult of unintelligibility? We are left to decide); May Johnson’s welcoming, challenging and tomato sauce-filled Small Fires; and Roberts’ slim, second cookbook, French Cooking for Two.