A Cookbook Where Recipes Are the Least Important Piece of the Puzzle

In his first book, Christian Puglisi avoids recipes as much as he can. What he gives us instead might be even better.

Walk down Jægersborggade, a seemingly unremarkable street in Copenhagen's trendy Nørrebro neighborhood and you might stumble uponRelæ. The dining room, a few steps down from street level, is small and handsome with a tidy open kitchen. Saying that the kitchen is on display might suggest certain showiness or ego, neither of which have a place at Relæ—there's simply no other place for the kitchen to be.

Relæ isn't Noma, Rene Redzepi's famed Copenhagen restaurant where Relæ's chef-owner Christian Puglisi worked as sous chef. Diners reset their own silverware from nifty trays built into the table; the kitchen rarely uses exotic, foraged ingredients; and you can probably afford to eat dinner at Relæ without taking out a second mortgage on your house.

Relæ is the sort of fine dining restaurant where food tastes like food and you're comfortable eating it. A meal might start with Puglisi's "kornly cracker," a dish that's inspired by an elBulli dish but that tastes like delicious cheese and mushroom pizza. The majority of the menu is light and fresh, but it's not all vegetables—dishes like pork neck with sprouted rye hit the low notes you want them to.

Photo by David Cicconi

Somehow, Puglisi forged his own path after working at one of the world's most famous restaurants, and he did so without copying it. Fast-forward four years and dozens of accolades later and Puglisi got the opportunity to write a book. But how do you translate the experience of Relæ—one that takes countless hours and a small army of cooks—to the two-dimensional world ofRelæ, a cookbook that will land in the kitchens of home cooks, food-world admirers, and other chefs around the world?

Well, Puglisi might have found a solution: Write a book of ideas, not recipes.

Most of the time, already inaccessible fine-dining restaurants produce books with even less accessible recipes that few but the most adventurous and, you know,crazycooks will attempt.

But do cookbook readers—especially ones who might have heard of Relæ but haven't made it to Copenhagen—really need recipes? Sure, most of us buy cookbooks to recreate themind-melting roast chickenat San Francisco's Zuni Café or Sean Brock'sfive-fat, sweet tea-brined fried chicken.

Photo by David Cicconi

But what do you want to take away from Puglisi's dessert of milk, kelp and caramel? It's one of the best restaurant desserts I've ever eaten—a perfect quenelle of ice cream that's salty, sweet, creamy, beautiful to look at, and just the slightest bit savory all at the same time. I'll never forget eating it. But I'm never going to make it at home.

What I'm more interested in is why that dessert works. I'm not interested in a recipe or clever headnote about the accident that resulted in a dish. I want to hear, in Puglisi's own words, why he makes the choices he makes with his food.

AndRelæ着手do just that. While there are recipes in the book (Puglisi says American publisher Ten Speed Press wouldn't publish a book without them), they don't appear until page 369, all the way in the back of the book, in a section labeled "appendix."

Instead, the idea essays take up more than three-quarters ofRelæ's real estate. Topics run the gamut from the abstract (think "intertwining flavors" and "creativity") to the straightforward ("vegetarian" and "savory desserts").

Essays are color-coded and cross-referenced throughout the book. Take that ice cream dessert I can't stop thinking about. Puglisi spends a few paragraphs explaining the process behind the dish—the various trials and errors they made in the Icelandic kelp infusion process, the pear vinegar that gives the dish its acidity. Alongside, he includes cross-references to even more essays that are relevant to the dish—in this case, "Water," "Fruit Vinegars," "Kelp," "A Touch of Umami," "Challenging the Guest," and more.

The one I'm intrigued by? "Savory Desserts." Flip to page 188, and Puglisi spends two pages explaining why dinners at his restaurant "cap off [...] in a lighter and fresher way." At the end of the essay, Puglisi cross-references the kelp ice cream and nine other dishes that relate to his theory on savory desserts. And off I go to page 342 to read about Chanterelles, Apple, and Granité, which leads me to an essay simply titled "Crunch!" on page 139 and Puglisi's general rule that crunch elements should be "paired with foods that have creamy, soft, and comforting textures."

Photo by David Cicconi

The resulting hours lost flipping through the book's pages feel like a Choose Your Own Adventure trip through Puglisi's mind, following along as a chef tries to do what so few can: Articulate just why they do what they do.

Maybe I won't buy a dehydrator and try to make "Baked Potato Puree (Version 2)" (or Version 1, for that matter). But I will try brining my vegetables, pickling my own fish, and—maybe—making my own nut milk.

But, most importantly, I have a fine-dining cookbook that makes me think and won't just sit on the coffee table gathering dust.