Verdict: Classic Pasta Cookbook by Giuliano Hazan

Ah, Giuliano. How you have sustained me through those long hours of kneading and rolling fresh pasta dough. This is his first cookbook effort: he's the son of the famous and infamous Marcella Hazan, she of 1973's The Classic Italian Cookbook and the bringing-Italian-to-the-masses routine. She has a little foreword in here, talking about his incredible pasta-eating prowess as an infant and how she's so proud of him carrying on the tradition and so on. The book is fully illustrated: full-colour full-page photos of every dish and ingredient, and of him beaming like a plump little owl as he poses artfully with his wooden spoon poised over a giant steaming dish of tagliatelle.

Actually, he looks like a total super-nerd: like someone who should be arguing on Usenet about the technical benefits of coding in C++ over Java while sucking back coffee with four sugars and listening to the DVD commentary on season 15 of The Simpsons.
But it seems that looking like an egghead does not preclude one from writing an awesome pasta book. And with such a culinary pedigree, you'd have to be concerned if it wasn't awesome.

Most-cooked recipe: Without a doubt, the ragu on page 62. Here's my recipe: my morphed from-memory approximation of a recipe I've made dozens and dozens of times. It truly is incredible, and has become an absolute family favourite. When I first read it, I was a little perplexed by his inclusions of nutmeg and milk, but am now a convert. Giuli knows what he's on about. Also, his classic sauces arrabiata and puttanesca ('angry' pasta and 'whore's' pasta..!) are my two favourite pasta sauces, and they have been made quite a few times.

When we lived in Port Moresby, there was this creepy little pasta and pizza joint called The Spaghetti House that we used to go to quite often. You had to go into a gated compound and then up some rickety old exterior stairs to get in there, but once in it was like Little Italy meets Melanesia. Red checkered tablecloths, lame accordion music, the lot. This joint made the absolute best pasta arrabiata that we've ever had. Mum in particular was nuts about it. We tried many a time to recreate this arrabiata at home, but to no avail. (Theirs probably got its flavour from using mouldy old saucepans or MSG or something). Anyway, we should have asked them for the recipe. Seeing as we didn't and they've now closed down, Giuli's arrabiata has come the closest yet to that delicious ideal...

And obviously, fresh pasta, which I learned how to make from this book.

Recipe I haven't tried, but it was one of the reasons I bought the book: Carbonara, spaghetti al cognac, trenette with walnut pesto.

Rejected recipe: Oh Giuli, I could never reject anything you've made. Except, maybe, the tortelloni stuffed with Swiss chard. I am one of those people who finds it challenging to eat anything from the spinach-and-ricotta food group. Spanakopita: urgh. It's the texture of the ricotta that does it.

General good things: The book is divided into sections: an illustrated catalogue of different pasta types and shapes, a how-to on making it from scratch, a dozen or so classic sauces, then a huge selection of recipes, then a how-to on chopping up vegies for pasta and a guide as to what should be in your storecupboard. This would be great for a beginner, as it shows everything in filthy detail: each step, each ingredient, while explaining along the way in a kind friendly pasta-nerd voice.

General bad things: Nope. Completely, unselfconsciously helpful and explanatory in every way, without being condescending. Plus his giant round glasses are really fun to look at while you cook.

Lameness factor: High. The endless photos... the I'm-cooking-with-Mummy routine...

Overall rating(from 20): 19.5. I really love this book, but I have to take off half a point for the serial-killer expression on his face on page 9.