At first glance, it may seem a strange choice to review the book Vegetables from the world's premier culinary college. I have a memoir-in-progress called This Is How I Don't Cook which should automatically disqualify me.

A supposition like that would naturally be made because a cook or reader (or both) often view anything from The Culinary Institute of America to be pretty fancy-schmancy, even if the subject is limited to vegetables.

Of course, there would be truth in assuming a book with the credentials of this one would be a book of quality. This book is very nearly a coffee table book with end paper patterns of delicately etched dill and lotus-shaped artichokes etched into a charcoal-gray background, something like glass etchings from the Erté era. And, yes, those expecting something exotic for vegetables will get that (Kh'yaaf B'lubban anyone?).

It is also true that this is a book for those of us who aren't crazy about cooking or whose education in the fine art of cooking was sadly neglected. It includes a primer on categorizing vegetables, complete with interesting histories, advice on preparing them, and selecting them. (Yes, I have been known to come home from the grocery store with stringy beans!)

The recipes, too, are amazingly simple (even that alien-sounding soup I named above turns out to be something as unexotic--but delicious--as chilled cucumber and yogurt soup). And there are lots more down-to-earth ones that make the yucky vegetables from my grandmother's table divine. An example? Maple-Glazed Turnips!

On occasion, a technique is described very carefully but still doesn't suffice for someone like me who has never seen it done. One of those is the primer on onion cutting. The description of the best way to achieve a neat dice is precise and worth the trouble of following it from first slice to last, but the learning process would have been immeasurably easier had it been accompanied by a diagram. Suffice it to say that as the cook is slicing, if she doesn't cut through the root-end or the stem-end, those natural parts of the onion will help keep those layers from separating and will thus make the cubing process easier.

Do not let this onion difficulty dissuade you from reading (or buying) this book. Did you know, for instance, that the green part of leeks are better used to tie up a bouquet of garni than to chop and use along with the tender white portion in a recipe? The tough greens may also be tossed into a broth for flavor and (presumably) removed after they have imparted their flavor. Thus no tough leek greens and no real waste but plenty of flavor. There is also a tip on how to wash the pesky grit out of leeks easily and prettily.

So, what if a book like this makes a cook of me? You know, the kind of person who browses other Culinary Institute books and enjoys poking around Williams Sonoma? Well, it may not be all for the worst. It may make a very good ending for a memoir. The last chapter might be inspired by how my writing cookbook reviews saved my husband from eating out for the rest of his life.