Alison Roman’s ‘Sweet Enough’ Is the Timeless Dessert Meditation We Needed

Calling your new cookbook Sweet Enough after drawing ire for saying something decidedly salty in an interview is honestly a pretty incredible flex. We should expect no less, though, from Alison Roman, America’s great party pedagogue (or, depending on your feelings about her past few years, entertainer emeritus). With her long-anticipated new cookbook, Roman proves that she’s still got our attention; and whether that’s because of the certain magnetic attitude (or confidence?) that comes with her books and her “Home Movies” video series or because her rustic, vibey recipes are just that good doesn’t especially matter. In any case, the cookbook writer and former New York Times columnist has returned with a brand new offering fully dedicated to desserts, snacks, and savory baked treats. It’s pretty awesome.

There have been a number of stunning dessert books in recent years, from Magnus Nilsson’s The Nordic Baking Book and Dorie Greenspan’s Baking with Dorie to Claire Saffitz’s one-two punch of Dessert Person and What’s for Dessert, but what makes Roman’s new book so unique is that it feels thematically connected to her other works, and furthers the sense of identity that runs throughout her literature. Who Alison Roman is, what she says and does as a person, that’s one thing; but what her books can teach us about how to approach being with other people… that’s something else. 

Like Dining In and Nothing Fancy before it, Sweet Enough isn’t just about cooking, or cooking for people—it’s about cooking to be with people. In a recent video, Roman explains, “I love giving people dessert. I feel like it is such a nice way to say, ‘I really care about you, and I really love you. And I didn’t have to do this, but I wanted to do this.’” She knows that you probably already made dinner, and that you aren’t trying to hit up three grocery stores just to make a pie (like I had to do last weekend for an entrée I made, SMH). Sweet Enough draws from a distinctly American, almost mid-century-feeling pantry—stuff most of us have all the time, like salt, sugar, butter, flour, fruit, nuts, milk, eggs, and sprinkles. This is not unique for a dessert book, but it feels like a logical next step in the emphasis on minimal ingredients and pantry staples her previous books and recipes have. 

The whole book maintains the sort of elegant simplicity Roman has become known for. In the less-than-one-page introduction, we don’t get the blog post soliloquy we’ve come to expect from modern cookbooks; there aren’t five pages about the first time her grandmother made her a cookie when she was a child, or eight pages on where and when she trained in the best kitchens. It’s just a meditation on baking’s stigmas, why people fear it, and how it can be much easier than you think. That kind of direct pump-up totally hits with me, as someone who avoids baking as much as possible. I imagine it will also land with other, like-minded readers who may not be baking pros but want to get into dessert (or simply love Alison Roman and will get her books no matter what they’re about). 

Last night, I—someone who cooks a ton, but almost never bakes anymore—absolutely nailed the salted pistachio shortbread recipe. I’m not saying this to toot my own horn; on the contrary, I could very easily have fucked this dish up, and probably should have. It’s just a testament to how user-friendly these recipes are. This dish uses minimal ingredients (literally six, and two of them are salt); and the directions are precise and easy. It’s one of those things that seems so easy, in fact, that you almost feel like you deserve to mess it up. All you really have to do is blend pistachios in a food processor, and then add butter, sugar, and flour, blend that, put it in a springform pan, and sprinkle some pistachio dust and flaky salt on top. Upon tasting, however, it yielded the highest verbal response a recipe can receive in my household: a straight chain of expletives. Not only was it easy and totally delicious, but it’s something I’m basically guaranteed to always have the ingredients for (sound off, pistachio gang) and could easily throw together half an hour before guests arrive for a brunch (and definitely will).

There’s a ton of stuff like that in this book. Roman loves fun, bright, (mostly) simple, slightly messy food that’s a blast to eat and share, and Sweet Enough is full of these kinds of mesmerizing and straightforward dishes, from the “perfect tangy chocolate tart” and the “many mushrooms pot pie” to a raspberry ricotta cake and birthday cookies that have me scouring my calendar for the next opportunity I’ll have to make them for someone. There are fun, informative sections on things like galette theory and how to core and slice pineapple; there’s a “mint and chip ice cream cake,” and ideas for a sundae bar (tahini caramel, LFG) that feel distinctly by and for people who grew up in the 90s, but are also things your 90-year-old grandma would absolutely love. There’s something for everyone here, from fruit heads and breakfast freaks to cake enthusiasts and cookie monsters.

Ultimately, Sweet Enough is a towering dessert manual about being flawed but still doing your best to make something excellent. “My pies still leak, cheesecakes crack, and pound cakes are pulled from the oven before they’re fully baked,” Roman writes in the intro. “Lopsided and wonky, occasionally almost burned, unevenly frosted, my desserts are consistently imperfect.” Nobody nails it every time, but even the worst cook I know could probably hit a home run with Roman’s salted pistachio shortbread. Ultimately, that’s the sign of a great cookbook (and a cookbook writer worth following). 

Pick up Alison Roman’s ‘Sweet Enough’ on Amazon. 

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