Knopf Senior Editor Judith Jones in her well-appointed kitchen. She's still cooking.

Last week I was on a phone call with book editor Judith Jones about recipes. Her comments reminded me of an essay of hers I use as a handout, some of which is quoted below.

Here are the top three things she can’t stand to see in recipes:

1. In a bowl, combine… No one talks like that, so why write like that? She doesn’t like “combine,” either. She wants to know: “With a fork, a whisk, your hands, and for how long?”

2. Set aside. “What else would you do with it? Throw it out?” When I am editing recipes, I always edit out both that phrase and the word “reserve.” If you’re looking for brevity, here’s an easy way to start.

3. Put the mixture… This one really gets her going. “Why not call the component parts of a recipe by real names, such as batter, dough, or a custard, or a base? There was nothing wrong with the old-fashioned usage of ‘the dry ingredients and the wet ingredients.’”

“But no, you so much as add salt to your eggs and it becomes an egg mixture, and pretty soon you are mixing the first mixture with the second mixture, and the cook is having a hard time following which mixture is which.”

What do you think? Are any of these terms defensible? And what are your pet peeves in recipe writing?

Just read 5 Second Rule’s excellent post about whether recipes are boring, and it generated some thoughts about recipe length. (Isn’t it fantastic when an blog post idea arrives on a platter? Thank you, Cheryl.)

Now, some writers like to go long. They like to hold the reader’s hand and explain. Sometimes I’m surprised about how much handholding, though.

I edited a recipe recently that said: “If necessary, rearrange the oven racks to accommodate the large pot.” Otherwise people might not know how to fit the pot in the oven? Really?

At the other end is the trend of short-attention span recipe writing. Sunset just received an edict from parent Time Inc. that recipes must be shortened to 75 words. Can’t wait to see what that looks like. What does it mean for readers? That they already know how to cook? Or that they don’t cook anyway so it doesn’t matter? 

I had my own epiphany Friday night about short recipes, while cooking  Poulet Aux Olives from Claudia Roden’s The Book of Jewish Food. The instruction said, “Fry the onion in the oil til soft.” Looking for further guidance, I found none and panicked, momentarily. On what heat, in what size pan, for how long, I wondered? After all, when I edit recipes, I look for those clues.

Then I realized I have been sauteing onions for years. I know how to cook them until they’re soft. And I relaxed. It was the right amount of information for me.

What do you think about the length of recipes? What is the right balance of length versus explaining, and how long is too long? What should be the deciding factor about length?

Thanks to all who weighed in on my last post, both here and on Facebook, about what makes a food blog worthwhile. I’ve read through your comments, and will now attempt now to boil them down into four main elements. Based on my own opinion and the comments, a great blog has:

1. A strong personality. We want food bloggers who are fun, intelligent, opinionated, creative, make us think, and make us learn. No matter what they’re writing about, we want them to be passionate and well informed.

2. Great recipes. We readers want to be inspired by creative, innovative recipes that are also technically excellent. We want something new and different, not what we have in cookbooks at home.

3. Good storytelling skills. A great food blogger knows how to write a tempting title, a lead that draws us in, and uses techniques like self-effacing humor to great effect. With high-quality writing, reporting and research comes the feeling that we’re right there with them, cooking, eating, tasting and discovering.

4. Excellent photos. There’s no way around it. We want to be seduced by the images.

So there you have it. If you’re a blogger, does your writing and photos meet this criteria? If you’re a blog reader, maybe you think I’ve left something out. Let me know.