There are cookbooks, and then there’s The Pioneer Woman Cooks—The Essential Recipes. This isn’t just a collection of recipes. This is a curated exhibit of emotional support food with a side of ranch gossip and about 47,000 process photos. Ree Drummond really said, “You want comfort food? I’ll give you comfort food, plus photos of every blessed step, plus a mini family memoir, plus a pitcher of margaritas, you sad little biscuit. Let’s go.”
From page one, she hits us with origin story realness. Blogging at 4 a.m. about cow manure and toddlers? Icon behavior. That intro reads like a Nora Ephron monologue if Nora had four kids, 120 cattle, and a spiral-bound notebook full of perfected beef stews. Ree reflects on the chaos of raising babies and beef simultaneously, then pivots like a pro into the emotional gut-punch. The recipes she still makes. The ones her now-grown kids beg for when they come home. The ones that define birthdays, snow days, and “I just need to feel something” Tuesdays. This isn’t just food. It’s edible therapy.
And the table of contents? Banger after banger after banger. We’ve got "Blender Hollandaise Sauce," "The Grilled Cheese Sandwich of Your Dreams," "Crispy Oven-Roasted Potatoes," "Perfectly Puckery Lemon Bars," "Chuck’s Sloppy Joes," and "Pitcher of Margaritas." What is this lineup? A brunch menu curated by a carb-loving angel? Yes.
Let me scream briefly about the Pizza Section. "The Best Pizza Dough in the World!" Okay, Ree, let’s calm down, but also, she’s not wrong. "I'm a Fun-gi Mushroom Pizza" might be the dumbest pun I've ever seen, and I devoured it like an unhinged raccoon. And you bet your ass there's a recipe for candied jalapeños in there, because Ree said, “Let’s add emotional spice to your food-induced spiral.”
Then we slam face-first into "The Creamiest, Dreamiest Mashed Potatoes" and I honestly blacked out for a minute. This cookbook doesn’t just walk you through the steps. It babysits you. Like, it sits you down, tucks a napkin into your shirt, and whispers, “You can’t mess this up, sweetie, I’ve included fourteen photos of boiling water.” It’s a little excessive, sure, but if you’ve ever had a panic attack over gravy consistency, this book is your weighted blanket.
She also includes "Homemade Mayonnaise," and I need you to understand. If you’re casually making mayo from scratch on a Tuesday, that’s not cooking. That’s a power move. That’s sending a message. That’s “I’ve watched people cry on Chopped and I liked it.”
The Beef section reads like a love letter to your inner Midwestern grandma. "The Most Perfect Pot Roast," "Meatloaf, Mastered," "French Dip," "Short Rib Beef Stew." You could throw a dart at this list and hit a dish that’ll emotionally seduce anyone within smell radius. And I swear, "Marlboro Man Sandwich" sounds like something you’d eat in a dive bar right before falling in love with a mysterious stranger in flannel.
And let’s talk Desserts and Drinks. Not only do you get "Chocolate Sheet Cake," "My Pecan Pie," "Chuck’s Heavenly Fudge," and "Crazy-Good Chocolate Chip Cookies," but she closes with "Pitcher of Margaritas." She ends the cookbook with a drink. That’s how you know she’s a seasoned professional. She feeds you from brunch to breakdown.
Also did I almost cry at the picture of her holding her grandbaby in a floral dreamscape looking like a woman who’s conquered four kids, a cattle empire, and an entire publishing industry armed with butter and soft lighting? I'll never tell. But I did bow down.
Is it a little much at times? Sure. The photo-to-instruction ratio sometimes feels like Ree thinks we’ve never seen an egg before. Like, I don’t need four pictures of how to scoop mayonnaise into a bowl, but do I love that it’s there just in case I have a culinary panic spiral mid-recipe? Also yes.
But here’s the truth. This book is a damn treasure chest. It’s approachable, nostalgic, unapologetically buttery, and deeply personal. Ree said, “These are the recipes my family keeps coming home for,” and you feel that. In your bones. In your arteries. In the third serving of "Million-Dollar Spaghetti."
4.5 stars, with a half-point deduction for excessive hand-holding, but honestly? I’m still gonna make every single thing in here while crying over photos and whispering, “Ree gets me.”
Huge thanks to William Morrow and NetGalley for the ARC. Y’all knew I was going to get emotionally compromised over mashed potatoes and still handed me this book like, “Good luck, champ.” Rude. And correct.