Pheasant, venison, sunchokes, bulgar wheat, arborio rice, and brown basmati: Not long ago such items, if obtainable at all, had to be sought out at gourmet shops, natural food stores, ethnic markets, or other specialty groceries. Today, according to Pruess, they are all available in the new, enlarged, upgraded supermarket. But if everything is now available at supermarkets, what is the meaning of a supermarket cookbook? And if your supermarket is like ours, bigger but not necessarily better (or fresher), Pruess' unrestrained recipes will make even less sense. Pruess speaks of the economy, nutrition, and taste of supermarket fare, but the frozen chopped vegetables and shredded mozzarella she recommends for vegetarian lasagna fail all three tests. Other recipes call for fresh produce and homemade sauces, but overall there is no consistency to her collection, which mixes questionable upscale contrivances like raspberry-and-duck salad with quick fixes using trendy bottled sauces. Her writing, all ""elegance"" and ""festive touches"" for ""young and old alike,"" is similarly canned. Of course, the book's selection as a Book-of-the-Month-Club alternate will give it the visibility that makes for supermarket sales.