What you cook says a great deal about who you are. I’ve been working on a novel, and I find myself describing my characters through the recipes they cook. If you were to describe yourself with a single recipe, what would it be?
ROAST BEEF AND CHATEAU D'YQUEM: In my Russian uncle's apartment in Washington, I sat over Russian Easter dinner with Sergei Sheremetev, a favorite of mine not just because his mother was a Stroganov (one of my favorite childhood beef dishes), but whose family had been the richest in Russia, so his stories were of a dream world for me (his father thought the Romanovs were upstarts and would rarely speak to the czar). The evening was even more exotic because of a naval academy classmate of my uncle and the pretender to the Polish throne, and my aunt who that night was wearing her parure of emeralds, mostly copies of Sergei’s mother’s and even more famous than those of the Grand Duchess Xenia Romanov.
With that group the conversation soon turned to which wine was superior, Burgundy or Bordeaux, and then, white or red? My aunt would drink only rare Cognac and very old first growths in prime condition. The rest of us drank anything good. My uncle had saved a dozen or so bottles of various esoteric things from before the revolution to teach me the immense difference between now and then, between the excellent and the very best possible.
Talk of excellence divided the diners on the question of whether it is achieved through austerity or indulgence, purity or excess. Inevitably, the subject of decadence arose, with everyone invited to define it. My aunt disapproved of the entire conversation, and said so. The Polish prince smiled elegantly. My uncle deferred to Sheremetev, who said the best definition came from his boyhood friend Prince Youssoupof. The story involved Youssoupof and a French count. When the question of ‘what is decadence’ came up, the French count said something lyrical about beautiful women. Youssoupof said, “Nonsense, my dear fellow, the epitome of decadence is to drink Château d’Yquem with roast beef.”
I think my mouth must have fallen open and my aunt gave me a threatening frown. There was a silence as we all tried to conjure up the dangers of that combination.
Years later, while an undergraduate at Harvard, I experienced the breathtaking beauty of drinking Château d’Yquem with cold roast goose in the suffocating afternoon heat of Boston in August. Spurred by its success, I decided to hold a test of the Youssoupof theory. I invited only my closest friends, those who would not seek vengeance if they became sick or pushed over the edge. Remembering my aunt—who was a modest dresser in public, but with me and her husband, or with intimates, wore silk everything with her fabulous emeralds—I asked everyone to dress to the hilt. It was ninety degrees and the kitchen, where we ate, was over a hundred. The taste of Château d’Yquem with the rich, aged, perfectly cooked roast beef is indescribable. “Taste” does not adequately convey the sensation; because whatever happens, as I see it now, is like something out of recent space films—travel at space-warp speed through the stars. Only, with the wine and beef there is very little noise, unless it is the sound of someone going over backward in his chair and hitting the floor.
After I had moved to the West Coast and was chef of Chez Panisse, the story and the experience still haunted me, so I put on a Sauternes Dinner, but without the beef. I caught the attention of a number or people, including the L.A. food writer Charles Perry. After I told him the beef story, he wondered if perhaps it had been the heat that had devastated us. Charles suggested we do it again. In San Francisco, there was no problem with the heat. I think it was the usual fifty degrees outside. The rest of the menu is not important, because when the beef was served, and the wine was poured, when I demonstrated the necessary ritual of chewing the beef and taking a draft of the wine, chewing twice and swallowing, there followed the familiar silence of agonized sighs and rapturous smiles.
Lasagna. Every hug I want to give becomes tender sheets of egg and flour and ribbons of nutmeg-scented cream, and kisses are showered through flurries of Parmesan. The stories I want to share are chapters hidden in the ragu that spent hours refining itself in solitude. The last time I made it, it filled seven hours of my day and made me cry as soon as I took the first bite. Lasagna stands for generosity, kinship, affection, restraint, endurance.
Recipe? What’s all this focus on recipes? I grew up reading cookbooks cover to cover and I think that imprinted on me how to cook. With the exception of baking, I can cook just about anything using that embedded knowledge. And even w baking I can adjust recipes to suit myself.
I have dreamt of doing a cookbook without recipes - mostly a compendium of great food ideas, combinations, and recipe tweaks . . and menus. (Btw, a book of just meal menus would be a boon, no? Sorted by season and main ingredient.) Sam Sifton is on a similar no-recipe path right now in his newsletter.
Well, when I was in Lincoln Junior High School in Rockford, Ill., I'd stop at a nearby potato chip company and get a 10 cent bag of "crunchies" practically every day after school. (https://mrsfisherschips.com/) Many of my classmates did, too. Broken bits of chips that fell off the conveyor belt loading bags of whole chips for market, broken bits of chips that were scooped up and put into sandwich bags that turned impossibly greasy almost instantly, those chips became part of the Scandinavian-soaked culture of this community, where you could buy Danish flat bread or cardamom rolls at any number of Scandinavian bakeries. At some point between then and now —fast forward 50+ years— I thought my place on earth was to just eat salt. Guess why: Those crunchies were mighty salty. These days, not surprisingly, perhaps, my fav recipe is for long-way-thin-sliced russets slathered with clarified butter and baked at 300 degrees until perfectly brown and crunchy and lightly sprinkled with Maldon sea salt flakes, which can take up to an hour or more with constant rotating of potato-filled sheet pans outfitted with a rack to allow air flow below the potatoes and an even browning on both sides.
I would have to credit my mother, Prudentienne, for the dish that defines me. She was French Canadian, and her “nobody makes it like her” recipe was in truth derived from Jehane “Madame” Benoît. Madame’s newspaper column once contained a recipe for tourtière, and while this meat pie in Quebec tends to be very regional — with ingredients ranging from wild game meats to whatever might be found in the cold cellar and highly dependent on where the family is rooted— the recipe my mom adhered to was Madame’s. Naturally, she made modifications over the years, which made the recipe "hers". The pastry was always made of lard, and the filling of ground pork ‘seulement!’, seasoned with cloves and garlic and onion and one secret spice that it is difficult to find outside of the province. The pie is made only at Christmas in our family (no exceptions), and served the eve before Christmas day after mass (a celebration known as Réveillon), and then for almost every meal thereafter until the new year if your constitution allows. For my mom, the dish was a source of pride and a tongue-in-cheek “secret recipe” which she shared with me and my brother when we were old enough, then with my one best friend with whom I “zoom cook” this seasonal fare every year now that my mom has passed. Tourtière reflects the peasant cooking of mom’s northern Quebec roots. Simple but rich, and a source of great pride, it is like me — an amalgam of Canadian colonial traditions (my father was of British descent) and a great deal of love.
Soup. All soups. I can eat any soup I make for days and not get bored. Soup is very diverse. Fancy or peasant. My Mom was a baker by trade, I can not stand sweets nor can I bake. So I mastered soups.
Crab cakes! We live on Puget Sound where Dungeness crabs are plentiful. We catch the crabs, bring the salt water from the bay to a boil in our backyard crab boiling station, and cook as soon as possible after they come out of the bay. A quick plunge in ice to chill the crabs and after spreading a plastic tablecloth on the picnic table, we crack and clean big bowls of crab meat. (Our cat hangs around our feet waiting for the occasional scrap.). We have tweaked a Cooks Illustrated recipe to our tastes and serve big platters of the pan fried cakes to our family and guests. It’s a weekly meal during the two month season.
Coq Au Vin. As a teenage bellboy growing up in San Juan, Puerto Rico a French ex pat chef in the hotel taught me how to make a proper Coq AU Vin. When I came to the states to go to college I might make it to impress a date. A gal I loved in college went on to write a book and her fictional character Fernando was a street tough who knew a thing or two about cooking and his CAV had magical qualities. I made it for my sweetheart recently and she looked up in a swoon and said it made her knees buckle. Recently I went home to San Juan and went to the local Pollera and got a fat bird to my now 82 year old chef, Michel and after a night of resting in red wine he elevated the lovely bird to the Sainted Dish. ¡Mejor que nunca!
The one recipe that defines me, at least currently, grew from my desire to capture the essence of the local flavors from here where I live in Costa Rica. I had been toying with the notion of creating a Costa Rican BBQ sauce, but instead I landed on what I call, "Salsa de la Jungla".
I cook down several ripe mangos with the juice and rind of the local citrus called "mandarina" (it has no relation at all to tangerines of any type; it's an orange/green fruit with a brilliant sunshine interior and a flavor that is a combination of lime, sour orange, and orange); raw cane sugar, a good amount of grated ginger and the local panamenio peppers (much like a habanero).
I cook let this simmer on low heat until it has thickened, then puree it and pass it through a chiinois. The resulting sauce is golden, thick and spicy and goes on fish, chicken, pork, and yes, grilled vegetables. And it does taste like all my favorite local flavors at once.
fresh morels, just harvested from the woods beyond my backyard, stuffed with pate de fois gras, sauteed briefly in butter with a touch of garlic and cognac, served with crustless toast points
Pappa al pomodoro, the Tuscan day-old bread and tomato soup. Simple, Tuscan, genuine, thrifty, unpretentious, but a comfort food, especially when doused in a peppery extra virgin olive oil
I can’t describe myself in a single recipe. What describes me is my garden and my pantry and what’s available and at it’s prime right now. I love to garden and I love to cook. Even though it is winter in NH I have frozen plum tomatoes, garlic, onions, and lots of yummy condiments in jars. Smelts are in season right now. So fried local smelts from the fish cooperative served with slaw from the last of my cabbage and tartar sauce from my pickles is what describes me today. When it snows this weekend it will be garden tomato soup garnished with micro greens growing in my basement and grilled cheese.
What splendid recipes. This is a hard one; there are so many! But I've been a member of my CSA since 2002, and one of the joys is finding a use for produce at the time of year when it's ripe and purely perfect. I was going to say leek and potato soup, which is perfection itself and infinitely variable. But instead, maybe a leek and goat cheese galette? The original recipe is Deborah Madison's, but as with any recipe that has become second nature, I continue to tweak it based on the quality of the leeks, the wine I have on hand, my patience for nurturing short crust.... I dunno, ask me tomorrow, and it might be something completely different!
Sour cherry pie. There's that lovely two-week period in late June-early August when the Union Square Greenmarket has sour cherries. I get as many as I can afford and make pies with a homey but delicious, super flaky butter and lard crust. My pies make everyone happy, especially these very richly colored, fresh and seasonal ones. That's why I love to bake and cook.
I really think any well thought out and complex sandwich - a sandwich is a thing of beauty and an act of love. Either hot or cold, you can create something perfectly balanced with savoury, crunchy, sweet, tart, saucy, spicy, herby, hot and cold elements and then a delicious bread that works for that particular filling whether it be soft, steamed, crusty or toasted. It's creativity in action.
You can eat a different sandwich for your every meal as well as for snacks and you wouldn't tire of them.
Bread is so versatile and generous, butter is sent from heaven and then you have all those fillings to choose from.
You can enjoy an entire meal like lasagne, melanzane parmigiana or even fried chicken between two slices of bread and it only makes it better.
Braised short ribs with a dash of an orange gremolata, served with a mature Bourgogne. The long slow braise allows the house to smell so wonderful, you can almost taste it in the air. Very seductive
Cassoulet -- I have been making it each year for my husband's birthday since the first year we met (1993). First learned about the dish when I worked for Glorious Food in the '80s. I enjoy prepping the duck for the confit (once, I helped process the ducks), some years I have grown my own beans, garlic and put up tomatoes. Each year tastes different, but I always make it around the end of February, signaling the end of winter cooking.
Chicken pot pie! I roast a free range chicken and use the classic vegetables, although I roast the carrots for this. Deglaze pan with dry sherry as use the pan drippings in my veloute along with some homemade chicken stock, I make a rough puff pastry for the crust and the whole thing is a simple, humble and delicious act of love.
Penne Al Sugo Di Carne. The recipe comes from a compilation cookbook titled Portland, Oregon Chefs Table. This rich beef and pasta dish was shared by the Italian restaurant Caffe Mingo (which has survived the pandemic I'm happy to say). Though I never dined at Caffe Mingo, I feel this recipe represents me in the following ways...
-You need a round bottom. I have one.
-The recipe and I both require 1 1/2 cups Chianti to complete the meal.
-Espresso adds depth to the dish, and my morning routine.
-The meat sears in butter and onions. I can't think of a better smell.
-The beef is roasted, shredded, and pureed in sauce. It's a little varied and complicated. I can relate.
-The restaurant this recipe comes from lies in the heart of Portland. I had to leave that city but a piece of my heart remains.
I love to cook and grow my own vegetables and lettuces. My husband and I traveled to Italy many times, driving through the countryside searching for the best places to eat using a wonderful book by Fred Plotkin as our guide.(Italy for the Gourmet Traveler) My husband dubbed me La Reina de la Cucina!
One of the most wonderful things I have made is a 10 layer lasagna bolognese. Ten very thin hand rolled layers of pasta cooked just a few seconds in boiling water and then patted dry. Layered with bechamel and bolognese sauce. It took all day but was just as amazing as the one we had in Italy, I say always try something at least once!
An Apple Pie, you can dress me up, dress me down, must have a great crust as the foundation, sometimes firm sometimes squishy in the middle, warm like the cinnamon, just a little tart when you need it, always makes people smile, great for any meal, and can fix most emotional disasters.
Ina’s Italian Wedding Soup. I have made an infinite variety of this soup for decades, but Ina’s is perfection. I have tried tweaking it here and there, but perfection is, well, perfection! Of course I add homemade bread; right now it’s Chad Robertson’s country white from Tartine Bread. Soup and bread. That says everything about me.
My answer, after much thought ! would be homemade gravy or savoury sauce of any description. Growing up, we never had gravy on the Sunday roast because my father was always on a diet !!
I was determined when I had my own kitchen to learn how. Thank heavens, so many years ago now.
Giant sticky rice balls. It’s the last recipe my grandmother taught me before she stopped talking to me (and descended fully into dementia). Completely impractical, unhealthy, and hilarious.
The dried fruit cream scones from Marion Cunningham's "The Breakfast Book" signal attention and love. A ribbon marks the place and the broken spines fall open to page 55, spotted with ingredients and annotated with personal variations. These tender scones have been present at nearly every holiday celebration since my now-grown kids were just babes. Scones whipped up with basic flour, scant sugar, heavy cream, baking powder (they'll never let me forget the time I accidentally ruined Christmas when I used baking soda not powder) and salt. I lean toward dried cranberries and fresh orange zest. Bake, butter and feel the years peel away.
Without a doubt — Marcella Hazan’s “Baked Green Lasagne with Meat Sauce, Bolognese Style.” That is, I describe my best self as authentic, homemade, no frills, no shortcuts, a work that takes a long time to come to fruition, made with care and attention, and when I’m done — really really worth the wait! (Someday I hope to become this version of myself.)
Simple grilled sea bass. I struggled for years cooking fish badly. I ended up buying books by Eric Ripert and attending several of his quarantine cooking classes through AMEX and RESY. After laboring for months I finally got the knack for cooking fish and now I love to cook fish and people love to enjoy my fish meals. So satisfying.
Kimchi ramen surprise. This was a late night, drunken, improvised dish. Make ramen with just enough water to cook. Add the seasoning packet, but it’s important that the ramen is Korean shin ramen, a spicy variety. Add your favorite cheese and one egg and stir quickly to make a creamy sauce. Add kimchi and serve. Now I add kimchi to all cheese dishes, it pairs well. Think kimchi grilled cheese, kimchi mac and cheese, or kimchi quesadillas. Spicy, creamy, improvised, comforting, that’s me.
Osso Bucco, veal or lamb, with a lovely gremolata and served over polenta or with gnocchi if I'm ambitious. This is the epitome of comfort food and I tweak it a bit different every time. Last time I used veal and served it with a lovely Dolcetto. Mmmmm
Mine would be Ribolitta. Years ago, while traipsing through Italy, I came across this wonderful soup. I love good soup and this one took my heart. Everyone adds a bit of themselves to this dish. But, the end result and finishing is the same…..Delicious, with a grating of Parmesan and a blob of olive oil (that you could drink!).
ROAST BEEF AND CHATEAU D'YQUEM: In my Russian uncle's apartment in Washington, I sat over Russian Easter dinner with Sergei Sheremetev, a favorite of mine not just because his mother was a Stroganov (one of my favorite childhood beef dishes), but whose family had been the richest in Russia, so his stories were of a dream world for me (his father thought the Romanovs were upstarts and would rarely speak to the czar). The evening was even more exotic because of a naval academy classmate of my uncle and the pretender to the Polish throne, and my aunt who that night was wearing her parure of emeralds, mostly copies of Sergei’s mother’s and even more famous than those of the Grand Duchess Xenia Romanov.
With that group the conversation soon turned to which wine was superior, Burgundy or Bordeaux, and then, white or red? My aunt would drink only rare Cognac and very old first growths in prime condition. The rest of us drank anything good. My uncle had saved a dozen or so bottles of various esoteric things from before the revolution to teach me the immense difference between now and then, between the excellent and the very best possible.
Talk of excellence divided the diners on the question of whether it is achieved through austerity or indulgence, purity or excess. Inevitably, the subject of decadence arose, with everyone invited to define it. My aunt disapproved of the entire conversation, and said so. The Polish prince smiled elegantly. My uncle deferred to Sheremetev, who said the best definition came from his boyhood friend Prince Youssoupof. The story involved Youssoupof and a French count. When the question of ‘what is decadence’ came up, the French count said something lyrical about beautiful women. Youssoupof said, “Nonsense, my dear fellow, the epitome of decadence is to drink Château d’Yquem with roast beef.”
I think my mouth must have fallen open and my aunt gave me a threatening frown. There was a silence as we all tried to conjure up the dangers of that combination.
Years later, while an undergraduate at Harvard, I experienced the breathtaking beauty of drinking Château d’Yquem with cold roast goose in the suffocating afternoon heat of Boston in August. Spurred by its success, I decided to hold a test of the Youssoupof theory. I invited only my closest friends, those who would not seek vengeance if they became sick or pushed over the edge. Remembering my aunt—who was a modest dresser in public, but with me and her husband, or with intimates, wore silk everything with her fabulous emeralds—I asked everyone to dress to the hilt. It was ninety degrees and the kitchen, where we ate, was over a hundred. The taste of Château d’Yquem with the rich, aged, perfectly cooked roast beef is indescribable. “Taste” does not adequately convey the sensation; because whatever happens, as I see it now, is like something out of recent space films—travel at space-warp speed through the stars. Only, with the wine and beef there is very little noise, unless it is the sound of someone going over backward in his chair and hitting the floor.
After I had moved to the West Coast and was chef of Chez Panisse, the story and the experience still haunted me, so I put on a Sauternes Dinner, but without the beef. I caught the attention of a number or people, including the L.A. food writer Charles Perry. After I told him the beef story, he wondered if perhaps it had been the heat that had devastated us. Charles suggested we do it again. In San Francisco, there was no problem with the heat. I think it was the usual fifty degrees outside. The rest of the menu is not important, because when the beef was served, and the wine was poured, when I demonstrated the necessary ritual of chewing the beef and taking a draft of the wine, chewing twice and swallowing, there followed the familiar silence of agonized sighs and rapturous smiles.
French scrambled eggs with fresh Perigord black truffles from Pebeyre, served with a tired old red Bordeaux
I asked my husband if he could describe me with one recipe; long thought; then he proposed “massaged kale.”
Lasagna. Every hug I want to give becomes tender sheets of egg and flour and ribbons of nutmeg-scented cream, and kisses are showered through flurries of Parmesan. The stories I want to share are chapters hidden in the ragu that spent hours refining itself in solitude. The last time I made it, it filled seven hours of my day and made me cry as soon as I took the first bite. Lasagna stands for generosity, kinship, affection, restraint, endurance.
Recipe? What’s all this focus on recipes? I grew up reading cookbooks cover to cover and I think that imprinted on me how to cook. With the exception of baking, I can cook just about anything using that embedded knowledge. And even w baking I can adjust recipes to suit myself.
I have dreamt of doing a cookbook without recipes - mostly a compendium of great food ideas, combinations, and recipe tweaks . . and menus. (Btw, a book of just meal menus would be a boon, no? Sorted by season and main ingredient.) Sam Sifton is on a similar no-recipe path right now in his newsletter.
Well, when I was in Lincoln Junior High School in Rockford, Ill., I'd stop at a nearby potato chip company and get a 10 cent bag of "crunchies" practically every day after school. (https://mrsfisherschips.com/) Many of my classmates did, too. Broken bits of chips that fell off the conveyor belt loading bags of whole chips for market, broken bits of chips that were scooped up and put into sandwich bags that turned impossibly greasy almost instantly, those chips became part of the Scandinavian-soaked culture of this community, where you could buy Danish flat bread or cardamom rolls at any number of Scandinavian bakeries. At some point between then and now —fast forward 50+ years— I thought my place on earth was to just eat salt. Guess why: Those crunchies were mighty salty. These days, not surprisingly, perhaps, my fav recipe is for long-way-thin-sliced russets slathered with clarified butter and baked at 300 degrees until perfectly brown and crunchy and lightly sprinkled with Maldon sea salt flakes, which can take up to an hour or more with constant rotating of potato-filled sheet pans outfitted with a rack to allow air flow below the potatoes and an even browning on both sides.
on recipe that has pleased many over the last 40 years-a rich molasses cookie with black pepper and dark chocolate-never fails to please
This column is the best thing I have read in awhile. Keep these recipes coming. Thanks
I would have to credit my mother, Prudentienne, for the dish that defines me. She was French Canadian, and her “nobody makes it like her” recipe was in truth derived from Jehane “Madame” Benoît. Madame’s newspaper column once contained a recipe for tourtière, and while this meat pie in Quebec tends to be very regional — with ingredients ranging from wild game meats to whatever might be found in the cold cellar and highly dependent on where the family is rooted— the recipe my mom adhered to was Madame’s. Naturally, she made modifications over the years, which made the recipe "hers". The pastry was always made of lard, and the filling of ground pork ‘seulement!’, seasoned with cloves and garlic and onion and one secret spice that it is difficult to find outside of the province. The pie is made only at Christmas in our family (no exceptions), and served the eve before Christmas day after mass (a celebration known as Réveillon), and then for almost every meal thereafter until the new year if your constitution allows. For my mom, the dish was a source of pride and a tongue-in-cheek “secret recipe” which she shared with me and my brother when we were old enough, then with my one best friend with whom I “zoom cook” this seasonal fare every year now that my mom has passed. Tourtière reflects the peasant cooking of mom’s northern Quebec roots. Simple but rich, and a source of great pride, it is like me — an amalgam of Canadian colonial traditions (my father was of British descent) and a great deal of love.
Julia Child's Boeuf Bourguignon, most definitely.
Soup. All soups. I can eat any soup I make for days and not get bored. Soup is very diverse. Fancy or peasant. My Mom was a baker by trade, I can not stand sweets nor can I bake. So I mastered soups.
Crab cakes! We live on Puget Sound where Dungeness crabs are plentiful. We catch the crabs, bring the salt water from the bay to a boil in our backyard crab boiling station, and cook as soon as possible after they come out of the bay. A quick plunge in ice to chill the crabs and after spreading a plastic tablecloth on the picnic table, we crack and clean big bowls of crab meat. (Our cat hangs around our feet waiting for the occasional scrap.). We have tweaked a Cooks Illustrated recipe to our tastes and serve big platters of the pan fried cakes to our family and guests. It’s a weekly meal during the two month season.
Coq Au Vin. As a teenage bellboy growing up in San Juan, Puerto Rico a French ex pat chef in the hotel taught me how to make a proper Coq AU Vin. When I came to the states to go to college I might make it to impress a date. A gal I loved in college went on to write a book and her fictional character Fernando was a street tough who knew a thing or two about cooking and his CAV had magical qualities. I made it for my sweetheart recently and she looked up in a swoon and said it made her knees buckle. Recently I went home to San Juan and went to the local Pollera and got a fat bird to my now 82 year old chef, Michel and after a night of resting in red wine he elevated the lovely bird to the Sainted Dish. ¡Mejor que nunca!
The one recipe that defines me, at least currently, grew from my desire to capture the essence of the local flavors from here where I live in Costa Rica. I had been toying with the notion of creating a Costa Rican BBQ sauce, but instead I landed on what I call, "Salsa de la Jungla".
I cook down several ripe mangos with the juice and rind of the local citrus called "mandarina" (it has no relation at all to tangerines of any type; it's an orange/green fruit with a brilliant sunshine interior and a flavor that is a combination of lime, sour orange, and orange); raw cane sugar, a good amount of grated ginger and the local panamenio peppers (much like a habanero).
I cook let this simmer on low heat until it has thickened, then puree it and pass it through a chiinois. The resulting sauce is golden, thick and spicy and goes on fish, chicken, pork, and yes, grilled vegetables. And it does taste like all my favorite local flavors at once.
fresh morels, just harvested from the woods beyond my backyard, stuffed with pate de fois gras, sauteed briefly in butter with a touch of garlic and cognac, served with crustless toast points
Pappa al pomodoro, the Tuscan day-old bread and tomato soup. Simple, Tuscan, genuine, thrifty, unpretentious, but a comfort food, especially when doused in a peppery extra virgin olive oil
I can’t describe myself in a single recipe. What describes me is my garden and my pantry and what’s available and at it’s prime right now. I love to garden and I love to cook. Even though it is winter in NH I have frozen plum tomatoes, garlic, onions, and lots of yummy condiments in jars. Smelts are in season right now. So fried local smelts from the fish cooperative served with slaw from the last of my cabbage and tartar sauce from my pickles is what describes me today. When it snows this weekend it will be garden tomato soup garnished with micro greens growing in my basement and grilled cheese.
What splendid recipes. This is a hard one; there are so many! But I've been a member of my CSA since 2002, and one of the joys is finding a use for produce at the time of year when it's ripe and purely perfect. I was going to say leek and potato soup, which is perfection itself and infinitely variable. But instead, maybe a leek and goat cheese galette? The original recipe is Deborah Madison's, but as with any recipe that has become second nature, I continue to tweak it based on the quality of the leeks, the wine I have on hand, my patience for nurturing short crust.... I dunno, ask me tomorrow, and it might be something completely different!
Fresh baked bread. Classic symbol of home and family.
One pot anything 😊
Something delicious from leftovers.
Bouillabaisse!!! With rouille
cookies
🍪
🍪
🍪
Beef Bourguignon. Since I've retired I've been low and slow. LOL
Sour cherry pie. There's that lovely two-week period in late June-early August when the Union Square Greenmarket has sour cherries. I get as many as I can afford and make pies with a homey but delicious, super flaky butter and lard crust. My pies make everyone happy, especially these very richly colored, fresh and seasonal ones. That's why I love to bake and cook.
I really think any well thought out and complex sandwich - a sandwich is a thing of beauty and an act of love. Either hot or cold, you can create something perfectly balanced with savoury, crunchy, sweet, tart, saucy, spicy, herby, hot and cold elements and then a delicious bread that works for that particular filling whether it be soft, steamed, crusty or toasted. It's creativity in action.
You can eat a different sandwich for your every meal as well as for snacks and you wouldn't tire of them.
Bread is so versatile and generous, butter is sent from heaven and then you have all those fillings to choose from.
You can enjoy an entire meal like lasagne, melanzane parmigiana or even fried chicken between two slices of bread and it only makes it better.
Sandwiches ALL DAY LONG for me.
Braised short ribs with a dash of an orange gremolata, served with a mature Bourgogne. The long slow braise allows the house to smell so wonderful, you can almost taste it in the air. Very seductive
Cassoulet -- I have been making it each year for my husband's birthday since the first year we met (1993). First learned about the dish when I worked for Glorious Food in the '80s. I enjoy prepping the duck for the confit (once, I helped process the ducks), some years I have grown my own beans, garlic and put up tomatoes. Each year tastes different, but I always make it around the end of February, signaling the end of winter cooking.
Come on, people! Why? Why do these recipes describe you? I’m thinking of a dish that is layered with multiple textures; lasagna perhaps? Or nachos?
Roast chicken with duck fat roasted potatoes, green salad
Chicken pot pie! I roast a free range chicken and use the classic vegetables, although I roast the carrots for this. Deglaze pan with dry sherry as use the pan drippings in my veloute along with some homemade chicken stock, I make a rough puff pastry for the crust and the whole thing is a simple, humble and delicious act of love.
Penne Al Sugo Di Carne. The recipe comes from a compilation cookbook titled Portland, Oregon Chefs Table. This rich beef and pasta dish was shared by the Italian restaurant Caffe Mingo (which has survived the pandemic I'm happy to say). Though I never dined at Caffe Mingo, I feel this recipe represents me in the following ways...
-You need a round bottom. I have one.
-The recipe and I both require 1 1/2 cups Chianti to complete the meal.
-Espresso adds depth to the dish, and my morning routine.
-The meat sears in butter and onions. I can't think of a better smell.
-The beef is roasted, shredded, and pureed in sauce. It's a little varied and complicated. I can relate.
-The restaurant this recipe comes from lies in the heart of Portland. I had to leave that city but a piece of my heart remains.
I love to cook and grow my own vegetables and lettuces. My husband and I traveled to Italy many times, driving through the countryside searching for the best places to eat using a wonderful book by Fred Plotkin as our guide.(Italy for the Gourmet Traveler) My husband dubbed me La Reina de la Cucina!
One of the most wonderful things I have made is a 10 layer lasagna bolognese. Ten very thin hand rolled layers of pasta cooked just a few seconds in boiling water and then patted dry. Layered with bechamel and bolognese sauce. It took all day but was just as amazing as the one we had in Italy, I say always try something at least once!
An Apple Pie, you can dress me up, dress me down, must have a great crust as the foundation, sometimes firm sometimes squishy in the middle, warm like the cinnamon, just a little tart when you need it, always makes people smile, great for any meal, and can fix most emotional disasters.
Ina’s Italian Wedding Soup. I have made an infinite variety of this soup for decades, but Ina’s is perfection. I have tried tweaking it here and there, but perfection is, well, perfection! Of course I add homemade bread; right now it’s Chad Robertson’s country white from Tartine Bread. Soup and bread. That says everything about me.
What an interesting read this is.
My answer, after much thought ! would be homemade gravy or savoury sauce of any description. Growing up, we never had gravy on the Sunday roast because my father was always on a diet !!
I was determined when I had my own kitchen to learn how. Thank heavens, so many years ago now.
Giant sticky rice balls. It’s the last recipe my grandmother taught me before she stopped talking to me (and descended fully into dementia). Completely impractical, unhealthy, and hilarious.
The dried fruit cream scones from Marion Cunningham's "The Breakfast Book" signal attention and love. A ribbon marks the place and the broken spines fall open to page 55, spotted with ingredients and annotated with personal variations. These tender scones have been present at nearly every holiday celebration since my now-grown kids were just babes. Scones whipped up with basic flour, scant sugar, heavy cream, baking powder (they'll never let me forget the time I accidentally ruined Christmas when I used baking soda not powder) and salt. I lean toward dried cranberries and fresh orange zest. Bake, butter and feel the years peel away.
Without a doubt — Marcella Hazan’s “Baked Green Lasagne with Meat Sauce, Bolognese Style.” That is, I describe my best self as authentic, homemade, no frills, no shortcuts, a work that takes a long time to come to fruition, made with care and attention, and when I’m done — really really worth the wait! (Someday I hope to become this version of myself.)
Simple grilled sea bass. I struggled for years cooking fish badly. I ended up buying books by Eric Ripert and attending several of his quarantine cooking classes through AMEX and RESY. After laboring for months I finally got the knack for cooking fish and now I love to cook fish and people love to enjoy my fish meals. So satisfying.
honestly I'm more interested in your novel! any details? potential pub plans?
Mushroom brisket beef barley soup simmered for hours with a touch of cognac for that hidden umami bomb
Kimchi ramen surprise. This was a late night, drunken, improvised dish. Make ramen with just enough water to cook. Add the seasoning packet, but it’s important that the ramen is Korean shin ramen, a spicy variety. Add your favorite cheese and one egg and stir quickly to make a creamy sauce. Add kimchi and serve. Now I add kimchi to all cheese dishes, it pairs well. Think kimchi grilled cheese, kimchi mac and cheese, or kimchi quesadillas. Spicy, creamy, improvised, comforting, that’s me.
Apple pie
Osso Bucco, veal or lamb, with a lovely gremolata and served over polenta or with gnocchi if I'm ambitious. This is the epitome of comfort food and I tweak it a bit different every time. Last time I used veal and served it with a lovely Dolcetto. Mmmmm
Etoufee
Mine would be Ribolitta. Years ago, while traipsing through Italy, I came across this wonderful soup. I love good soup and this one took my heart. Everyone adds a bit of themselves to this dish. But, the end result and finishing is the same…..Delicious, with a grating of Parmesan and a blob of olive oil (that you could drink!).
Chili served with cinnamon buns. A classic from my school cafeteria. Thank you lunch ladies!
Pink lentil dal with turmeric and loads of golden-fried garlic. It’s simple and grounding.
Farmer's Market Spring Risotto