I’m a certified AYCL — All Year Corn Lover — which means my passion doesn’t just bubble up in the late summer when delicious, peak-season corn hits the farmer’s market. No, I’m looking for excuses to cook with delectable maize any month of the year. I’m just as thrilled to whip up a corn salad in February as I am in late August. But the key difference is that in these dog days of summer, there happens to be a lot of corn lying around, and since I simply can’t resist chucking it in my basket whenever I see it, I wind up ramping up my corn output considerably.

This is my way of saying that I’ve been cooking a lot of corn dishes this summer.

The corn parade began in June when I dove into Colu Henry’s fantastic Pan-Seared Trout with Corn Salad and Spicy Basil Dressing. The star here was the trout, but the corn was certainly an Oscar™ nominated supporting actress, enlivened with an herbaceous sour cream. A fabulous way to kick off summer corn season.

Later that month I flirted with Jenny Rosenstrach’s Coconut-Corn Soup with Tofu, Basil, and Chiles from the book The Weekday Vegetarians Get Simple, but somehow I veered into Mark Bittman’s Basic Corn Chowder, which is as simple as it is delicious. This recipe always works — sweet, corny, and somehow a great summer AND winter soup.

Things kicked into high gear on July 4th. That’s when I made the dish I’d been eyeing ever since I first purchased Ixta Belfrage’s excellent Mezcla: brown butter curried corn bread. It began by cooking corn in brown butter, which is always an auspicious way to kick off a recipe. Then the sassy part (and there’s always a sassy part with an Ixta Belfrage recipe): the batter brought together yogurt, Scotch bonnet chiles (I used habanero), green onions, ginger, curry powder, lime, polenta, maple syrup, and some of that corn. It was all blitzed in a food processor and baked off, with a few additional maple syrup interludes along the way. If this sounds enticing, I can assure you… it was.

This was a sensational cornbread. It was practically a shame to even cut into it, what with its corn-laden surface resembling exposed aggregate concrete (complimentary). But I’m glad we ravaged this golden, photogenic delight because its flavor was well-worth the cornbread mutilation. Rich, dense, moist, sweet… but also fragrant from the curry and spicy from the chiles — there were some amazing things going on here.

And then the texture: a dream! Chewy edges gave way to pleasant pops of kernels that I would never be so pretentious to say “danced on the tongue”… but perhaps they did a light shimmy and a toe-tap.

This was classic cornbread, yes, but something about the ginger, curry powder, and lime struck vaguely Thai notes. Traditionalists might not love that. I, however, am not a traditionalist. Just a fantastic recipe that was well worth the effort.

Subscribe now

The rest of July was a perpetual stream of corn cobs, and then heading into August, a friend bequeathed me with some errant tomatillos, which I eventually charred and transformed into salsa verde. This led to a late night desperation casserole that employed layers of corn, cherry tomatoes, canned tuna, and a random, grated block of fontina cheese. Some lonely tortillas formed the structure of this experiment (thus making the dish something of a layered enchilada), and of course ribbons of the salsa verde ran through the whole concoction. It all turned out nicely, and had I been a bit more attentive about my seasoning, this dish could have been downright delicious. But as it was, this quasi Mexican adventure was a lovely vehicle for corn consumption, and that’s really all I wanted out of it.

After my casserole adventure, I centered corn yet again with a double dip into Great Bakes, a new release from Martin Sorge. Los Angeles cookbook store Now Serving invited me to lead a conversation with Martin at local bakery Friends & Family, and in preparation for the event, I naturally felt it was my professional duty to try a few of his recipes. The book leans into midwestern sensibilities; so, of course there were plenty of corn recipes, and of course, I gravitated towards them, and of course, they were a delight.

I began with Martin’s Corn, Tomato, and Red Pepper Galette, which was not only a beautiful showcase for corn but also the book’s signature Flaky Pastry recipe (essentially a pie crust that flirts with puff pastry). This was a bit of a showstopper (pun intended, since Martin won The Great American Baking Show) whose colors and flavors swirled together to make a fine summer centerpiece. Extra bonus: the layer of cream cheese that glued all the vegetables together. I’d be hard pressed to ever send back any item that showcased corn and cream cheese together.

Next I entered the wild and exciting world of freeze-dried corn. I had no idea such an ingredient existed, but then I encountered Martin’s Sweet Corn Shortbread. The zero moisture freeze-dried corn is essential for the recipe, and since it’s absolutely nowhere to be found in Los Angeles, I wound up ordering a jar of it on Amazon. Yes, it felt excessive for a simple shortbread recipe, but I just had to know what freeze-dried corn tasted like.

Like corn! Turns out freeze-dried corn tastes just like corn, which makes sense given that it is, in fact, corn. But it’s light as air - like a Rice Krispie or some other air-puffed cereal. In other words, freeze-dried corn is very fun. The recipe calls for the light-as-air kernels to be thrashed in a food processor until they become a sweet, corny sand. We then mix in some classic shortbread ingredients — butter, sugar, flour, vanilla, etc. — as well as some cornmeal until a vividly yellow, undeniably corn-forward mixture comes together. It this state, the uncooked batter explodes with corn flavor, which mutes a bit after a stint in the oven, but fear not: the final cookies still have a distinctly maize quality about them. Super tasty and fun.

My summer ended with a massive, fabulous moment of corn celebration. Enter Under Coconut Skies. This Filipino cookbook by Yasmin Newman has sat quietly in my collection for years without me touching a single recipe, and with guilt ebbing away at me, I decided to end its dry streak. I landed on Suam Na Mais — Clam & Corn Soup with Chili Leaves.

We begin by shucking four ears of corn, most of which gets puréed with stock in a food processor. Then we sauté some aromatics in a pot: onion, garlic, ginger — the usual suspects. Tomato and chillies and the corn mixture eventually join the party as well as the remaining whole kernels. After some boiling and thickening, it’s time for the clams to meet their untimely demise. The recipe tells us to cook the bivalves for 3-5 minutes, but realistically it took about 7 minutes for the stubborn shellfish to surrender to the corn (that’s probably because I used large Littleneck clams instead of a recommended small variety). Nevertheless, once those shells had sprung open, I swirled in fish sauce and skipped the titular chili leaves because, well, I didn’t have them.

I had some reservations about this soup before I tasted it. The corn-stock mixture looked thin and sad. I wasn’t convinced this soup would take me to the highs of, say, a velvety chowder. But on the other hand, the soup’s electric yellow color seemed to scold me: “You dare question the corn quotient of ME when I am sitting here IMPOSSIBLY golden?”

I should know not to doubt the corn gods. This was a fantastic soup full of mighty corn flavor but also salty brininess from the clams. There were moments where I feared the soup was almost too sweet, but the funky fish sauce kept everything just in check. Not only was this a wonderful crescendo for a summer of corn, but it was a great debut recipe for Under Coconut Skies.

There is no trophy for best corn dish of the summer, but if there were one, I’d probably award it to that decadent cornbread. It lives in a very active part of my brain now. But right behind it by a hair — or perhaps, some corn silk — is Yasmin Newman’s tremendous Clam & Corn Soup.

The sad news is that summer and its corn bounty is drawing to a close, but the good news is that I am not above supermarket corn. Plus, I live in Los Angeles, land of (mostly) endless summer anyway. I’m not sure what kernels of joy Autumn will bring, but I’m certain that the corn train won’t be slowing down anytime soon.

What are some of your favorite corn recipes? And what’s your favorite method for making corn on the cob?

Around this time every summer I put on my invisible Nancy Meyers sun hat, traipse down to my kitchen, and make an open-faced Caprese sandwich. Part of the motivation is the abundance of seasonal ingredients; part of it is boredom; and the remainder is general pretentiousness, which I’m always excited to lean into. Truthfully though, one can only nibble away at so many turkey and cheddar sandwiches before you crave something fresh and elevated for lunch, if not slightly healthy (assuming that Caprese sandwiches are healthy, which may be debatable).

What usually gets the ball rolling is the bread. I’m fortunate enough to live near an outpost of Tartine, a San Francisco bakery known for its legendary sourdough. Every so often I treat myself to a loaf, and that kickstarts a week of me attempting all sorts of bougie (or at least aspirational) open-faced sandwiches. After all, it would be a crime to let such a fine specimen of carbohydrates go to waste.

Over the years I’ve experimented with all sorts of wannabe tartines. I’ve gone the bean route, I’ve gone the veggie route. I’ve played with fish — tinned and otherwise — and I’ve attempted cheese-forward creations. Eggs and avocado have, of course, made multiple appearances, sometimes even together, but the formula I come back to time and again is the Caprese sandwich.

The Caprese’s three central ingredients — tomato, mozzarella, and basil — are incredibly simple, and yet they produce some kind of wild vegetarian alchemy. This accounts for the sandwich’s (and the salad’s) enduring popularity. No wonder Italy’s flag bears the colors of this concoction.

But as luck would have it, whenever I actually want to make a homemade Caprese, I rarely have the raw materials to complete the task. Usually I just have bread and tomatoes. No basil. No mozzarella. What to do? Am I the victim of a highly specific lunchtime version of Murphy’s Law? And yes, I did ask AI if this qualified as a Murphy’s Law scenario. It shamed me with this response:

“Murphy’s Law specifically states: ‘If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong’—and usually at the worst possible time. It involves a specific action leading to a malfunction or an unintended, catastrophic outcome. Your situation is simply the result of poor inventory management or an incomplete grocery list.”

WELL THEN. I really can’t argue with AI on this one. Poor inventory management is an ongoing challenge in my life, but there is great news on the horizon. Turns out the almighty Caprese can easily survive some remixes, should there be a pantry shortfall. The magic formula is in the colors: red, green, and white. As long as they’re preserved, you’re going to have an excellent sandwich.

Traditionalists, now might be a good time to look away.

We start with red: tomatoes. Every Caprese does seem to need tomato. One could argue it’s the most iconic element of the legendary trio. Realistically though, a tomato might not be available. It happens! Without tomato, I might abandon the entire sandwich entirely, but in a pinch, someone could get clever and sub in roasted red peppers. This would definitely be a different Caprese, but I wouldn’t turn my nose up at it (I might quick-pickle the pepper first, just to nudge it over to tomato-ville). Similarly, pickled carrots might also be a fun, unconventional swap. You could even go as far as sliced beets - pickled or roasted. Or maybe we don’t abandon tomatoes; we just change the approach. Skip the fresh tomato and go roasted or fried. Or even crazier: sun-dried. Fun and punchy! Whichever path we go down, we want a mix of sweet and tang from this component.

For white, our options open up considerably. Instead of mozzarella, there are its siblings: burrata and stracciatella. Swirling outwards we reach provolone and ricotta and mascarpone. But there’s so much more beyond the Italian borders: feta (whipped or crumbled, Greek or French), chevre, crème fraîche! Heck, why not cream cheese? Why not cottage cheese? If you really want to go nuts, literally use nuts: cashew cheese. Or whipped tofu. Creaminess is king here.

Lastly, green. Basil is the hero, but in its place opt for its close cousin mint. Full disclosure: I think mint can be a little aggressive; so I usually skew towards dill, which always seems to work with everything anyway. If you’re really desperate, you can go the parsley route. It’s not that parsley tastes bad; it’s just not very exciting. You also don’t have to be bound by herbs. Baby spinach and arugula would be lovely vegetal additions. If red gives brightness and white gives body, green adds freshness.

So, if I spread sour cream on some bread and top it with carrots and cilantro, is that still a Caprese sandwich? Absolutely not. But it does follow the Caprese blueprint! And more importantly, it probably would be a delicious meal (unless you have that pesky gene that makes cilantro taste like soap).

Shockingly, this is not the first time I’ve felt impassioned enough to write about Caprese offshoots. Nearly two years ago I breathlessly extolled the virtues of a “Not-Quite Caprese” tartine that used air-fried cherry tomatoes and cream cheese (delicious, by the way). I also mused on some variations, some of them identical to the previous few paragraphs, which has me thinking: is this column a rerun?

No, it’s not! Because I have something new to add! I did a great spin on the Caprese formula this afternoon, and it was so good I had to immediately run over here and write this newsletter. Should the spirit of Caprese experimentation speak to you, here’s a version you might want to make (read: definitely make this).

A Very Exciting Caprese Simulation

First, the bread. I toasted a slice of sourdough. Nothing fancy here - just bread in a toaster oven. I didn’t even add any olive oil to it.

When the bread emerged, I smeared a yogurt mixture atop it. This was actually leftover lemony yogurt with za’atar and dill from Colu Henry’s Spiced Lamb and Lemon Skewers, which I highly recommend cooking if you feel like living life to its fullest. However, in case you don’t want to take a grilled lamb detour, you can get away with just plain yogurt (Greek, labneh, or classic style) on this toast. A pinch of salt wouldn’t hurt.

I wanted a dash of protein on my tartine; so I draped a few anchovies across the yogurt layer. Yes, this pushes us away from Caprese territory, but I claim artistic license. Besides, the anchovies help bring out the natural umami in tomato; so I think they’ve more than earned their place in the modern Caprese conversation.

Speaking of tomatoes, I shingled a few slices over the anchovies and then drizzled with salmoriglio, an Italian condiment that employs olive oil, parsley, garlic, and oregano, among other things. It’s reminiscent of salsa verde, but with a bit more sass. We like sass. Since many Capreses have an olive oil and balsamic component, I figured the salmoriglio, leftover from a recent kitchen adventure, would sub in just fine. Chances are I won’t always have salmoriglio on hand in the future; so a simple salsa verde spiked with a dash of vinegar would probably do the trick too.

Lastly I stayed true to one aspect of a classic Caprese: the basil, which I conveniently plucked from the lopsided plant I’ve been growing for the past few months. My adorable, ungainly basil lives on my kitchen island, and I keep it alive by only watering the saucer under its pot. Incredibly, this does work. Now my basil plant has a Benson Boone mullet shape, which makes it perfect for Caprese garnish duty.

While the ingredients may suggest otherwise, this tartine was still unmistakably a Caprese, at least in spirit. It hit all the expected notes (acidic, creamy, herby) with a few others to boot, courtesy of the anchovies and salmoriglio. I’ll leave the debate over authenticity to the comments section. All that really matters is that this collection of ingredients made for a truly divine open-faced sandwich. Give it a try!

If you’re looking for a proper recipe format for the sandwich, here you go:

RECIPE: Not Quite Caprese (2026 Edition)

Ingredients:

1-2 tablespoons salmoriglio or salsa verde (optional), ingredients listed here:

• 1 tbs dried oregano

• zest and juice of 2 lemons

• 2 garlic cloves, minced

• 1 ¼ tsp kosher salt

• 1/2 tsp black pepper

• 1/3 cup olive oil

1 slice of sourdough bread

plain yogurt, regular or Greek or labneh

salt and pepper

3-4 anchovy fillets in oil

1 medium tomato

1 small handful basil leaves

Method:

1. If you feel like making salmoriglio, it takes 2 seconds to whip up. Here’s the America’s Test Kitchen version: Whisk oregano, lemon zest and juice, garlic, 1¼ teaspoons salt, and ½ teaspoon pepper in bowl until salt is dissolved. Whisk in oil.

2. Toast your sourdough until it’s the shade you like it (medium golden is about right for me).

3. Add a spoonful or more of the yogurt to the toast. It should look fluffy not thin. Season lightly with kosher salt if you want. Use a fork to lift the anchovies from their oil and drape them across the bread at intervals. No need to rinse the fillets, but do shake a little of the oil off. They will be salty, but the yogurt will offset it.

4. Drizzle a few spoonfuls of the salmoriglio or salsa verde over the yogurt and anchovies.

5. Slice the tomato into 3-4 slices about 3/8 to 1/2” thick. Shingle the slices across the toast. Season with kosher salt and pepper. If you have more salmoriglio, speckle some across the tomatoes.

6. Give your basil leaves a rough chop or chiffonade (your choice!) and scatter liberally across the sandwich.

7. Enjoy!

   ---

What are some of your favorite approaches to a Caprese? Any good substitutes you’ve encountered? TELL ME EVERYTHING!

Share

America celebrated its 250th birthday this past weekend, and despite some attempts at a mediocre state fair thing on the National Mall, it was pretty much business as usual on July 4th: fireworks, injuries due to said fireworks, and videos of said injuries due to said fireworks. Amidst the pandemonium, of course, was much barbecuing, and generally speaking, if there’s going to be an open grill, there will be bowls of potato salad nearby. To boot: just a few days ago the New York Times argued that the humble potato salad deserves a spot “atop the list of great American dishes.”

It’s fun that the Gray Lady has acknowledged the tuber-mayonnaise industrial complex, but we really didn’t need them to exclaim what we already knew: potato salad is a staple amongst staples. One simple recipe search for the dish yields more results than perhaps actual potatoes on the planet. The choices are a blessing and a curse - one that I experienced intensely over the weekend.

A few days ago, some of us coerced our friend Judy to fire up her grill on the 4th, and immediately I elected to make a very funky cornbread; Ixta Belfrage’s Curried Brown Butter Cornbread specifically. This has nothing to do with potato salad, but you should know about this recipe and make it as soon as possible. Here’s a picture.

Anyhoo, embarking on a cornbread project for July 4th was fun and all, but it simply was not enough to only cook a crazy cornbread. I also needed to bring a potato salad! The reasoning was threefold:

1. I love cooking! Why not make another thing?

2. I love potato salad and wanted representation at the BBQ

3. I have too many cookbooks that I don’t use enough, and I feel guilty about it; so any excuse to dive into them I will take!

Even though I have a fabulous recipe I’ve been using for sixteen years (credit to whichever long-forgotten food blogger posted it circa 2010), I fired up Cookshelf and typed in “potato salad.” I then examined all sixty four results to determine which would receive the golden ticket to Judy’s backyard.

I whittled the list down to six contenders:

• Garlicky Potato Salad from Edy Massih’s Keep It Zesty. The pitch: garlic, preserved lemons, Greek yogurt, and Edy’s generally excellent know-how when it comes to apps and mezze offerings. One Eat Your Books user proclaimed “this recipe is phenomenal.”

• Creamy Miso Potato Salad from Carolina Gelen’s Pass The Plate: miso, anchovies, olives, capers, and potato chips (!!) promise umami and unbridled ZING. “The best potato salad I’ve ever had,” says one EYB commenter.

• Country-Style Potato Salad from Toni Tipton-Martin’s Jubilee: Toni’s talent is unassailable, and this recipe keeps things wonderfully classic, which is actually all we need.

• Snappy and Herby Potato Salad with Frizzled Leeks from Colu Henry’s Better at Home: I’ve been cooking nearly exclusively from this book over the past 8 weeks; so why not try yet another recipe? Plus, leeks and fennel and herbs feel like the right direction for potato salad.

• Browned Butter Potato Salad from Alison Roman’s Something from Nothing: A mayo-free pivot from Alison Roman, who rarely ever misses. There’s capers, dill, grain mustard - all the AR hits.

• Pickled Potato Salad from Casey Elsass’s What Can I Bring?: Not only is it the cover photo of Casey’s book, but this recipe with its pickles and handfuls of herbs hails from a cookbook that focuses exclusively on feeding crowds at potlucks.

I pored over each candidate fastidiously, cross-checking with food blogs and Instagram accounts wherever I could. How could any sane person select just one single recipe to make? They all look unrelentingly fabulous!

That’s when I realized I needn’t be bound by the terrestrial rules of potato saladry. Sure, convention tells us that mere mortals should only bring one potato salad to a BBQ, but what if, dear reader, I were to bring… three?

I concluded that the universe was large enough to accommodate three potato salads at one table, and if anyone was going to shift the paradigm on potato salad potluck culture, it was going to be me. There are in fact no rules against an ambitious potato salad agenda; so why not go for it?

I tearfully scrapped half of the contenders (better luck next time Alison, Colu, and Edy) and got to work on the remaining three. Admittedly, I was concerned that making three potato salads simultaneously would lead to some sort of mixup and disaster. What if I accidentally added pickle juice to Toni’s recipe and the relish to Casey’s? A potato salad calamity for the ages!

But in practice, multi-tasking through a trio of potato salads was pretty simple, perhaps even invigorating! You haven’t lived life until you’ve had three separate pots of potatoes bubbling away on your stovetop simultaneously.

A reliable classic

First up: Toni Tipton-Martin’s recipe, which actually hails from former Top Chef contestant and Oakland culinary superstar Tanya Holland (a very similar recipe can be found in her book Brown Sugar Kitchen). This classic approach uses cubed russet potatoes, which are first dumped into boiling water, and then later tossed with mayonnaise, sweet relish, mustard (I used dijon), hard boiled eggs, green onions, and celery. It’s finished with a dusting of paprika.

This was the quintessential potato salad recipe - almost as if I had sourced it directly from Costco or a supermarket (I say this with utmost respect and flattery). All the classic, nostalgic notes were there: creamy, tangy, starchy. It was exactly what we know and love about potato salad. My partner Dominique requested a bit more sweetness — the version he grew up with used Miracle Whip; so I attempted to shift the flavor profile in that direction, but one can only modify the seasoning so many times before everything turns into a mash — especially since I had accidentally overcooked the poor spuds. Don’t worry: diced celery, hard boiled eggs, and green onions preserved texture and crunch in the face of my hostile wooden spoon (also, a mashed-style potato salad is not uncommon anyway). At a certain point I stopped futzing with this dish and just let it be. Still tasted delicious. Sadly, I forgot to take a nice photo of this potato salad; so you’ll just have to trust that the following goopy imagery actually tasted wonderful.

Shooting for the umami stars

I loved the simplicity of Toni Tipton-Martin’s recipe, but I was most excited for and intrigued by this positively wacky potato salad from Carolina Gelen. She calls for baby Yukons that we add to boiling water and then eventually peel. Luckily that last bit is optional — there was no way I was going to stand over my garbage bowl removing the skins from a million tiny potatoes!

Actually, I lie. Knowing me I probably would have done the extra labor in pursuit of completionism had I not accidentally purchased full-fledged adult Yukons instead of babies. Oops. I did peel those (three potatoes total - no big whoop) and cut them into shapes that approximated babies. I think it’s probably fine to do this in the future.

While the potatoes cooked, I made the mayonnaise dressing. First, I blended the mayo, anchovies, garlic, diced shallot, white miso, drained capers, and vinegar. Next I tasted for umami. The dressing was lovely — delicious even! — but it was merely giving briny brightness, which would have been perfect for a tuna salad. However, our mission was to reach umami Xanadu (Xanadumami?). It took about 3-4 additional teaspoons of miso to get the mixture not just tangy, but addictive — the kind of addictive that hits the back corners of your tongue with an umami assault.

When the dressing felt right, I added our waxy friends to the bowl and then some Castelvetrano olives that had been crushed, pitted, and torn (like so many wonderful Joan Allen characters). Immediately I was struck by how wet this potato salad was. It looked almost like chowder. Carolina recommends mashing some of the potatoes against the side of the bowl to help set up the mixture, and that definitely improved the state of affairs, but I think there were a few things working against me. First, I had used low-fat mayo (gasp) which is a bit looser than the real stuff. It’s usually not an issue, but I think it may have been a factor here. Secondly, I accidentally included some caper brine in the dressing, which may have been a thinning force. And finally, I suspect my olives could have been drained better as they too carried a good amount of brine with them into the bowl.

The good news is that by the time this potato salad hit the table, it certainly had firmed up a bit (a few hours in the fridge and some time with that potato starch can do wonders), but of the three, this was the runniest. There’s nothing bad about that, but I think for a potato salad we want thick and velvety textures; not thin and soupy. Maybe I just needed more potatoes?

But… BUT! A salve. The last puzzle piece of Carolina’s potato salad is also the thing that makes it extra food-influencer-y. Potato chips! Yes, just before serving, we crush a bunch of kettle chips onto the potato salad, which not only makes it ready-for-TikTok, but provides a lifeboat of texture.

Flavor-wise, this miso potato salad was a sassy, slap-upside-the-head doozy. There’s nothing about olives, capers, miso, and anchovies that ever says “subtle,” and those ingredients predictably did their thing. I felt like I’d been shot in the face by a flavor blunderbuss. With all the intensity, I did miss some of the subtle sweet notes of the Yukons, and the texture still wasn’t exactly what I was looking for, but wow, this was by no means a failure. Had this potato salad been the only option available, it would have been an undisputed triumph.

But here’s the thing. This was shaping up to be a potato salad Olympics. It’s not enough to be a triumph. You have to be a generational STAR to take home the crown in this potato salad competition. And by the way, did I mention this was now a competition?

Subscribe now

Getting into a pickle

Next to enter the ring was Casey Elsass’s Pickled Potato Salad. He writes “If you’ve been dying to have a killer potato salad in your arsenal—and really, everyone should—this recipe will help get you on the right track.” These are fighting words.

Casey’s potato approach is slightly different than the previous two. He places three pounds of baby creamer potatoes in cold water, and once the pot has come to a boil, he cooks for eight minutes. I was distracted; so I let the potatoes go for ten minutes instead. That’s called living on the edge.

After the spuds have cooled for five minutes, we need to cut them all in half, which did not thrill me, but you know, sometimes one must suffer for journalistic integrity. We then toss the warm taters with pickle brine, which is fun, and pepperoncini brine, which is downright festive. We also add vinegar and celery seeds, and then let the bowl hang out for an hour so everything can be absorbed.

In the meantime, we whip up the rest of the dressing. It’s nothing revolutionary — just mayo and grainy mustard with diced dill pickles and pepperoncini (you didn’t think we’d only use the brine did you?). Like both other potato salads, there was plenty of tang on display here, but the flavors hewed closer to Jewish deli than Southern BBQ (Tipton-Martin) or Mediterranean umami (Gelen), especially once I added gobs of chopped dill and parsley.

Casey’s potato salad was unequivocally the most beautiful of the batch. The multicolored potatoes, the streaks of white mayo, the speckles of herbs — it was a showstopper on the table (and incredibly photogenic). It’s the only potato salad of the group that presented like a sophisticated side as opposed to a picnic go-with. Admittedly, I packaged the first two potato salads in Tupperware to look kitschy and nostalgic; Casey’s dish yielded way too much for my simple containers and wound up in a glamorous Heath bowl. Nevertheless, once all three potato salads were scooped onto the plate, Casey’s was the clear bombshell of the villa.

Unfortunately, we’ve all been burned by beautiful food that tastes like trash.

Fortunately, that’s not the case here.

The Pickled Potato Salad was excellence. I have not a single negative thing to say about it. I loved the mouthfeel of the potatoes — creamy but with the most delicate and joyful chew (SO FUN). And the flavor was exactly what my pleasure centers craved. Part of me wonders if I gave this recipe a leg up by using real deal mayo (as opposed to the “Lite” version I employed in the other two), but I don’t believe that should be a make-or-break factor. This one just worked on all levels: flavor, texture, aesthetics, and easiness.

A clear winner… maybe?

Choosing a definitive potato salad from these three was not easy. But it also sort of was. My gut told me one thing, but then my tastebuds challenged me to reconsider. In the end, I followed my gut… (and fed it too).

The thing is that all three of these potato salads were great in their own ways. I absolutely adored the classic quality of Toni Tipton-Martin’s recipe. I loved the aggressiveness of Carolina Gelen’s miso party (let alone the inventiveness too). And I couldn’t hold back from Casey Elsass’s refined, pickled showstopper. Each would be a conversation piece (and rapidly consumed) had they soloed at any other gathering.

But ultimately, it was very much the Pickled Potato Salad that won my heart. It gave me the sharp brininess of the Miso Potato Salad and the homey comfort of the Country-Style version. This was the dish that most reflected the sort of food I gravitate to these days: bright flavors, tons of herbs, a sophisticated yet accessible profile. NBD Fancy, if you will.

Most at the table agreed; although one dissenter absolutely went gaga for the Miso Potato Salad. His eyes widened at the sight of the potato chip integration — a deeply nostalgic touch for him — and from that point on he was obsessed. Potato salad, it turns out, is more than just flavor and texture; it’s a nostalgia bus that can motor us back to childhood or at least to some carefree memories of cookouts in the park. For cooks, it’s an unfussy and playful time in the kitchen — everyone can put their stamp on the dish, and even the biggest kitchen goofs still somehow succeed.

Maybe that’s why I was excited to triple down on potato salad this year. I hate pitting these unassuming recipes against each other, but nevertheless, if we had to name a people’s champ, and given that everyone is a winner and special in this life, I award Casey Elsass’s Pickled Potato Salad the best in class for 2026.

The real question now is whether or not I circle back to the other three potato salads I chopped? Stay tuned. Please share your favorite potato salad recipe in the comments below. Maybe there’ll be a round 2? Or 3?

In the meantime, here’s a bonus potato salad recipe that I haven’t made in a while but has always served me well. Original author lost to the Internet and adapted over the years by me.

RECIPE: Potato Artichoke Salad

INGREDIENTS:

• 1 lb red new potatoes

• 1 lbs Yukon Gold potatoes

• 1 yellow onion

• 4 cloves of garlic

• 5 cooked artichoke hearts, jarred or canned is fine

• 2 stalks hearts of palm, canned or jarred is fine

• 1 tbs butter or olive oil

• 1 cup mayonnaise

• 1/4 cup brown mustard or Dijon or grainy

• 1/2 cup cilantro or dill, chopped (optional)

• salt and pepper to taste

DIRECTIONS:

1. Chop the potatoes into 1” chunks. Dice the onion and mince the garlic. Thinly slice the artichoke hearts and hearts of palm.

2. Bring a pot of heavily salted water to a boil. Add the potatoes and cook until fork-tender, about 20 minutes. Drain.

3. While the potatoes cook, heat the butter (or olive oil) in a 12” skillet over medium heat. When warm add the onions and cook until translucent - about 5-10 minutes. Add the garlic and cook for about 30 seconds until aromatic. Remove from the heat.

4. In a large bowl, mix together the mayo, the mustard, the herbs, and the cooked onion and garlic.

5. Add the potatoes, the artichokes, and the hearts of palm. Fold together, being sure not to break up the potatoes.

6. Chill at least 1 hour in the refrigerator.

Recipe links from this column:

• Ixta Belfrage’s Curried Brown Butter Cornbreaed [here]

• Toni Tipton-Martin’s Country-Style Potato Salad [here]

• Carolina Gelen’s Creamy Miso Potato Salad [here]

• Casey Elsass’s Pickled Potato Salad [here]

Share

I am a big fan of Colu Henry. I’d maybe even call myself a “Colu Head”… if that were an actual term that existed. I boarded the Colu Train in the heady days of 2018 when I somehow came across her debut cookbook Back Pocket Pasta. It became a go-to resource in my kitchen (back pocket, if you will) and an oft-recommended gift suggestion for others. Colu Henry expanded beyond pasta with her second book, Colu Cooks, in 2022, and along the way she casually lit up the cooking section of the New York Times, where most of her recipes enjoy unsullied 5-star ratings from *thousands* of reviewers. (I’m partial to her Creamy White Beans with Herb Oil).

Now comes Henry’s 3rd book, Better at Home, which continues her streak of easy, elevated dishes. “Recipes for big nights in,” promises the cover. It feels apt. Henry fits into my favorite pod of food writers — those that are all about making unfussy, approachable meals that somehow present much fancier than they are to concoct (hence, “NBD Fancy.”). We all know the types: Alison Roman, Andy Baraghani, Carla Lalli Music, et al.

Despite all the rave reviews on her New York Times recipes, I feel like Colu Henry is still somewhat under the radar. Maybe Better at Home will change that.

Henry began her career as a barista, bartender, and waitress in Boston before moving to NYC where she added cabaret singer to her burgeoning resume (as someone who just performed a 3 night parody cabaret in Hell’s Kitchen, I have nothing but massive respect for this quirky facet of her CV). Eventually Henry teetered into food PR and hospitality (RIP cabaret trajectories), a fateful pivot that afforded her useful exposure to high profile chef clients who sharpened her culinary POV.

Nowadays, having pushed out two other cookbooks, Henry spends a good chunk of time up in Nova Scotia restoring a farmhouse with her husband Chad. It’s not really a lifestyle I ever pined for (I’m a New Construction girlie), and yet the anecdotes that generously pepper Better at Home feel delightfully transporting to me.

“Nic-Nat farm up the road from our house in Nova Scotia has the most beautifully cut lamb chops I’ve ever seen,” Henry announces at the top of one recipe. I instantly imagine Colu and Chad hopping in their car to explore their environs, encountering Nic-Nat farm, befriending the proprietors, cooking fabulous lamb chops, and sharing many glasses of wine with their new besties. Because I’m a lunatic, now *I* want to be BFFs with the Nic-Nat people too. I want to have them over to dinner! I want to tell people about their beautiful lamb chops! Is this aspirational or merely just parasocial? I like to think it’s a healthy dose of both.

This is all to say that without even cooking anything in Better at Home, I’m already half-sold on the world it paints. I’ve recently accepted that I’m more bound to try recipes if I believe they’ll inch me closer to a lifestyle I aspire to, and apparently in this case, I’ve unlocked a previously unacknowledged yen for Nova Scotian summers. A wry sense of humor helps too, and that’s definitely on the page here.

The photography, essays, and the recipes themselves sell Henry’s fabulous universe, as does the occasional mention of her friends throughout the pages. Expect cameos from “Scott, Alice, and their daughter Vera” or “my dear friend Hélène,” and of course the ubiquitous Chad, among many others. It reminds me of the world-building in Barefoot Contessa’s heyday as Ina Garten would invite the likes of Frank and Michael and TR to her Hamptons enclave. (And we’ll never forget the late, great Anna Pump).

So, yes, I’m just happy to be a tourist in Henry’s realm. That the recipes are actually pretty fantastic makes it all the better.

Let’s get down to the nitty gritty. Better at Home boasts over a hundred recipes, all of which are billed as “for nights in, with or without company… sophisticated yet simple.” It’s an accurate description; all the recipes seem like they’d kill at a dinner party but work just as well as a solo weeknight option. We love versatile elegance.

Flavors skew bright and briny. Castelvetrano olives rear their wonderful heads so often I wonder if Henry used a dirty martini as her North Star for this book. It wouldn’t be a terrible idea, to be honest.

A variety of cheeses quietly, thankfully populate many recipes too (perhaps to the chagrin of my lactose-intolerant partner) and Henry goes full dairy bonkers with a braised snap pea and lettuce dish that sees a jumble of wilted veg luxuriating in a puddle of heavy cream. I haven’t tried that recipe, but I feel the gravitational pull of it every time I browse past the photo.

Certain ingredients do tend to pop up again and again throughout the book, and at first I was concerned about variability, but Henry writes the following on her succinct Shopping Suggestions page: “I wanted you to get multiple uses out of ingredients rather than having random ‘called for items’ that will linger in your pantry and fridge for months.” I appreciate when a cookbook actually encourages readers to use all the items they accrue. This isn’t a “pantry” cookbook per se, but it definitely mines that territory without being explicit about it.

Chapters are mercifully organized in helpful ways: “Snacky Bits and Sips,” “Veg,” “In Bowls,” “Shells & Fishes,” etc, and there’s even a fun little array of menu suggestions towards the back of the book (I love when authors do this). The “A Little Something Sweet” section is a bit wan, but Henry herself admits in her previous book that desserts are not really her specialty. Nevertheless, the photos throughout Better at Home are, of course, appealing. There’s food on display, yes, but also glimpses of the household, Colu herself, and more unique plates and vessels than you can ever imagine. It’s fun.

But what we’re really all here for is the food.

The Recipes

In just a few short months, this cookbook has been put through the paces: weeknight meals, small gatherings, and one very ambitious Colu-themed Memorial Day BBQ (little did the attendees realize they were all guinea pigs for this review). Let me tell you what I’ve made, and afterwards, I’ll list the recipes I’m still eager to try.

Spicy Shrimp Butter

Ever since Better at Home arrived, I’ve eyed this decadent and dead simple spread. It’s essentially a compound butter: cooked shrimp, chopped shallot, anchovies, Calabrian chili paste, and lemon. It’s hard to describe the flavor of this one - in my mind I was expecting something more aggressive, but this wasn’t as fishy as I thought it might have been, for better or worse. I took Henry’s suggestion to pair the butter with Triscuits, and the whole thing was more or less consumed by BBQ guests swiftly. I really enjoyed what was going on here, but I do have one significant warning: since I had made the (room temp) butter ahead of time, I placed it back in the fridge until guests arrived. This somehow caused a reaction wherein the butter emulsion separated and yada yada yada - it went from smooth and creamy to crumbly. My advice: prepare the mix-ins ahead of time but only add them to the butter just before your guests arrive.

Hélène’s Roasted Olive Dip with Za’atar and Sumac

I hope to meet Colu Henry’s friend Hélène someday, solely so to thank her for her contributions to the world of dip-making. Hélène apparently introduced this recipe to Colu, and now it’s all of ours to enjoy. The base is a simple thing: skyr (an Icelandic yogurt-adjacent product; I just used Greek yogurt), garlic, and salt. The real magic comes from the topping: pitted olives roasted with herbs and Calabrian chilis. I’m not sure I’ve had roasted olives before — at least not in such a front-and-center way — but I will be working them into my repertoire now. Loved this simple, salty, briny dip. My only complaint is that there weren’t enough olives. Next time, I’m doubling the topping.

Golden and Crispy Leeks with Melted Gruyère

We simply cannot complain about roasted leeks — caramelized and sweet — topped with melty, bubbling gruyère. It’s almost like French onion soup without the soup. But if there is a nitpick, it’s that the outers layers of the leeks wind up fibrous, making them annoying to cut through. I think this is just what happens with roasted leeks though. Either way, ditch the tough parts and enjoy the lovely, cheesy interiors. (Or be like me and just eat all of it anyway). One minor note: the ingredients list calls for thyme leaves, but the herb never makes it into the actual steps. I gambled and added it to the leeks before going into the oven. No regrets.

Peas, Shoots, and Leaves with Buttermilk and Feta Dressing

It’s hard to find fault with a pile of fresh greenery atop a feta-centric dressing (unless you hate fresh greenery and/or feta-centric dressing). This recipe calls for snap peas, scallions, and pea shoots, with the latter ingredient proving impossible for me to find. No worries: I swapped in arugula for the pea shoots to great success. This was a fantastic side dish that nearly stole the show at the Memorial Day Colu-fest. It immediately goes into the rotation. One brief note: the buttermilk-feta dressing appears almost fluffy in the recipe’s photo, but in execution, my version came out thin with bits of feta floating within (despite my best efforts to whip-it-good). I assure you this is merely a cosmetic issue; so don’t get discouraged if it happens to you. The dish still turned out exceptionally.

Little Gems with Avocado, Pistachios, and Miso-Honey Dressing

I first made this salad to accompany Henry’s Harissa and Brown Sugar Glazed Salmon (see below). It’s great. Bright, citrusy, sweet, creamy - all the things. The dressing comes together in a blink: white miso, honey, lime juice, and salt. Shockingly, it reads almost like pineapple. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s my brand of miso. Either way, this is a fab salad. Don’t skip the avocado if possible. Something about its mild creaminess really balances out the dressing in a way that elevates the whole salad.

Crunchy Celery and Scallion Salad with Blue Cheese and Marcona Almonds

I’m in my celery salad era, and this breezy, straightforward entry in the genre was a great supporting player the other night when I cooked a Colu meal for my parents. Henry recommends a good quality blue cheese here; with such a scant ingredient list, you want every element to really shine. I opted for a Point Reyes selection. It was the correct choice.

Fennel Gratin with Olives and Provolone

The photo for this recipe jumped out at me the moment I first opened Better at Home: cross sections of fennel slathered in melted cheese and olives with a web of toasted breadcrumbs on top. My version wasn’t quite as photogenic, but I was very pleased with the results — both visually and flavor…ly. This hit all the right notes: comforting, cheesy, indulgent. Sometimes a gratin can feel a bit blah with all the cream, but the sweet fennel, sharp provolone, and the briny olives helped cut through the fatty oppressiveness. Serving this dish alongside a Memorial Day BBQ was maybe not the most seasonally intuitive choice, but on a cold November night? Hell yeah.

Pan-Seared Trout with Corn Salad and Spicy Basil Dressing

I’d never cooked trout before this recipe, but great news: it’s easy! In fact this whole dish was pretty simple, and it would have come together in a snap had I remembered to tell the fish monger to remove the pin bones from my filets. ARGH. A true tweezer nightmare. Anyhoo, the trout is lovely here, but the real star is the corn salad. I used subpar fresh corn, and it still exploded with flavor, thanks in large part to the “dressing” of basil, scallion, jalapeno, lime juice, and sour cream. Many corn salads use these exact components in their chopped form (often subbing a feta or a queso fresco for the sour cream), and by pureeing the ingredients all together in a food processor, Henry finds a way to guarantee the flavors in every bite. Honestly, this may look like a trout dish, but it’s all about the corn. The fish is there simply as a backdrop, and to that effect, a massive success.

Harissa and Brown Sugar Glazed Salmon

The first thing I cooked from Better at Home was this salmon, and I knew that if no other recipe worked, the book would still be worth it for this dish. It’s so low-lift that it rivals (and quite frankly exceeds) my former champion salmon, Ina Garten’s Asian Grilled Salmon. And yes, I did just say “champion salmon.” Ina’s salmon marinade has only 4 ingredients to this recipe’s 5; so I think we’ll allow it. (For more of my favorite salmons, check out my roundup here). The flavor here is spectacular, and when this red beauty hits the table, it’s a real stunner. I see this becoming my go-to salmon for weeknight meals. I mean, duh. It’s the new champion salmon.

Roast Chicken with Lemon, Fennel, and Crispy Pecorino Potatoes

Like the salmon, this roast chicken recipe has lingered in my brain ever since I first made it — and that’s after I royally botched it, too! Basically we roast a chicken atop onions, fennel, potatoes, lemon, and olives. The way the chicken fat mixes, mingles, and ultimately weds all the vegetables is an epic romance worthy of Love Island. Once the bird is cooked, we rest it on the counter but let the veggies continue on for ten more minutes, this time with a generous coating of pecorino. You cannot even imagine how insane this all tastes. Everything melts into everything else; it’s hard to tell where the potato ends and the lemon begins (a declaration I plan to make every day if possible). In my one go-around with this recipe, I accidentally cooked the chicken upside down (don’t ask), which led to some screwy temperature measurements. The meat wound up a bit over, but hey, the poultry isn’t the star here. It’s merely there to lend its fat and juices and can-do spirit to the greater good of the pan vegetables. I am obsessed with this recipe, even if I’m apparently unable to do it correctly.

Spiced Lamb and Lemon Skewers with Cucumber and Sumac

A Memorial Day BBQ felt like the appropriate time to bust out these kebabs, which call for threading lamb, dates, red onions, and lemons on skewers. I’m always surprised at how divisive lamb is; so in the spirit of palate inclusion, I swapped in beef short ribs (protip: ask the grocery store to cube the meat for you). I was a little worried about this: we normally braise short ribs for hours to make them tender and lovely. Would 6-8 minutes on the grill be enough time? Yes! Good lord these pieces of short rib were absolutely delicious. And that’s before I even discuss the marinade: mint, turmeric, cumin, Aleppo pepper, cinnamon, garlic. Just sensational. One or two people even remarked that the skewers were just as good as Bavel, a local LA restaurant that happens to be my favorite in the city. Truly the highest praise a recipe could receive.

But let’s not overlook the many other wonderful aspects of this dish. There are so many components that come together beyond just the beef. We treat some sliced Persian cucumbers with sumac and lemon juice; we whip up labneh with za’atar, lemon juice, and herbs; and we grill pita (not officially listed in the ingredients; so don’t forget it) to wrap everything all together in. You can eat all these elements separately and have a glorious time, but one bite of them wrapped up together in the pita — the meat, the onions, DEFINITELY the grilled date (divine), the cucumber, the yogurt — and you will feel like you’ve done something special for yourself. And you have. The lemon slices are great too, but they still retain a good amount of bitterness; so no need to include them in your pita pocket if that will be a dealbreaker for you.

Notably and unsurprisingly, none of the steps are very difficult, but this is a five stage recipe: marinate the meat, mix the yogurt, prepare the cucumbers, thread the skewers, grill the things. It comes together faster than you’d expect, but you do need to plan the stages out a little bit so you don’t get accidentally in the weeds during crunch time.

Roast Chicken “Romesco” with Pearled Couscous

Fanfare please. My partner Dominique declared this the best couscous he’s ever eaten. Here we cook chicken over a bed of couscous and leeks, and once again, schmaltz works its magic in the pot. A quick and simple romesco sauce keeps everything bright and lively, piercing through the chicken fat beautifully.

Before the couscous goes in the Dutch oven, there’s a lot of brown-on-all-sides action with the chicken, which always takes a bit longer than expected, especially if you need to cook your thighs in batches (and you will). This is my friendly way of warning you that this recipe, while excellent, does take about 15-20 minutes longer than you might anticipate. Knowledge is power! And so is schmaltz.

And just because:

At our Memorial Day BBQ, some bonus dishes from the broader Colu Cinematic Universe made their way into the mix. Matt and AJ provided Blistered Green Beans and Tomatoes with Honey, Harissa, and Mint; Judy made Crunchy Chickpeas With Sesame, Cumin, and Lime as well as Fava Bean and Cucumber Salad With Feta & Sumac from Colu Cooks. You guessed it: great.

What I Still Want To Try

There are still full sections of Better at Home I haven’t touched; so here’s what I’m aiming to try in the coming weeks:

• Spicy and Jammy Agrodolce Peppers with Fried Salumi

• Italian Shrimp Toast

• The Conversation Starter

• Simplest Potato and Leek Soup with Blue Cheese Toasts

• Sweet Corn and New Potato Chowder with Crab

• Brothy Clams with Small Pasta and Summer Corn

• Crispy Lamb Flatbreads with Feta and Honey

• Early Summer Pasta with Torn Noodles, Mascarpone, and Hazelnuts

• Chicken Pie with Buttered Toast Topping (a pot pie with toast on top? Genius!)

• Sherry Affogato

All for the Better

Better at Home is Colu Henry’s best book so far. The recipes are killer, earning rave reviews across the board, but more importantly the overall collection offers a distinct, enticing point of view — the kind that feels like it was honed over a few stiff cocktails and a bowl of clams. I want to go to there, as Liz Lemon often said. And I certainly want to go to Colu’s world after a particularly grueling day of work. It’s why I keep digging into this book. So satisfying to actually use a cookbook more than once (or at all).

Full disclosure: Colu and I are known to share passing comments on each other’s social media, but this didn’t bias me. At least… I don’t think? Now excuse me while I go refill my Castelvetrano olive supply.

Share

On a Saturday morning earlier this year, I found myself doing something strange and unsettling: killing time in Culver City. What was I doing there? Why did it become my purgatory? How did I survive? Unclear on all fronts. BUT there I was: coffee in hand, ambling down the street. Naturally I stepped into the local bookstore, Village Well Books… and naturally I drifted over to the cookbook section… and, well, naturally I reminded myself that I absolutely did not need any further additions to my shelves.

I bought two that day.

One was Helen Goh’s acclaimed Baking and the Meaning of Life, which was cool and all (still haven’t cooked a lick from it), but the purchase that really got my heart beating was Rebecca Firkser’s enthusiastically titled Galette!

I enjoy a galette, yes, but what I really love is a book that sounds like a panic answer on Family Feud. Clearly Galette! was a no-brainer for my collection.

This ode to pie’s shaggy cousin boasts a svelte 50 recipes - about half sweet, half savory. All look incredible. So far, I’ve made four, and I already have many opinions.

For the uninitiated, a galette is like a free-form pie - often baked on a sheet pan instead of a dish. Its defining visual quality is its crust, which folds up and over the filling, not unlike a windbreaker hood pulled taught around a face. If this sounds like a crostada to you, you’re not wrong. Crostadas are essentially the same thing, only Italian (whereas galettes are French).

I came into Galette! with the unfounded notion that galettes are to pies what snacking cakes are to, well, cakes: easy, casual concoctions that can be assembled in 30 minutes and shoved in the oven. That’s not really true. Yes, galettes are more or less breezy affairs, but my experience is that they don’t take any less time on the prep-side than a full-fledged pie.

And yet… for some reason they just feel more relaxed, more approachable, more NBD. I think it’s because they’re a bit less precious (even though I personally feel very precious when I announce that I’ve just baked a galette). There’s no crimping, there’s no lattice work, there’s no soggy bottom hysteria. Just pile your fillings into the center of your dough and fold it around the edges. Can galettes look like a hot mess? Sometimes. But in the topsy-turvy world of galette aesthetics (galsthetics?), “hot mess” somehow appears more inviting. The more homemade it presents, the more rustic points you earn.

Making the Dough

Every good galette starts with a pie dough, and Rebecca Firkser has us covered. She starts the book with a meticulously described process that I can say has been my favorite I’ve encountered so far. First Firkser has us place a vinegar and water mixture in the freezer while we combine the usual pie-dough suspects: butter, flour, salt, and sugar. This ensures that even if we warm things up with our hot hands, the ice-cold liquid will help cool things down.

The rest of the method is fairly simple: we toss butter chunks with the dry ingredients to coat them. Then Firkser writes “use your fingers to smash and rub the butter… until it forms flat pieces mostly the size of cannellini beans... with some smaller (think chickpeas and lentils).” I adore when cookbook authors give me real world visuals, and this array of legume comparisons was incredibly helpful.

Next up we drizzle the icy liquid into the flour mixture and then gently toss it around “as if you were tossing a salad” (again, love the clear direction). We eventually tilt the dough onto a surface and then knead and pat it in various ways until the whole thing comes together into a cohesive dough, which we wrap in plastic wrap and stick in the fridge for at least two hours to hydrate and cool.

Clearly, galette-ing is not a short process, but mercifully the dough recipe yields two rounds, which means that a second galette will take literally half the time to make. Silver linings! And for what it’s worth, Firkser also includes instructions for making dough in a food processor, which seems to be easier, but admittedly I never tried this approach because I felt the handmade version was a more intriguing challenge (and I’m desperate to earn food-writer cred).

Anyhoo, moving on. When it’s time to assemble the galette, we retrieve the dough from the fridge and let it sit for ten minutes at room temp so it will be more pliable. Then comes the harrowing process of rolling it into a round (or sometimes a rectangle). This hasn’t historically been a graceful process for me, but Firkser’s recipe leads to a dough that succumbs to the rolling pin easily. This step was more or less a breeze, especially since unlike pies, I didn’t have to be too exacting about forming a perfect circle. You can instead get by with wonky, circle-coded shapes: cloud blobs… flattened flowers… primitive bird heads. It all works out in the lawless world of galettes.

With the dough rolled out into something that’s about 13 inches in diameter, all that’s really left to do is transfer the shape to a sheet pan, scoop the filling into the center, and fold the edges of the dough up around the sides. It’s all very simple unless you do what I did recently, which is to get distracted, assemble the galette, and then realize you forgot to move the whole thing to a sheet pan first. What ensued was an experience that was not unlike the feature film Operation Dumbo Drop.

One would think the galette would be ready for the oven, but Firkser has us do one final step: place the galette and its sheet pan in the freezer for ten minutes (see, I told you this was fussier than a snacking cake). This helps combat butter leeching when cooking, which can be a horrific and tragic consequence of pie dough becoming too warm. A final trip to the freezer keeps the dough cold, the butter intact, and the final texture perfect.

Finally, after the galette finishes its cryotherapy, we brush some egg wash on the crust’s edges and insert it into the oven for a prescribed amount of time. At last, the galette is on its way.

The time and effort pays off handsomely. What emerges ultimately is an enticing creation that can’t help being a centerpiece on the table. Let me tell you about the four galettes I’ve made from the book.

Spiced Cauliflower Chickpeas and Dates

My inaugural journey with the cookbook led me to this galette, which is a little surprising because there are many sexier options in Galette!. However, I already had the ingredients for this recipe on hand, and not making a last minute trip to the store is the sexiest type of recipe; so cauliflower, chickpea, and date galette it was!

The flavors here were super solid, hitting some very classic Middle Eastern notes. When I make this galette again, I will certainly up the number of dates from six to eight, if only because they are just so good. Firkser writes “if you’re not yet clued in to the delight that is roasted dates, I’m excited for you — you never forget your first time.”

My only real drawback with this galette is that the ingredients never really become a cohesive whole. Cutting into a slice sends various items tumbling across the plate. It’s a minor thing really, and easily forgivable considering how satisfying this galette is.

Sticky Onion with Anchovies and Black Olives

Inspired by the French pissaladière, this galette started with a lengthy, forty-minute caramelization process for the onions. It was a tedious endeavor but also kind of fun (assuming you too find the slow metamorphosis of white allium to brown, sweet goop fun).

I ultimately baked these caramelized onions in the galette crust, and once out of the oven, I topped the whole thing with the titular anchovies and black olives. The result was a sweet, onion-y explosion, and happily the anchovies and olives added briny joy to the proceedings. I’m aware that not everyone is as enchanted with these toppings though; so I’m sure swapping them out for a creamy feta crumble would be divine. Really enjoyed this one immensely.

Anything Goes Galette

Contrary to what the name implies, the Anything Goes Galette does not feature Patti Lupone tap dancing on a galette crust. Instead, this is Firkser’s ingenius formula for turning any combination of ingredients into a successful galette. She has two approaches: sweet or savory; I chose the savory direction (in fact, all the galettes I’ve made have been savory, for some reason).

Firkser’s concept is to take 1 1/4 pounds of vegetables, 1/2 cup of grated cheese, olive oil, vinegar, and salt, and pile it into a crust. I followed her lead and selected a mix of Swiss chard, spigarello, chickpeas, and sunchokes for my vegetable medley; parmesan for my cheese. I of course checked for seasoning and flavor, and as I poured the mixture into the crust, I felt reasonably sure I was cooking something marvelous.

The galette would have remained marvelous except that the spigarello, which I had already wilted on the stovetop, had now been reduced to twigs in the heat of the oven. What had started this journey as a slight, leafy brassica was now a wiry nuisance that was actively undermining an otherwise lovely galette. If I were to use the exact same ingredients again, I wouldn’t bother precooking the spigarello before the oven. In fact, I could probably get away with just tossing some raw sprigs atop the completed dishe.

Learning curve of spigarello be damned, Firkser’s Anything Goes formula is a strong one —  a solid back pocket strategy for nights where I have a spare round of pie dough and some vegetables in the crisper.

Chopped Mushroom and Kimchi

Umami bombs don’t get much more potent than this galette. Here I chopped up 1.5 lbs of mushrooms (that’s about three containers of creminis, for those wondering) and sautéd them with diced onions until everything cooked down and became a cohesive mixture. This took about ten minutes, at which point the directions instruct us to add a scant tablespoon of soy sauce and cook down further. Since I was using low sodium soy sauce, I was afraid that the seasoning wouldn’t be quite right with just a tablespoon. A quick taste proved my instincts were correct; I added a bit more until everything tasted undeniably seasoned and wonderful.

Once this all cooled to room temperature, I stirred a cup of chopped kimchi into the mixture and tasted again. The filling had gone from umami bomb to umami BAWMB. It also was now teetering into being slightly too salty, thanks to the kimchi. But no matter - still delicious! Into the oven it went for an hour, and when the galette emerged, I topped it with thinly sliced scallions, as per Firkser’s explicit instruction. I eagerly tried my first bite: absolutely amazing. And absolutely too salty.

In the heat of the oven, the mushroom mixture continued to reduce, concentrating the umami flavors, yes, but also the saltiness. Turns out my soy sauce adjustment was a woeful one; had I just kept it as is, the galette would have landed in a perfectly balanced place. I should have known to trust the sage palate of Rebecca Firkser! Nevertheless, while the final product was too salty (again, my fault), it wasn’t prohibitively salty. This galette barely lasted a heartbeat between me and my friends. The recommendation to not skip the green onions is a wise one. The sharp freshness of them offsets the richness of the umami filling. A real wow galette, even with my mistakes.

Bonus Galette-ish Moment: Vinegared Peppers and Big Beans

I had made the filling for the Vinegared Peppers and Big Beans galette with all intentions of pouring it into a crust and baking it off, but I never quite got there, thanks to a looming potluck deadline. Instead I just served the filling as a side on the table to great effect.

This recipe brought together sautéd bell peppers and onions, anchovies, vinegar, garlic, and butter beans (I used gigante though because they’re fun). Had I had the time to assemble the proper galette, I have no doubt it would have been excellent. But honestly as a side dish, it proved to be a delightful bean salad!

There are still more depths to plumb in Galette! — I have yet to even touch the sweet side of the book, let alone try some of Firkser’s extra large galettes or her whole wheat crusts — but even after four galettes (five-ish, if we count the bean one), it’s clear that Firkser has a strong talent for flavor and a detailed eye for process. I wish she had given us more than fifty recipes, but instead I’ll simply manifest a sequel someday. For now, I’m deeply grateful that I found this cute and exciting ode to the humble galette. And in Culver City no less! Will the miracles ever cease?

Do you have any galette recipes you absolutely love? I’d love to hear about them. Share them in the comments below so the greater galette-enthusiast community can know! Oh, and be sure to subscribe if you haven’t already!

Several years ago my friend Diana had me over for dinner, and she served me a beautiful, comforting Jerusalem artichoke soup. The memory of it has stayed with me since, and every so often I contemplate whipping up my own version of her concoction. I never do, of course, because that would require a) energy and b) reliable access to Jerusalem artichokes.

Jerusalem artichokes, or sunchokes, pop up at random, brief intervals at my supermarket, usually disappearing for long stretches at a time afterwards. According to Foodwise.org, they’re in season for nearly half the year — September to March — but since they only make cameo appearances on the shelves near me, I’m always sure to pounce. When I see Jerusalem artichokes, I purchase them — no questions asked.

Jerusalem artichokes are unquestionably my favorite tuber, edging out the esteemed celeriac (or celery root) and even the mighty potato. Flavor-wise, they’re not much different than those two, but Jerusalem artichokes have a nutty bouquet that separates them from the pack. And yes, I feel incredibly pretentious for saying “nutty bouquet.” Curiously enough, some people claim to detect notes of artichoke in Jerusalem artichokes — thus the “artichoke” in its name — but I’ve never really been able to co-sign that observation. To me they’re nutty potatoes, and fabulous ones at that.

Quick detour: for those wondering how “Jerusalem” got into the mix, here’s a fascinating explanation courtesy of my very good friend Wikianne Pediaux:

Despite its name, the Jerusalem artichoke has no relationship to Jerusalem, and it is not a type of artichoke,^[14][15] though the two are distantly related as members of the daisy family. The most probable explanation is that Italian settlers in the United States called the plant girasole, the Italian word for sunflower, because of its familial relationship to the garden sunflower (both plants are members of the genus Helianthus). Over time, the name girasole (pronounced closer to [dʒiraˈsuːlə] in Neapolitan) was corrupted by English-speakers to Jerusalem.^{[16][17][18][19]} Various other names have been applied to the plant, such as the French or Canada potato, topinambour, and lambchoke. Sunroot is a literal translation of the Virginia Algonquian term kaishucpenauk reported in 1588,^[20] this naming is similarly reflected in Ojibwe as ᑮᓯᓲᒌᐱᒃ giizisoojiibik.^[21] Sunchoke, a name by which it is still known today, was invented in the 1960s by Frieda Caplan, a produce wholesaler trying to revive the plant's appeal.

As Linda Richman would say: “The Jerusalem Artichoke is neither from Jerusalem nor an artichoke. Discuss.”

Anyhoo, yes, I am a big Jerusalem artichoke fanboy. I love them in all forms, even when served up crispy and topped with ice cream — as was the case when I visited the wonderful, and now defunct, restaurant Bon Lio in Oslo.

When a bag of Jerusalem artichokes miraculously appeared in my local grocery store last week, I swiftly leapt at them — metaphorically of course (how awkward if I had actually hurled myself at the produce shelf??) I didn’t really have a plan for my Jerusalem artichokes, and for a moment I thought I’d engage in my favorite pastime: leafing through my cookbooks for The Perfect Jerusalem Artichoke Recipe™. But for whatever reason, I had a strange calling for soup. “If you purée it, they will come.”

Yes, it was time to finally tackle the Jerusalem artichoke soup that had occupied my brain space for so many years. I remembered that Diana hadn’t used a recipe — she just sort of cooked the Jerusalem artichokes with some stock and puréed it all. It reminded me of two soups I’ve made a million times: Ina Garten’s Cauliflower and Celery Root Soup and Joshua McFadden’s Cream of Celery Soup. Both do fantastic things with the soup blueprint, and what better way to pay tribute to both writers than merging the two recipes and adding Jerusalem artichokes? This would be something of a Frankensoup, and I couldn’t have been more excited.

I kept things simple. First I softened two diced leeks in a Dutch oven with olive oil. Then I added diced celery and fennel, which I cooked for about seven minutes until they were softened. Next, many healthy twists of black pepper and some peeled and roughly diced Jerusalem artichokes, which I only bothered to sauté for about a minute or two. I only lightly salted the vegetables since I like to do my seasoning at the end, lest I overdo it now. Finally, chicken stock. I had no more homemade stuff left (note to self: make more chicken stock), but as a student of the Better Than Bouillon arts, I was sufficiently prepared with a few teaspoons of BTB and some water.

After simmering away for about 35 minutes, I blended everything together in my Vitamix. I could have used a handheld stick blender for convenience, but the metal-on-metal sin of putting a stick blender in my fancy Dutch oven was too big of a no-no for me to handle. Plus, I just like the texture from the Vitamix more.

Once I returned everything to the pot, I thinned things out a touch with some oat milk. It’s important to do this because with so many starchy Jerusalem artichokes, the soup can start to feel “claggy” as it cools. In similar recipes, heavy cream seems to be the most common choice at this step, but I felt the nuttiness of the oat milk would pair well with the aforementioned nutty bouquet of the Jerusalem artichokes. SO I DID IT. No regrets, no looking back. After some seasoning — a lot of seasoning actually — the soup was at last ready for consumption.

WELL. This was a splendid Jerusalem artichoke showcase, and like any decent musical act, it wasn’t just about the lead singer. The leeks, celery, and fennel served as robust background players, providing layers of flavor that rolled in one after the other. It all felt like a warm hug, which, to be fair, I think we say about any good soup, but that doesn’t detract from the coziness here. Would it play better on a cold, November night? Perhaps. But I was perfectly delighted to enjoy the soup in the warming month of April.

Realistically, it may be a moment before I (or you) find Jerusalem artichokes at the market, and that’s okay. I think this formula — built on the shoulders of Ina Garten and Joshua McFadden — would work well with any tubor or assertive brassica. We already know from Ina that cauliflower can take the main stage, and I suspect swapping Jerusalem artichokes for celeriac would also be smashing. Could there be a rutabaga play? Perhaps. And if the legacy of vichyssoise has taught us anything, we could just center a potato and call it a day.

So yes, this soup is not a massive innovator, but it’s a great vehicle for Jerusalem artichokes. If you are so lucky to find a bag of them at the store or maybe a few at your local farmer’s market, be sure to consider this lovely soup.

Oh, and one indelicate warning: Jerusalem artichokes have earned the nickname “fartichokes.” I’ll let you infer the etymology. Needless to say, don’t eat this soup ahead of any intimate gatherings.

Here’s the recipe.

Jerusalem Artichoke and Fennel Soup

Based on Ina Garten’s Cauliflower and Celery Root Soup and Joshua McFadden’s Cream of Celery Soup.

The Ingredients

Olive oil

2 leeks (or onions), rinsed and thinly sliced

1 head of celery, roughly diced

1 head of fennel, roughly diced

1 lb Jerusalem artichokes, peeled and roughly diced

2 cups chicken stock (or vegetable stock or water)

1/4 - 1/2 cup of oat milk

kosher salt to taste

small bundle of dill, chopped (optional)

The Method

1. Chop your veggies if you haven’t already.

2. Heat a sturdy pot over medium heat and add a few glugs of olive oil — enough to just barely coat the bottom of the pot. Heat the oil and once shimmering, toss in the leeks. Sauté until soft, about 5-8 minutes. Try not to brown them, but if you do, no big deal. NBD if you will!

3. Add the celery and fennel, cook until softened, another 5 -8 minutes. If it takes longer, that’s okay.

4. Add Jerusalem artichokes, saute for about a minute or two. Season with several twists of fresh black pepper. Also add about a teaspoon of salt for now, just to get the party started. You’ll do more later.

5. Add stock (or water). If you’re using something like Better Than Bouillon, don’t worry about premixing it. Just add 2 cups of water and 2 tsp of Better Than Bouillon directly into the pot.

6. Bring mixture to a boil, then reduce to a simmer, cover, and let simmer away for 35 minutes. Remove the cover and check the Jerusalem artichokes. They should be fork tender, but if for some bizarre reason they’re not, cover, and give it 5 more minutes.

7. Remove from the heat let cool for a minute or two. Ladle the soup into a blender and purée until silky, smooth, and creamy. This may require batches. Return to the pot.

   1. Feel free to use a stick blender, but just know the texture may not be as smooth.

8. Whisk in oat milk until the soup is the consistency you want - anywhere from 1/4 of a cup to 1/2 cup. Feel free to add more if that feels right. Remember you want soup, not dip.

9. Season with salt. This is the arguably the most important part of the process, and how much you salt your soup will depend much on how salty your stock was. My recommendation is to salt, whisk a bunch, and then taste. It may not taste right at first, but keep going because at some point the flavor will suddenly lock in and be AMAZING. Think of it like focusing a camera. Oh, and while you’re futzing with the seasoning, don’t be afraid to add more black pepper.

10. Serve hot, room temp, or cold. And feel free to make it fancy with a few drops of olive oil on top and some chopped dill. Enjoy!

Share

What’s your favorite soup like this to make? And more importantly, what’s your favorite tuber? There are no wrong answers.

I love throwing a Seder, the traditional meal that kicks off Passover. The thoughtful side of me will say that it’s a time to reconnect with centuries-old traditions, break (unleavened) bread with family, and reflect on the atrocities of slavery. But let’s be honest: I’m really in it for the food.

Growing up in suburban New York, a Seder for my family had a few culinary tentpoles. Matzoh ball soup (of course), gefilte fish (to some people’s chagrin), chicken, brisket, potato kugel, and tsimmes (a stewy, carroty, orange-y dish). I like it all, but some things are more exciting for me than others. I find Jewish brisket, for instance, a bit meh. Braised in a piquant tomato sauce, it just doesn’t hit the highs of, say, a barbecue brisket (which raises the question: why don’t we ever do BBQ brisket on Passover?). Tsimmes, meanwhile, is a sweet and savory treat, but it often lands as more “wet and forgettable” than “satisfying and fun” for me.

As the captain of my own Passover ship, I have the power to remix these classics at will, which I did, but several also remained true to their traditional selves. Let me show you my spread and hopefully you’ll get some inspo for your next Seder (or regular dinner party).

Candied Marcona Almonds with Cumin Seeds and Orange Zest

It’s always important to have snacks before the Seder; so why not a candied nut mix? This was the perfect excuse to cook from my new book Party Tricks by Anna Hezel. Her recipe starts with melting sugar and vegetable oil together and then dumping in a bunch of Marcona almonds and cumin seeds, eventually tossing them with orange zest and piment d’espelette. Fancy!

Well, the sugar melted just fine, but either there was something on my wooden spoon or the salt on the almonds caused a chemical reaction because as soon as the nuts joined the pan, everything seized up into giant, sharp globs of madness. (To be fair, I was supposed to use unsalted Marconas, but they were impossible to find). Anyway, those almonds were expensive, and I wasn’t about to ditch this dish; so I dumped the prickly mounds of nuts onto a sheet pan, sprinkled with seasoning, and then asserted my dominance. I covered the pan with a towel and punched down with a tenderizer until all the globs were broken and individual nuts or small clusters remained. Aha! You shall not defeat me, mercurial almond snack!

Once tamed, I poured these marcona almonds into a bowl where they absolutely SHONE as a glorious sweet-and-savory pre-dinner snack. Huge hit.

Mom’s Gravlax

After having written about my favorite salmon recipes a few weeks ago, I felt inspired to make my mom’s gravlax for the snack spread. This did require an emergency FaceTime session so she could advise on how best to arrange salmon fillets for maximum cure-itude. Turns out I had not quite purchased the right cut, but thankfully Mom sent along this helpful diagram, doodled in the style of a New Yorker cartoon.

The gravlax process is pretty forgiving, and after six patient days, I had the silkiest piece of salmon this side of Oslo. It’s a bit tricky to describe gravlax to the uninitiated. I like to say it’s somewhere between sushi and smoked salmon: it has the fresh, clean flavors of the former but the cured notes of the latter. However you describe gravlax, the dish is a special luxury worth the fridge real estate it occupies for nearly a week. Notably, the batch I put out before dinner was gobbled up steadily by all guests in attendance.

And as for that platter, normally I’d put out brown rye for the fish, but being that Passover is the anti-wheat holiday, I simply broke up some pieces of matzoh to act as gravlax vessels. I also included a batch of Ina Garten’s sweet mustard sauce that she serves with her very own gravlax recipe. Definitely a lovely pairing.

Matzoh Ball Soup

I didn’t do anything fancy with my matzoh balls - just followed the recipe on the matzoh meal box with some bonus ground white pepper and dill to boot. The real story this year was the broth. I used two quarts of homemade stock from my freezer (I believe it was turkey stock from Thanksgiving, but honestly who knows?) and then I added another 2 quarts of water and 4 tablespoons of Better Than Bouillon. This made for a dark, exceptional base that required little salting. I also threw in two sliced carrots, three sliced celery stalks, and a roughly chopped bunch of dill. Some sort of magic happened in that pot because what emerged was impossibly amazing. One of the rare times where the broth upstaged the matzoh balls.

I have four takeaways:

1. Homemade stock is the best.

2. But also Better Than Bouillon is the best.

3. Joined together, homemade and BTB make liquid insanity.

4. Soup is the most fun thing ever.

Gefilte Fish

I’m a big fan of this recipe from Taste of Home, but I add four cloves of garlic, not one. Why shouldn’t gefilte fish be a flavor bomb? Besides, it’s served cold, which already mutes so much of the impact. This year’s batch was a bit more crumbly than in the past. Maybe I need more egg or matzoh meal in there. It’s a minor quibble about an otherwise true gefilte triumph.

Horseradish and Haroset

I made my grandmother’s horseradish, and it was so potent that it brought me to tears as I scooped it out of the blender. In other words, it was magnificent. I then improvised my way through some haroset (seen above) by chopping up three large honeycrisp apples and tossing them with dates, raisins, Manischewitz, cinnamon, nutmeg, and sugar. It took some coaxing, but haroset always works out. This was a fine rendition.

The Lugma Trio: Carrots, Beans, and Beats

Any time I cook for people, I use it as an excuse to test drive a few recipes from my ever growing cookbook collection. This is a risky endeavor for those engaging in the dinner party sciences, but I’m famously very adventurous; so why not? I decided to pounce on three recipes from the glorious cookbook Lugma, an appealing tome of Middle Eastern recipes courtesy of Ottolenghi Test Kitchen alumna Noor Murad.

My choices: Yogurty Butter Beans with Middle Eastern Chili Crisp; Sesame Beets with Charred Spring Onions; and Steamed Carrots with Harissa, Onions, and Herbs. All three dishes are meant to be mezzes that serve four people; so I doubled the quantities and upped them to side dish status.

The beans

The easiest and hardest of this trio. It requires making the Middle Eastern chili crisp, which is simple but features tedious acts like slowly frying shallots for nearly 30 minutes. Once that's done though, the rest comes together swiftly - just pour some canned beans in a bowl with a simple yogurt sauce and top with the chili crisp. Salt is important here as the butter beans can trend towards bitter if unattended. BUT once seasoned, this dish is a stunner on the table and a fabulous room temp addition to a big spread (bookmarking it for pot lucks). The only real catch: some people don’t eat beans for Passover; so that could be an ish.

The beets

I lied - the easiest of the trio are the beets. I roasted about six of them ahead of time, and when it was time to assemble, I roughly chopped the beets into fun, asymmetric shapes and tossed them with Murad’s sesame yogurt sauce, which promptly turned an electric shade of fuchsia. Fun! I suppose this wasn’t so different from the butter bean preparation, but who cares?

The tangy yogurt sauce didn’t just turn heads from being photogenic; it paired perfectly with the earthy, sweet beets. I mean, of course it did. Yogurt and beets? They’re undeniable together.

It’s tempting to skip the charred scallions in this dish. Don’t. They take two seconds to make, and their smoky, assertive flavor cuts through some of the beets’ sweetness. Plus, the strands of green against purple is visually arresting.

The carrots

In place of tsimmes, I made these excellent carrots - one of the major hits of the evening. It’s a straightforward recipe that involves steaming carrots and then tossing them in a harissa-honey-vinegar sauce, ultimately adding herbs and preserved lemons right before serving. Murad’s advice is that this dish can sit at room temperature and marinate while the rest of the spread comes together. “Sit at room temperature” are the words a dinner party organizer loves most. I was sold before I had even read the first step.

Generally speaking, I find steamed vegetables to be one of the saddest things on the planet, but not so much here. The characteristically flaccid texture of steamed carrots somehow meshed with — dare I say augmented? — this zippy and delicious preparation. It may have been one of the most successful items of the night. Of the three Lugma recipes, this is the one that most likely will enter the regular rotation.

Colorful Vegetable Kugel

Adeena Sussman has no less than five different kugels in her book Shabbat, and while I was tempted to try her classic potato version, I opted for her California-inspired Colorful Vegetable Kugel. This casserole combines zucchini (green and yellow), carrots, onions, garlic, and potatoes (of course) together into a multi-colored, shredded bonanza of joy. Eggs and potato starch do the heavy lifting of binding everything together, and after about an hour of baking at 400°F, the kugel is ready for its star-making turn on the buffet.

We as a civilization know that an under-seasoned kugel is an unrelenting tragedy; so I did have a fair bit of uneasiness ahead of my first bite. Was there enough salt in this giant casserole? Should I have fried off a small spoonful of kugel mixture to test the flavors? Was I pouring a lifetime of anxieties into this kugel preparation?

The answer to all three questions was yes! Yes, I should have done a tester bite to be prudent; yes, I was channeling way too much emotion into this kugel, and yes, there was enough salt! The kugel tasted great!

I did have some passing concern that maybe the dish needed another fifteen minutes to set better, but ultimately, I served the kugel anyway. And it was great! No regrets. Well, no regrets beyond the ongoing existential shame of not making kugel more often than just once a year on Passover.

Roasted Cabbage and Red Pepper Sauce

I’m a huge proponent of the Cooks Illustrated method of roasting cabbage, and since I had one languishing in the back of my fridge, I decided to invite it to the Seder. I fancied the cabbage up though with a few simple steps. First, I sliced up two long red chili peppers into rounds and let them soak in a tiny bowl of white vinegar. Next, I took an entire jar of drained roasted red peppers and blitzed it with rice vinegar and olive oil to make a boldly red (and delicious sauce) that I coated the bottom of a serving dish with. The idea was to roast the cabbage, place atop the red sauce, and garnish with the chili slices. But then I noticed a cauliflower sitting all by its lonesome in the crisper. I couldn’t resist. I threw it in the toaster oven and let it roast up before tossing it with rice vinegar and adding it to the platter. Now this dish was not merely a cabbage showcase but a full on brassica party, full of nutty, sour notes. Quite frankly, you can’t go wrong with these ingredients, and this proved to be a low-lift veggie side that checked the meal’s box for roasted vege.

Ground Meat with Lemongrass

I wanted something lighter for the meat category this year. No braises, no stews - just something easy and super flavorful. I turned to Nini Nguyen’s Vietnamese cookbook Dac Biet, and her recipe for ground meat cooked in a mixture of lemongrass, molasses, fish sauce, onions, soy sauce, and makrut lime leaves. The end product was fab, but it took some adjustments to get there. Luckily my friend Judy was present to help bring this dish back from the brink of disaster.

We followed the directions diligently, and despite having added an impactful amount of fish sauce, molasses, and soy sauce, we were shocked that the dish carried such a mild flavor. We knew how much good stuff was in there - why couldn’t we taste much of it?

I blamed a few things. First, I had used previously frozen ground beef, and I wondered if that had somehow watered down the flavors. I thought I had cooked off all the watery byproduct, but maybe not? I also doubled this recipe for the crowd, which meant that if using previously-frozen ground beef were an issue, I had just compounded it.

Second, I used mediocre fish sauce. My local supermarket sells small bottles of Thai Kitchen Fish Sauce, which is fine but not great. The stuff just isn’t very aggressive. Luckily I had just purchased a new bottle of real deal fish sauce from the Thai market, and once I pivoted to that, there was a big boost of flavor in the dish. Alas, I should have used the good stuff all along, but I had tunnel vision about finishing the small bottle of crappy fish sauce I had already opened two months ago. Damn that sunk cost fallacy.

So, yeah: mass amounts of frozen beef and mediocre fish sauce were probably my foes.

Nevertheless, Judy and I futzed around, and what finally hit the table was a Southeast Asian ground beef phantasmagoria. One might think Vietnamese flavor profiles could be a bit jarring amongst all these other dishes, but it weirdly worked, with lime notes mirroring the ones found in the beets and the beans. Who knew?

Vinegar Chicken with Crushed Olive Dressing

This Alison Roman recipe is a staple around these parts. It takes about forty minutes from start to finish and serves a crowd with little effort. It’s as simple as seasoning chicken thighs (with vinegar!), roasting them at a high heat for about 30 minutes, and then cooking garlic and olives in the leftover schmaltz (which of course then gets poured all over the meat). I am in the double digits with how many times I’ve turned to this recipe, and it always, always works. Even this time when I may have slightly overcooked the thighs, the dish was still insanely drool-worthy.

Moment of honesty: I didn’t really want to make this chicken. I was more interested in trying something new from my books, but with so many other items on the docket, I didn’t want to get bogged down in any fussy poultry quagmires. What’s great about this vinegar chicken is that it really involves little more than plopping a bunch of thighs on a sheet pan and sticking them in the oven. Plus, it doubles very easily. So many other chicken recipes call for searing and browning and batches and blah blah blah. The beauty here is the simplicity (and the shockingly huge flavor this method yields). Generally speaking, if you’re doing a big spread, this is a go-to recipe for plugging any chicken holes on the menu.

Did you put together a Seder meal? Or have you hosted a dinner party lately? I’d love to know what you served your guests.

Let’s talk about salmon.

Tuna may have the “Chicken of the Sea” branding, but if I could do things my way, I’d bestow that title to salmon. Admittedly, this is a strange, low-stakes use of the old “if I could change one thing in this world” chestnut, but here we are.

Salmon, like chicken, is ubiquitous — maybe too ubiquitous. It seems to be on every restaurant menu, stocked in every supermarket, and present in nearly every cookbook. It’s the belle of the seafood ball — quick to cook, forgiving of mishaps, and full of flavor. Heck, it even has its own eponymous color! Last time I checked, tuna and halibut weren’t even on the Pantone roster. How pathetic of them.

But perhaps in its popularity, salmon can sometimes feel meh. Given the choice between roasting a chicken for an hour or swiftly cooking up a salmon fillet, I almost always opt for the chicken. Maybe that’s because chicken tends to fill the home with warm, soothing scents whereas salmon permeates every cranny with an aggressive fish odor that pushes even me, a seafood superfan, to my limits. There’s also salmon’s image. It’s boring — like the colorless fodder served at a stuffy luncheon.

This is an unfair association to put onto salmon. Imagine if we judged chicken by the paragon of blandness that is a boneless, skinless breast? If you thought that’s all the bird had to offer, you’d be missing out on crackling skin, heavenly schmaltz, and juicy dark meat. You also would probably be in very good shape, but that’s neither here nor there.

When I’m feeling down on salmon, I have to remember that like chicken, the fish has so much more to offer. All it takes is a few bites before I’m asking myself “Why don’t I cook this more?” or “Why do I always forget how good this tastes?” or “Why am I talking to my salmon?”

Yes, it feels like I’ve discovered El Dorado when in reality, the treasures of salmon have been with us all along. I do not give this pink workhorse (or workfish?) enough credit. Salmon is such a versatile gift, and I want to take a brief moment to shed some light on some of my favorite salmon recipes I’ve approached over the years.

Notably, the following recipes are just a fraction of the many salmon options that exist in my cookbook library. I’m excited to keep exploring, and I certainly welcome recommendations in the comments below. But for now here are my faves.

Salmon & Melting Cherry Tomatoes

Queen Ina Garten knows her way around salmon, and here she bestows upon us my all time favorite salmon dish: salmon & melting cherry tomatoes. The twist here is that we sear the salmon in a hot skillet skin side up, which seems counterintuitive for developing a crispy skin. But fear not! There will be flippage! Just before we move the salmon from stovetop to oven, we turn the fillet, and eight minutes later what emerges is the most beautifully textured piece of fish you can imagine. Those who don’t enjoy salmon skin, crispy or otherwise, may receive less upside from this preparation, but for people like me, it’s a dream. An added perk: the titular melting cherry tomatoes are sensational, and they pair perfectly with the fish. This is a simple weeknight meal, and I’d like to say it would be great for company, but some of the logistics might need tweaking for large groups. Either way, perfection.

Asian Grilled Salmon

The first salmon recipe I ever tackled also happens to be one of my favorites. And it also happens to hail from Ina Garten yet again. This is a five ingredient doozy that takes only about twenty minutes to cook from start to finish. I wouldn’t call it a showstopper like the recipe above, but what it lacks in drama it makes up for with reliability. It’s basically a beloved character actress.

First, make a simple marinade of mustard, soy sauce, garlic, and olive oil. Drizzle half the marinade onto the fish and reserve the rest later for a sauce. Then, after ten minutes of sublime marination, bake the salmon. The recipe calls for grilling, but for years I’ve simply cooked the fish on my stovetop. Lately, however, I’ve also taken to chucking the salmon (lovingly, of course) into the air fryer for about 7 minutes, which yields wildly juicy results.

Nevertheless, this recipe is simple enough to cobble together in a pinch and elegant enough to serve at a dinner party. Its versatility is shocking. Add it to your quiver.

The Only Way To Bake A Salmon (aka the Kismet cookbook salmon)

Sara Kramer and Sarah Hymanson are the chef owners of beloved Los Angeles eatery Kismet, and their self-titled cookbook, Kismet, manages to be the rare restaurant cookbook that can deliver high quality recipes without being cheffy. The unfussy pinnacle of this is their baked salmon dish, simply titled “The Only Way To Bake A Salmon.” I might push back on that a hair (there ARE other fine ways), but they do make a strong case. When I served this to my parents, my dad declared it the best salmon he’s had in his life.

Astonishingly, this is a remarkably low-lift recipe. There’s a simple spice rub we massage over the fish (salt, garlic, caraway, Aleppo, orange zest), and then after that we simply bake low and slow for 40-45 minutes. What emerges is a tender, buttery fillet that truly — I hate to be so cliché — melts in your mouth. Do not overlook the all essential onion and orange salad in this recipe. The alliums cut through the richness and the citrus adds brightness. (As an excellent alternative using a very similar technique, check out Alison Roman’s Slow Salmon with Citrus and Herb Salad).

Harissa and Brown Sugar Glazed Salmon

We are big Colu Henry fans in these parts; so, naturally, when her latest cookbook Better At Home dropped this month, I had to nab myself a copy. Plus, I sensed this book had some good juju in it, given that its pub date, March 10, shares the same auspicious birthday as Sharon Stone, Bad Bunny, and my mom. What a day.

Anyhoo, the first recipe I attempted from the book was Colu’s Harissa and Brown Sugar Glazed Salmon — a gloriously crimson piece of fish with charred, mahogany edges. Like many of these salmon recipes, this one came together swiftly and offered a wallop of flavor. Here we mix harissa with brown sugar, garlic, vinegar, and olive oil, which lands somewhere in the BBQ-sauce-adjacent space. Then it’s just a matter of slathering it on the salmon, baking at 400°F for 20 minutes, and then serving with some herbs and a side salad.

It was so good. I may have cried. Okay, I didn’t cry, but I wanted to. Sadly, I’m just not one of those people who cries over food. But if you are that person, this dish may do it for you. Sweet sugar and tangy harissa are the perfect pairing for salmon, giving it a distinctly indulgent hook much like a honey-soy glaze would to a chicken wing. I ate this dish all week long, and even though it’s a newbie to my quiver, I knew immediately that Colu Henry’s salmon would make my salmon hall of fame. Part of me suspects that it may even dethrone Ina’s Salmon & Melting Tomatoes [the crowd gasps], but we’ll just have to see…

Salmon in Luxurious Green Sesame Pipian

I wouldn’t call this dish a stew, but it’s not not a stew. Maybe a stew-ette? Acclaimed chef Rick Bayless includes this recipe in his excellent 2005 book Mexican Everyday, and I still remember being floored by how good it was the first time I made it. Basically, we cook salmon in a mix of salsa verde, chicken broth, and tahini (peas join the party too, surprisingly), which is not a combination I ever thought of trying, but HOLY CRAP is it fantastic. I’m already feeling aggressive shame in knowing I haven’t made this dish in over ten years. Must change this immediately. But also, what a testament to this recipe that it still lingers with me a decade later.

Pan Sushi Dynamite

Time to think outside the fillet. One of the very first newsletters I published centered around Sheldon Simeon’s exemplary Pan Sushi Dynamite. At its most reductive state, pan sushi dynamite is basically sushi in casserole form. And it’s amazing. I absolutely love this sweet, tangy, soul-hugging dish. I still haven’t brought it to a potluck, but I know when that time comes, it will absolutely crush the competition be a hit.

From a salmon angle (a phrase I intend to incorporate into more conversations), what’s neat about Sheldon’s recipe is that it works just as well with tinned salmon as it does fresh. I mean, yes, fresh sushi-grade salmon will always be superior, but the dish is still remarkably successful with the canned stuff. My supermarket doesn’t really carry sushi-grade fish; so this is great news for me and my unwillingness to drive across the city to the Japanese market.

Anyway, I make this dish about once per year and feel immense joy every time I do.

Gefilte Fish

When people hear the term “gefilte fish,” they tend to recoil, grimace, or maybe run into another room. But I’m here to assure you there’s nothing to fear here, people. Gefilte fish is basically a fun-loving fishball with an odd Yiddish name. What’s not to love? Admittedly, anyone who’s tried the jarred or pre-made version has been rightfully traumatized, but homemade is a different story, especially when salmon is in the picture.

Generally speaking, gefilte fish is made with ground whitefish, but it’s 2026: why not go pink? When I hosted a Los Angeles seder a few years ago, I stumbled upon a recipe that called for half whitefish, half salmon, and I said screw that: we’re going ALL salmon. I never looked back. [pause for fanfare, profile in heroism] Pink gefilte fish is the way to go, and that’s because salmon is inherently much tastier than whitefish or pike (especially if you up the garlic quantities like I do). Truly a perfect example of salmon elevating a potentially mundane dish, and one of my favorite salmon uses overall.

Mom’s Gravlax

If there’s a holiday coming up — whether it be Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, or National Tortilla Chip Day — my mother gets to work on one of her signature dishes: gravlax. A Northern European cousin to smoked salmon and lox, gravlax nixes the smoke and simply uses sugar, salt, and dill to do its magic. It takes five to six days to cure the fish and usually disappears in as many minutes. I like that gravlax has a milder, brighter flavor than a smoked salmon. Pile this on a bagel or serve it with brown rye and a mustard sauce on the side. It’s an exquisite recipe, which notably my mother adapted and adjusted from Julia Child’s. This salmon doesn’t need much effort; just time. And conveniently, my mom was kind enough to let me share her recipe with all of you. Check it out below, but first some helpful links from this newsletter:

Recipes featured in this article:

• Salmon & melting cherry tomatoes by Ina Garten

• Asian grilled salmon by Ina Garten

• The Only Way To Bake A Salmon by Sara Kramer and Sarah Hymanson

• Slow Salmon with Citrus and Herb Salad by Alison Roman

• Harissa and Brown Sugar Glazed Salmon by Colu Henry

• Salmon in Luxurious Green Sesame Pipian by Rick Bayless

• Pan Sushi Dynamite by Sheldon Simeon

• Gefilte Fish by Risa Lichtman (but stay tuned for my remix, which I’ll publish next week).

Mom’s Legendary Gravlax Recipe

Written by Carolyn B. Mandelker

(adapted by me from Julia Child)

Time: 10 minutes prep plus 5 ½-6 days to cure

Serves 10-12 as an appetizer, or 1-2 gluttons

Notes:

1. This recipe is for 4 lbs. of fish. Yes, it makes a lot, but you can always freeze what you don’t use. You can go as small as 3 lbs (but not smaller) or as large 5. Just adjust seasonings accordingly.

2. It’s best to buy the fish from a good fish monger who will know which variety of salmon to use and where to slice the fish. But, if you decide that your local supermarket fills the bill, be sure the salmon fillet comes from the center of the fish (not the tail) and the skin remains on.

3. Cure the fish in a non-reactive dish such as glass or porcelain.

4. You’ll need one or two big bunches of dill (with stems on).

Ingredients:

4 lbs salmon, center cut, and cut into two fillets along the backbone. Remove any bones but keep the skin on so that each fillet has one side flesh and one side skin. (Note: an easy way to check for bones is to drape the filet over a small mixing bowl. The one or two bones that the fish monger missed will protrude.)

2 TBSP table salt

1 TBSP sugar

2-3 TBSP cognac

1-2 large bunches of dill

1. Place the two fillets side by side, skin down, on your work surface – the thinner end of one fillet next to thicker end of the second fillet. (This is so that when placed one on top of another, they will fit like a snug sandwich. Sort of. 😊)

2. Mix together 2 TBSP of table salt and 1 TBSP of sugar and divide in half.

3. Place one third of the dill sprigs in the bottom of the dish you will use to cure the fish.

4. Season the first filet (flesh only; not the skin) with half of the salt/sugar mix; sprinkle with half of the cognac and rub it all into the flesh gently; place in the dish atop the dill, skin down. Put another 1/3 of the dill sprigs on top of the flesh.

5. Season the other half of the fish filet (flesh, not skin) with the salt/sugar mixture, sprinkle with cognac, rub in gently, and place on top of the first filet – making sure you place the thin end of the top filet over the thick end of the bottom fillet so it sits – flesh to flesh (with dill inbetween). Put the last third of the dill sprigs on top of the second fillet (skin up).

6. Cover with plastic wrap. Put a small board on top of the fish (it should be a little smaller than the perimeter of the dish) and place 5 lbs of weight on top of the board. You can use 2 or 3 cans of food or bar weights. Refrigerate for 5-6 days, basting occasionally with the juice that forms, and flipping the fillets after 3 days so that the bottom piece is on top and the top goes on bottom.

7. On the sixth day, remove the fish and blot it dry. Do not rinse! Place one fillet at a time on a flat surface and, holding the knife horizontally, slice thinly, down to the skin which will then be discarded. Freeze (unsliced) what you’re not going to use; the rest can be eaten immediately. Leftovers will stay fresh in the refrigerator for about a week.

What are your favorite salmon recipes? I desperately need to broaden my scope here. Share everything with me! And don’t forget to subscribe to this newsletter in case you haven’t done so already!

Subscribe now

Of all the cooking skills I’ve accumulated over the years, the one massive category that still daunts me is the writhing, scalding art of deep frying. I’ve always kept it at arm’s length — quite literally in fact — because I have an irrational fear of a) burning myself by knocking an entire pot of oil off the stove; b) starting a grease fire and encasing the house in flames; and c) actually becoming proficient enough that I’ll start deep frying everything and find myself in cardiac arrest.

There’s also so many annoyances with deep frying: the splatter, the leftover oil, the lingering scent, the plates and plates of dredging ingredients, the endless sheet pans with paper towels, the fickle temperatures, the omnipresent threat of 3rd degree burns (sorry — I can’t stop worrying about it). It’s just a lot to deal with, and in my 47th year, I need to draw a healthy boundary between me and any oil-filled pot of terrors.

But sometimes, you just have to deep fry.

December 2025. If there’s one thing I can expect on Christmas, it’s that I’ll inevitably crave Chinese American food. Am I a walking cliché? Perhaps. Did I ever pretend to be anything other than that? Not really.

Unfortunately, it seems like every Chinese restaurant in Los Angeles always winds up booked, crammed, and downright overrun with likeminded, cliché-laden people. Braving the lines is always an option, but I can’t say it leads to much holiday cheer on my end. So, for this most recent Xmas in LA, I decided to take matters into my own ambitious hands. I dusted off the ol’ wok and embarked on a journey to make orange chicken from scratch. I just had to have it. But I also needed it to be accurate. This was not the time for a sorta-real-sorta-not air fryer experiment. No, I needed oil. I needed crispiness. I needed an impossibly sweet, vaguely orange glaze. There was no escaping a humbling truth: I’d have to fry like I’ve never fried before.

First though: a recipe. I own a number of esteemed Chinese cookbooks — Land of Plenty, Xi’an Famous Foods, The Woks of Life, Stir Frying to the Sky’s Edge, Salt Sugar MSG, and several others — but none have an orange chicken recipe. Maybe that’s because orange chicken is not a traditionally Chinese dish like the ones featured in those books. In fact, it’s barely older than Emma Stone. None other than Panda Express claims to have invented the dish in 1987, basing the recipe off a classic orange peel preparation and thus birthing an icon of Chinese-American cuisine. (And while I’m engaging with the bizarre act of comparing orange chicken to Emma Stone, feel free to run with this nugget: Lady Gaga, Drake, and the Olsen Twins are all older than modern day orange chicken).

While orange chicken has pervaded many restaurants over its nearly 40 years of life, it hasn’t quite infiltrated my cookbooks. Remarkably, to find the sole recipe in all my collection, I had to turn to a Thai cookbook: Night + Market by Kris Yenbamroong.

The acclaimed chef has a literal ode to Panda Express, simply titled “Orange Chicken Night + Market.” Yenbamroong writes “This is my humble tribute to orange chicken, and in particular Panda Express’s extra-crunchy, tangy orange chicken: probably the best of all time.” Given that every single recipe I’ve made from Night+Market has been exceptional and given that Yenbamroong seems focused on the exact flavor profile I was craving, I had no reason to believe he would lead me astray here.

Yenbamroong’s method starts with warming oil in a wok, but I wasn’t about to touch that stovetop until I made sure my batter was in order. And good thing I was so cautious: the batter calls for tempura flour, which I had to make myself since my local grocery store didn’t stock it. More unnervingly, this meant I had to research tempura flour recipes online, which was its own fraught journey. Ultimately I landed on some ratio of ingredients from HungryHuy.com, which I’ll reproduce here:

• 1 cup all-purpose flour (or cake flour for lighter results)

• ½ cup cornstarch or potato starch (for maximum crispiness)

• 1 tsp baking powder

• ½ tsp salt

Welp, I made this flour concoction, and then I mixed it with club soda, salt, and white pepper. A batter was born! Time to get cooking.

But wait. Then there was the chicken. It needed to be diced up (which always takes longer than you would think) and placed in a quick 30 minute brine consisting of garlic, lemongrass, salt, and pepper. Ugh! So much unexpected work! I didn’t love that Yenbamroong had ambushed me with two sub-recipes out the gate, but I trusted him, and I knew he would lead me to the tangy, citrus-glazed promise land.

So yes, sneaky amounts of prep had assaulted me at the top of this recipe, but once the chicken was marinated and the batter mixed, it was time to do the thing I had been loathe to do: deep fry.

I nestled my wok onto its little ring atop my stove and poured in enough oil to come halfway up the sides. Fun fact for those who are wok-curious: the unique shape of the pan means that you can actually use far less oil to deep fry in a wok than you would in a Dutch oven. We love a conservation moment! But on the downside, I did have a not-so-minor fear that I would haplessly bonk the wok’s long handle with an errant, flailing arm, sending several cups of scalding oil towards my face. This was nothing if not a high-stakes ordeal.

Nevertheless, I lowered batches of six or seven pieces of chicken into the oil and let ‘er rip. A writhing, furious roar of bubbles appeared around the meat in a way that seemed vaguely scary at first (would it explode? Would I die?) but then became just sort of… rote. Everything was fine: nothing caught on fire, no one got hurt. With a steady hand and some simple attentiveness, the whole thing was actually fairly painless to execute.

In fact, dare I say it, the process was pretty fun. There’s a neat thrill in attempting a technique you’ve seen umpteen times and having it turn out even remotely accurate. In this case, it was fully accurate! After about five minutes, I dipped my spider strainer into the hot oil and retrieved my chicken bites. They appeared perfect: golden, craggy, crispy — like adorable, deep-fried Rorschach blots. I set the morsels on some paper towels to dry and started a new batch. Easy!

And long. One of the annoyances of frying is that you simply cannot overcrowd the pan or else the oil temperature will drop and chaos will ensue (soggy exteriors, uneven cooking, a rip in the space-time continuum, etc). And so I worked my way through the chicken, five or so pieces at a time for five or so minutes at a time. Did I mention that I’d prepped a double-batch? I think I spent an hour standing over that wok, monitoring my transitory chicken batches in pursuit of homemade Chinese food.

My feet were tired, yes, but actually it was all very helpful for my Culinary Growth™. With reps comes experience, and I found that over the hour I became less rattled by deep frying and more sure-handed. I developed a sense of when to pull the chicken, when the heat was too intense, when things needed a little stir. Did it take about as long to stand in line at a crowded Chinese restaurant? Perhaps. But it’s like the old saying goes: feed a man orange chicken, he’ll eat for a day. Teach a man how to deep fry in a wok, and he’ll still eat for a day but also be able to write about it on Substack!

Once all the chicken was finally cooked, I was able to move on to the final, exciting step: orange-ifying. This was all pretty simple. First I made a slurry using tapioca flour and warm water (side note: I now have a bag of tapioca flour that I don’t know what to do with, and no, I’m not going to make boba with it). Then in a saucepan I mixed fish sauce, distilled white vinegar, sugar, orange marmalade, fresh squeezed orange juice, salt, and the slurry. After a few minutes on a low-ish heat, the sauce bubbled and thickened, which meant it was time for a final bit of alchemy. I poured out the used oil from the wok and then added the warm orange sauce. Working over a medium heat, I continued to cook the mixture until it resembled the delicious goop I’d seen on many a Panda Express dish. In went the chicken, transforming it at last into the Chinese American legend I’d been craving so deeply.

This had all been so visceral and thrilling, but it would mean nothing if it didn’t scratch my profoundly urgent itch. I didn’t want a dish that connoted orange chicken; I didn’t want a dish that reminded me of orange chicken; I wanted a dish that WAS orange chicken and would settle for nothing less.

That’s what I got.

Yenbamroong’s recipe was in fact flawless. It was a completely spot-on and delicious conjuring of every orange chicken plate I’d ordered at not just Panda Express but various Chinese restaurants throughout my life. The syrupy coating nailed that sweet and tangy balance I seek from orange chicken, and of course the crispy, juicy texture of the chicken offered up the perfect mouthfeel — a mouthfeel that honestly can only be achieved by deep frying.

To that end, it is my writerly and downright humanly duty to reiterate that Yenbamroong’s batter not only clung magnificently to the chicken but crackled and puffed exactly how it should have. And notably the coating had plenty of flavor on its own; we could have skipped the glaze entirely and still had a very tasty dish (but who would ever do such a sadistic thing??). Judged purely on technique, this was an undeniably bang-on deep frying recipe.

Despite all my effusive feelings, I can’t ignore that homemade orange chicken was a labor of love: so much time standing, so many plates for dredging and drying. It’s probably easier to just go to Panda Express or a local Chinese restaurant and pick up an order (although maybe not on Christmas). But sometimes cooking is less about what’s easier and more about what’s fun. And this was undeniably fun.

Next time I tackle this dish though, I may use a hack Yenbamroong endorses in the recipes notes. He writes: “If you decide to skip the chicken frying, consider using KFC popcorn chicken or something nugget-size from your favorite fast-food spot.” I’m not above it, people.

In the meantime, if you want to try your hand at an excellent, restaurant-quality orange chicken — whether it’s Christmas, a Sunday night, or just anytime you need comfort — here’s Yenbamroong’s sublime method, adapted from Night + Market.

Orange Chicken Night + Market

Serves 2 to 4

Ingredients:

Vegetable oil, for deep frying

1 cup tempura flour (flour, corn starch, baking powder, salt — see above)

3/4 cup club soda or seltzer

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper

1 pound boneless, skinless chicken thighs brined 15-30 minutes with water, 1 tablespoon minced garlic, 1 tablespoon minced lemongrass, 1/2 tablespoon kosher salt, 1/2 teaspoon ground white pepper, then cut into bite-size nuggets

1 heaping teaspoon tapioca flour

1/4 cup fish sauce

1/4 cup distilled white vinegar

1/4 cup sugar

3/4 cup orange marmalade

1/4 cup fresh squeezed orange juice (peel your orange for zest first!)

Pinch of kosher salt

1 1/2 tablespoons thinly sliced orange zest, for serving

Green onion and chili powder for serving

Preparation:

1. Prep: If you haven’t done it, yet make your tempura flour, marinate your chicken.

2. Pour enough oil into a deep pot or wok to come halfway up the sides. Heat the oil over medium-high heat until it reaches 350°F. (Throw in a fleck of batter; if it pops up and starts sizzling right away, it’s ready. Or use a thermometer.)

3. In a large bowl, stir together the tempura flour, club soda, salt and white pepper until a thick batter forms. Fold in the chicken until coated.

4. Cook the chicken: Once the oil is hot, remove the chicken from the batter, letting the excess drip off. Working in batches of 6 or 7, fry until the nuggets are golden brown on all sides, 4-5 minutes. Let cool on paper towels or a wire rack while you make the sauce.

5. Make the sauce: To make the sauce: In a small bowl, whisk the tapioca flour with just enough warm water to dissolve with no clumps. In a small saucepan, combine the fish sauce, vinegar, sugar, marmalade, orange juice, tapioca flour slurry and salt and stir over medium-low heat until bubbling and slightly thickened.

6. Pour the oil from the wok into a heatproof container for future use. Add the orange sauce to the empty wok over medium heat. Once the sauce is bubbling and syrupy, add the chicken and toss to coat. Transfer the chicken to a plate and garnish with orange zest, green onion and chile powder.

Do you ever deep fry? What are some tips you have? And what are your favorite recipes?

The January rut was rough. After yet another holiday season where I indulged too much and restrained too little, I pledged to start the new year eating nothing but roasted vegetables and beans. I figured this would be a good way to beat back the ever looming specter of cholesterol and high blood pressure while simultaneously allowing me to say things like “Oh, can’t go out tonight. I’ve got a pot of beans on the stove.” Or “hold on one second, I just need to check on my pot of beans.” Or “could someone ask me about my pot of beans so I can tell you that they’re on the stove?” I don’t even cook my own beans, but I occasionally fantasize about being a “pot-of-beans-on-the-stove” person sometimes. Dare to dream.

This is all a meandering way to say that I did not cook that pot of beans, nor did I really roast any vegetables. I somehow managed to spend the first three weeks of the month ordering in, save for one misguided ground turkey experiment. I was in, by all accounts, a January cooking rut.

Part of this was a backlash to the crazy amount of cooking I did in December. Part of this was due to East coast travel mid-month. And part of this was simply the unrelenting recording schedule at Crappens. For whatever the reason, I simply could not seem to get myself into the kitchen, which then led to feelings of guilt (neglecting the newsletter), frustration (failing my goals), and disappointment (watching ingredients die in the fridge). If it weren’t for The Traitors, I might have truly lost my mind.

So, yes, I was unmoored. But by late January, I was ready to moor. Over the course of a week, I dove into four recipes that each brought me joy in different ways. And most importantly, they broke the January rut.

A Chocolate Cake From Dorie Greenspan

With ever worsening news about ICE and its wretched activities, I turned to my most formidable coping mechanism: chocolate. It certainly did not make headlines any more palatable, but at least baking a cake was a brief distraction. Dorie Greenspan’s Dorie’s Anytime Cakes is a new favorite of mine, and her “Double-Down Chocolate Loaf” immediately spoke to me — mainly because it was chocolate and also because I could make use of my new, totally ridiculous molded loaf pan.

This was a fairly standard chocolate cake procedure — melt chocolate with butter, add to dry ingredients, etc etc. Notably, we don’t add the fat (neutral oil) until very late in the process, and after that, we pour boiling water into the bowl before dumping it all into the cake pan. Later I would find out this last step was to “bloom” the cocoa powder, which apparently intensifies its flavor (much like how we bloom spices in a hot skillet before adding them to certain recipes).

I was absolutely delighted with this chocolate loaf. Firstly, my pan yielded quite the decorative loaf - all ridges and swirls. What a rush! Secondly, and most importantly, the cake was airy and moist — even fudgy in areas (maybe undercooked? Don’t care!). This was the dark and chocolatey experience I needed.

The thing with loaves though is that they are pretty thick affairs and often need some lubrication. Dorie suggests frosting, but I decided to go with a glaze. I made a gloopy one from powdered sugar and oat milk (not sure what possessed me to reach for my Oatly, but such is life). The cake desperately needed the glaze, but alas, as the white sugar gunk cascaded across the surface, it obscured all the neat shapes and contours of the sponge. What remained was a loaf that looked something like a sneaker or a football or a long Hostess cupcake. Oops.

Next time I’ll poke holes in the cake and brush it with a soak, and if I must glaze it, I’ll do something thin that lets the architectural qualities of the mold shine through. Oh, and chocolate chips! I definitely want to try this with chocolate chips. Nevertheless, an indulgent and necessary treat that powered me through the end of January.

A Mushroom Farro from Alison Roman

In an effort to make at least one grain dish before the end of the month, I turned to Alison Roman’s “Farro with Mushrooms, Frizzled Leeks, and Sour Cream” from her latest cookbook Something From Nothing. The recipe takes longer than I had expected but is nonetheless straightforward. First, cook leeks and mushrooms in oil until they become “frizzled,” which is to say partially fried and crispy (but not full on carnival food). Then make a batch of farro and combine with the veggies.

My leeks and mushrooms never quite achieved frizzle, which is sad, but I chalk that up to a crowded pan, despite having divided the ingredients up into two batches. Nevertheless, the mushrooms and leeks were definitely tender, and frizzle be damned, they made for a hearty, comforting, and lovely winter dish.

The key is to really check for seasoning. I was initially too conservative with the salt, yielding a dish that was nice but flat. Once I adjusted the seasoning, it came to life beautifully. Really enjoyed this one, especially with a small dollop of sour cream, as per Alison’s suggestion. After so many soulless sandwiches from Starbucks and forgettable takeout meals, this farro made me feel like I was taking care of myself.

Broccoli Rabe & Sausage Pasta

Dan Pelosi’s book Let’s Eat has sat criminally underused on my shelf for quite some time; so on a recent quiet night, I tried out his iteration of a classic sausage-and-broccoli-rabe pasta. The joy in Dan’s approach is its simplicity: use one pot to boil pasta, adding leafy greens in the final 3 minutes for a quick blanch. In another pot, cook a pound of Italian sausage with garlic until browned and, you know, not deadly. Drain the pasta and broccoli rabe, add to the meat, combine, season, enjoy.

This was the sort of quick, no frills recipe I needed to remind myself that I don’t have to always reach for Postmates when hunger hits. And more importantly, this pasta tasted great. So good that I completely forgot to add the grated parmesan at the end, and who does that?? This wasn’t a flashy meal, but it’s the dish most likely to enter my permanent weeknight rotation.

Get the recipe from Dan’s site here: Broccoli Rabe & Sausage Pasta

But of course, why cook something simple when you can tackle…

Shrimp Lasagna with Habanero Oil from Ixta Belfrage

Ever since I acquired Mezcla by Ixta Belfrage a few years ago, I’ve been eyeing this unorthodox lasagna. There’s no lumpy ground meat; no ribbons of ricotta; no strands of spinach. Instead we have a shrimp ragu layered with drizzles of cream and habanero oil and topped with chives and parmesan. Was this even a lasagna? Or just some elaborate pile of pasta?

The most labor-intensive segment of this recipe was the shrimp ragu itself, which actually wasn’t very hard to make and smelled so amazing it was worth whatever trouble it caused. I sautéd the usual suspects in a large amount of olive oil: garlic, onions, cherry tomatoes. This happened all at once, which saved time and made no real difference on the flavor (as opposed to cooking off the aromatics first before adding the tomatoes). At this point in the process, my kitchen smelled like a pizzeria, and I would have been very content to just stop and spend the rest of the evening sniffing the air.

Once all these ingredients melded into a burgeoning sauce, I added a pound of finely chopped shrimp, which cooked for about eight minutes, and then introduced a fun trio of miso, tomato paste, and a habanero. There was a brief deglazing interlude, courtesy of some white wine, and then finally, I tossed in a few cups of stock, leading to an 18 minute simmer sesh. The idea of submitting shrimp to nearly 30 minutes of cooking may seem like it would yield rubbery bits of misery, but I can assure you that somehow this all worked. There’s magic in this lasagna, I suppose.

In the meantime, there was a side quest wherein I warmed olive oil, tomato paste, diced habanero, and a few other seasonings in a saucepan. This was our habanero oil. It wasn’t hard to whip up, but if you were to read the recipe, you’d think this was an excessive step. That’s because Ixta only calls upon 1/2 a teaspoon of this oil to be drizzled on top of the lasagna before it goes in the oven.

But fear not, dear reader! I’m nothing if not thorough, and so I cross-checked the written recipe with a video of Ixta making this lasagna. I can report that she applies the habanero oil to each layer, just as she does with the ragu, cream, parmesan, and chives.

Anyhoo, I’m not going to bore us all with the ins and outs of making lasagna. It’s stacking. What else is new? The dish baked in the oven for twenty minutes covered, ten minutes uncovered, and then I had to wait ten excruciating minutes for it all to cool down and coalesce. I just wanted to dive into it! But the truth is that this lasagna actually needs closer to twenty to thirty minutes of resting time. Any shorter you’ll be left with a jumble of pasta. I speak from experience: my inaugural slices were sloppy, gloppy messes. It was nothing that a bit of spatula coordination couldn’t handle, but for those looking for beguiling Instagram content, keep this all in mind.

I’ve yammered about the process long enough. The burning question: how does a shrimp and habanero and miso lasagna taste? Hmm… I believe the word is “fantastic.”

This lasagna was sensational. Glorious! Triumphant! The shrimp ragu alone was a dream. Sweet from the shellfish, bright from the tomatoes, floral from the wine — it was a wonderful concoction that quite frankly could shine in a simple pasta dish or even on its own over rice.

I wasn’t sure what to make of the cream as I assembled the dish, but in execution, it offered the same silky notes as cheese without any of the heaviness. Not everyday that I praise cream for adding “lightness” to a dish, but here we are. I’m actually a bit surprised that the recipe doesn’t call for coconut milk instead, as that would be very Brazilian — one of the three cultures (Italian and Mexican being the other two) that Ixta aims to honor in this recipe.

Despite the several departures from a more classic recipe, I was impressed by how much the final dish actually tasted like traditional lasagna. It was definitely it’s own thing, but I never once shrugged and said “This is basically a shrimp dish pretending otherwise be lasagna.” It very much felt like an extension of the Lasagna Brand™. Garfield would be happy.

That being said, I suspect this exact recipe would work just fine as a low-tech pasta dish. Toss the ragu with some shells, drizzle the oil and cream on top, sprinkle with parm and chives, and call it a day. Sure, you miss some of those crispy lasagna edges, but you basically save 30 minutes of time and don’t have to deal with assembling everything.

Having at long last tackled Ixta’s shrimp lasagna, I felt like I had finally pulled myself out of the January rut. Cooking is back, the newsletter is back, and, well, cholesterol may be back. But I will handle that last point. Roasted vegetables, en garde!

Check out the recipe on Food 52 here: Prawn Lasagna With Habanero Oil From Ixta Belfrage

What did you cook this past January? Did you find yourself in a rut or were you highly motivated after the Holidays?

I love a good listicle as much as the next person (assuming the next person isn’t a real journalist who thinks these things are trash); so why not reflect back on 2025 and spew out the top ten best things I cooked?

I baked a bit less than in past years — partially because I was minding my curves, partially because I was traveling a bunch, and partially because there are so many snacking cakes floating around my group at any given moment that I don’t always need to throw mine into the mix. Instead I wound up playing a bit in the dairy-free space. My partner Dominique is lactose intolerant, as are a few of my friends, so I experimented with nutritional yeast and miso more than usual, which was pretty neat. Sometimes it was a triumph, other times a disaster.

To that last point, being comfortable with catastrophe has been an ongoing journey for me. I’m a bit of a perfectionist, but laughing off the belly flops has been a real source of growth for me (in that I don’t enter a shame spiral). Notable failures: some photogenic but mealy honeynut squashes, a burnt date toast, and a vegan queso dip that went off the rails in many ways. Oh, and who can forget the dramatic clam that exploded in my oven?

2025 was also supposed to be the year that I would dedicate one night a week to recipe development, and while I’ve definitely finalized a few sassy recipes, the road towards an NBD Fancy cookbook has many more miles. I wouldn’t be so cocksure to put “Sell Cookbook” on a 2026 vision board, but I’ve definitely assembled some thumbtacks and a Sharpie.

Ultimately there will be no cookbook (or dinner) if I don’t cook. Whether it’s my own experiments or simply following someone else’s recipes, the joy and the growth and the learning only ever arrives when I plop my cutting board down on the counter and get to work. And I definitely did a lot of that in 2025.

It was hard to remember all the things I made this year, but as soon as I committed to doing a listicle, I knew immediately what would take the #1 spot. The rest of the list, however, was more challenging to fill out. I glanced over all my food pics from the past twelve months (I take a lot, and I pledge to put more of them on my Instagram), and soon I had cobbled together nine other excellent dishes. And by “nine,” I mean thirty-three. Dammit. This was going to be harder than I thought.

But after some careful whittling and honest reflection, I think I’ve now locked in my true top ten. These are not necessarily recipes from 2025, but they all were new to me. I’d make them again in a heartbeat. And have!

Notably, I removed my own creations from the list, including my miso pesto pasta. It’s a great, crowd-pleasing dish that I’m immodestly proud of, but I really want to focus on the recipes I tried from others. Plus, by striking the miso pasta, I opened up a slot for my homemade Dubai chocolate bar, which just had to be included.

I suppose I’m already spoiling what’s to come; so here it is!

10. Dubai Chocolate

Within five nanoseconds of the New York Times posting about Dubai chocolate, I had already hopped in the car and motored off to find some kataifi and pistachios. This project was rife with anxiety and self-doubt, but the end result was very good, if slightly overhyped. Nevertheless, homemade Dubai chocolate lands on the top ten not because it was particularly mind-blowing but because it was just so much dang fun to make. Not fun; dang fun. Painting the molds with dubiously tempered (read: not tempered at all) chocolate; waiting an excruciating hour for the bars to set in the fridge; and getting my first taste of my hard work — it was a harrowing but also unassailable adventure (especially when I was able to pop out a candy bar without breaking any edges — a major feat).

9. Butter Beans in Salsa Verde

The whole beans-in-herby-green-sauce thing has been kicking around for a while now, which doesn’t make this dish or any of the others any less great, but it does demonstrate that I’m, like, on top of trends. I love Meera Sodha’s version from Dinner (and The Guardian) for being aggressively briny, sour, and bracing. This dish is caper-tastic, and it coaxes explosive flavor out of a relatively small ingredient list. Extra bonus: it reheats beautifully as leftovers.

8. Thai Boxing Chicken

When I hosted a Thai potluck for the White Lotus finale, the table quickly filled up with many delicious offerings. Everything I cooked hailed from the excellent Night + Market cookbook by Kris Yenbamroong. I adored the papaya salad, and the fried rice served in halved pineapples was a stunner. The winner, however, was the sweet, garlicky, and smoky Thai Boxing Chicken. Did I nearly burn down my house while grilling it on a high heat? Perhaps. Worth it? Maybe. This dish was gone faster than a hotel visitor caught in a gunfight. (For what it’s worth, don’t overlook Yenbamroong’s orange chicken too, which exists as his ode to Panda Express — I cooked it on Christmas, and it was perfection).

7. Smoked Trout with Mustard and Apples

Here it is: the inevitable Alison Roman entry. This dish hails from her first cookbook, Dining In, and I made it as part of a tinned-fish themed potluck. I expected a tasty vehicle for smoked trout. What I got was a salad-ish dish that’s lingered in my imagination every since. I love everything swirling together in this recipe: silky creme fraiche, salty salmon roe, sour mustard greens, sweet apples, and of course, smoky trout. That my descriptors all start with “s” is an annoying coincidence (but I’m not changing them). A lot of my favorite dishes this year highlighted these sort of flavors, but this one jumps out for the novelty of ingredients: mustard greens and creme fraiche? With trout? I’m already considering which potluck I’ll be bringing this dish to next. Honorary mention to Anna Hezel’s fabulous pan-fried sardines with salsa verde, which also was a tinned-fish standout that night.

6. Vinegar-braised Greens

Did you really think there would be just one Alison Roman dish on this list? 2025 was an exciting time on the Roman front: I bought her new cookbook (Something from Nothing, from which this recipe hails), I saw her talk at the Wiltern Theater (on my birthday!), and then just last week, the space-time continuum shattered when Alison Roman herself came onto my podcast Watch What Crappens as a guest. What a time to be alive. In the middle of this, I cooked her vinegar-braised greens, a simple and sharp dish that attacks with beautiful ferocity, thanks in part to the white distilled vinegar and red pepper flakes in its DNA. I’ve already made this dish a second time and am truly, madly smitten.

5. Eggy breakfast sandwiches with date and olive tapenade

Just last week I sang the praises for Rawaan Alkhatib’s cookbook Hot Date!, endorsing many of the wonderful recipes inside. The one that has implanted itself most in my brain, surprisingly, is this fascinating egg sandwich that merges a Provençal-inflected tapenade (Kalamatas, mustard, dates) with casual fajita elements (poblanos and onions). The question isn’t “How does this work?” It’s “why am I not eating one right now?”

4. Charred Baba Ganoush

There are a ton of very good baba ganoush recipes in the ether, but the one that sticks the landing for me is this gem from Keep It Zesty by Edy Massih. I’ve made it a few times this year, and I’ve yet to have a bum batch. The recipe, as written, is perfectly calibrated. Eggplant, salt, cumin, lemon, tahini - no need to adjust what’s on the page; it works the first time, every time. I’ve waffled about this selection - did I rank the baba too high? Should a simple meze even be on this list when I’ve made showstoppers like garlic thumbprints with tomato jam… or feta and sumac cake… or a halting sweet potato and red curry paste mash? Any doubt dissolves away the moment I plunge a pita chip into the baba ghanoush and retrieve an igloo-shaped mound of goodness. Yup, this is right.

3. Vegan cheesecake

I would never expect a vegan cheesecake to come so close to the real thing, especially one whose base is chickpeas. And yet here we are. This recipe, which has been lurking around the Internet for some time, earns a high-ranking spot on this list for stunt value alone. For a moment I thought of dropping it a few notches — after all, while the mimicry is outstanding, it is JUST simple cheesecake. But that mimicry is so impressive. I continue to be gobsmacked months later. Gotta rank it at #3.

2. Dumpling Tomato Salad with Chili Crisp Vinaigrette

Hetty McKinnon rocked my world with this viral salad. It’s barely more than cooked frozen dumplings, tomatoes, basil, and chili crisp, but wow the contrasting flavors and textures and temperatures converted me ten times over. Some people push back at this recipe — it’s just dumplings served on top of tomatoes, they say. It’s true. But is that bad? I spent most of August eating this dish.

1. Molly Baz’s Tahini Date Smoo

Had to be. No other recipe this year came even close to reaching the legendary, iconic status of Molly Baz’s Tahini Date “Smoo” (short for “Smoothie,” in case you’re not fluent in Baz-speak). I’ve made this undeniable beverage-meal so many times that its recipe is baked into a corner of my brain. It’s become something of a religion to me, and I’ve steadily converted over the skeptics and the curious in waves. First, my partner. Then, my friends. And then my parents. This is the most sublime smoothie I’ve ever encountered, earning it the simple nickname of “The Smoo.”

Far be it for me to deny the masses this special recipe. Here’s how to make it, adapted from More Is More by Molly Baz.

Share

Molly Baz’s Tahini Date Smoo

Ingredients:

6oz oat milk, full fat

1/2 cup ice

1 frozen banana

4 dates, pitted (the OG recipe calls for 2 medjools, but I like to use 4. Also am open to different types of dates like bahri)

2 tbsp tahini

1/4 tsp ground cinnamon

3/4 tsp vanilla extract

pinch of salt

Instructions

Add all ingredients to a blender and whir until completely processed. Sounds easy, but there is an art to this smoo. Please read my notes:

• You need to blend this smoothie far longer than you may expect. I’m talking upwards of 3-5 minutes. That’s because if you stop prematurely, the dates will not be fully pureed, causing a “bitsy” texture. Not only is this mouthfeel not ideal, but by not going the distance, the smoothie won’t be as sweet and date-y as it should be.

• There’s an art to blending this shake. I find that if I go too fast too soon, an air pocket develops, which is super annoying. I usually let it mix at the lowest setting for a few minutes while I do dishes. Then I crank up the speed slowly, monitoring for air pockets. It’s a thick beverage, and for all the blade-spinning, the bulk of the smoothie may remain remarkably stiff. Once you finally see a vortex appear at the top of the mixture, then you know you’re almost done.

• If you’re in a rush or the air pockets just keep happening, use a blender tamper. Saves time and effort. The only reason why I don’t always use it is because it’s another dish to clean. An easy dish to clean, but a dish to clean nonetheless.

• Use your eyes. You’ll know the dates are fully blended once you barely see any brown spots clinging to the edge of the blender glass/plastic. The dates should look like tiny specks - like the size of ground pepper.

• In a pinch you can use a non-frozen banana, but it’s less refreshing.

• Also in a pinch you can use date syrup instead of date. Add a little at a time, tasting as you go.

• Again, the recipe calls for 2 medjool dates, but your mileage may vary. I’ve found that 4 is the sweet spot (pun intended), regardless of variety - madjool, barhi, deglet noor etc. Do what works for you.

• I have a dedicated 3/4 tsp measure just for the vanilla extract in this recipe. I recommend you get one too. Also, a jar spatula is invaluable for scraping the tahini from spoon to blender. I use the same spatula later to help coax the last drops out of the blender in the glass.

• Yes, this works quite well with protein powder.

• Don’t forget your pinch of salt.

• Don’t forget to add the dates (like I did yesterday lol).

  ---

  Please tell me what your favorite recipe was that you cooked from in 2025. Any ambitious cooking plans for 2026? Do share!

  NBD Fancy is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

As promised, I’ve decided to introduce a video component to NBD Fancy! Cookbooks felt like the right content for this multi-media extravaganza, and since I just published a lengthy review of Hot Date!, I figured it would be the perfect vehicle for this foray.

I’d been wanting to launch a cookbook podcast or video series for a while now (read: six years) because I adamantly feel like cookbook content is wildly under represented in the world. Sure, there are plenty of author profiles and charming PR placements across legacy media, but for us consumers, we sometimes just want to know if a book is worth buying (or which recipes are worth trying first). That’s not to say there’s no cookbook content. I really enjoy the videos that Cult Flav has been doing on its various channels. They’re two home cooks who diligently film their journey through a chosen cookbook, offering thorough opinions and a coveted “smash” or loathed “pass” as a final assessment. I appreciate their commitment to “the bit,” as they say, and their critiques are welcomingly honest.

But after Cult Flav, the pickings thin out quite a bit. There are some defunct cookbook review podcasts out there amongst the tumbleweeds, but it’s rough going for us shoppers and enthusiasts (would welcome any recommendations). So here I am — hoping to help out with my nascent video series.

It took a while for me to name this thing; food content turns very hokey very quickly once you start adding puns — which is a shame because I LOVE adding puns. I challenged myself to find a pun that would be “cool,” but it wasn’t happening. Ironically, my board game video show Table Scraps would have been the perfect name, but alas I somehow managed to vulture myself. Turns out I really like hobbies that center a table.

And so I went the direct approach: NBD Fancy Cookbook Show. Why not? Simple, to the point, and self-descriptive (Should I add a “The” to the front?).

Like all things of this nature, it will take some videos to find its voice and cadence and structure. I recorded this one on a whim; so I already have nitpicks that I’m eager to address next time. Notably, I would love to have guests join me in the studio (the same studio I film Table Scraps in, btw, but I change where I sit because that somehow makes it different?). With any luck I aim to churn these out maybe once per month to start, but then more as I automate and streamline my workflow. For now please enjoy the inaugural episode, posted above. Stay tuned!! And enjoy :)

I am lightly obsessed with dates. Send me to a farmers’ market, and most likely I’ll return with a little, plastic clamshell container of medjools or barhis. That’s because dates have brought me intense bliss over the years. Whether they pop up in a spinach salad, alongside a chicken, in a boozy cake, or simply as the foundation of a lifestyle-defining smoothie, dates are pretty much always a welcome friend. Raw and untouched, they’re a perfect snack (or oatmeal topper). But tucked into a savory dish, they’re like sneaky fruit bombs adding sweet indulgence.

Clearly, I could ramble endlessly about dates, but why bother when there’s already an entire cookbook dedicated to them? Enter Hot Date! by Rawaan Alkhatib. Described as a “cook, writer, and artist,” Alkhatib has written an ode to dates that squeezes much juice from its tiny star.

First, there are the recipes — about a hundred of them total. They range from snacks and breakfasts to savory centerpieces and fanciful desserts. The sheer variety and scope is impressive considering how one-dimensional the whole endeavor could have been. Never does the book feel like a tired gimmick. Instead it supplies a parade of intriguing and exciting dishes, all prefaced with sharply written and often humorous headnotes.

But there’s more! Hot Date! overflows with lush photography and beautiful illustrations. There are poems and diagrams, maps and histories, storage guides and menus, and some very bright, very pink edge-to-edge staining. In other words, the recipes are only half the draw here.

Of course, any halfway decent cookbook offers up so much more than just recipes. But my hidden shame is that I have a woeful tendency to skip essays and long-form stuff in a cookbook. I’m not proud of it; people put time and effort into these things, and as a cookbook enthusiast, I like to see myself as someone who ingests the full volume from head to tail. But yeah… sometimes I’m just in it for a great dinner idea.

There are cookbooks, however, that do halt me. They inspire me to pore over their introductory chapters and prose interludes. Those are the special ones. Hot Date! is in that class. It’s the rare cookbook that inspired me to read it cover to cover — every single page, sidebar, and parenthetical. This is a cookbook that wants to draw you in and have you stay a while, and by the time you’re done with it, you’ve never been so excited to hit the kitchen.

And and and! It does this without a shred of pretension. Alkhatib’s presentation is playful and inviting and fun, not austere or precious. In the hands of a more self-important author, Hot Date! could have been a fascinating but cold affair. But Alkhatib clearly loves the date, and she wants us to love it too. Her joy is infectious, brightly splashed across nearly 300 pages. Admittedly, I could do without the exclamation point in its title, but I’ll excuse it because Hot Date! is already poised to be one of my very favorite books in my collection.

Naturally, no amount of mouthwatering photos or whimsical illustrations would matter if the recipes don’t hold up. That’s why I recruited some of my friends to help cook through the book. Here are the unscientific and undoubtedly sweet results.

Tater Tots with Hot Date! Butter

I served this at my partner’s birthday: tater tots topped with a compound butter of olive oil, garlic, dates, parmesan, herbs, salt, and lemon zest. A true high-low dish. This will be a party trick to keep up my sleeve.

Ghisava, or Cupid’s omelet

From the breakfast chapter, this recipe’s description challenged our notion of what an omelet could be. Eggs, yes, but also cinnamon, ginger, walnuts, and a sautéd date topping? What WAS this? We had to try it. Judy spearheaded the effort, and my goodness, we were all shocked by how much we enjoyed it. Alkhatib says the omelet has the “same salty-sweet eggy satisfaction as French toast,” and she is completely accurate. French toast without the toast. It works.

Eggy breakfast sandwiches with date and olive tapenade

I’ve become a late-in-life homemade breakfast sandwich fiend, and while I do believe my low-tech American-cheese version is fab, I’m always open to new approaches to the genre. Here Alkhatib introduces a date and olive tapenade and pairs it with sautéed onions and peppers, cheddar cheese, and a fried egg. My goodness, it’s just sensational. Sweet from the onions and dates, salty from the olives, assertive from the peppers and garlic - I can’t think of any better description than “flavor explosion.”

The best part for me was that there was plenty of leftover tapenade as well as onions and peppers; so this recipe lasted me through many breakfast sandwiches. To quote Ina Garten, how fun is that? Oh, and I do endorse Alkhatib’s recommendation of frying the egg: the runny yolk lubricates everything, even if it does lead to messy, yellow puddles.

Beef and pistachio meatballs

A solid entry in the Middle Eastern ground beef canon, these meatballs follow some of the same delicious broad strokes we see in, say, keftes. I’m not complaining. This mixture employs dates, herbs, nuts, jalapeños, and warming spices, culminating in a sweet and punchy bite. As good as it tastes, I’m most delighted by the breezy cooking method: 7-9 minutes on a baking sheet at 450°F, and they’re done! No fussing over a splattering, oily pan. These meatballs are base-level great, but some might find them a touch too sweet (not me though — I gobbled many of them up). This doesn’t revolutionize the genre, but it’s a fun addition.

Tangy sesame shrimp

Judy assembled this unconventional shrimp dish, which has dates plumped in water and then pureed into a mixture of soy sauce, sesame oil, fish sauce, and apple cider vinegar. It all trends Southeast Asian, and leaning on dates as the sweet component (as opposed to palm sugar, for instance) is a neat switch up. Again, another unlikely but totally successful dish.

Butter roasted radishes

I gravitated towards this dish because of yet another fascinating ingredient lineup: anchovies, dates, garlic, capers, lemon, radishes. How would these parts play together? Pretty well! I actually have a hazy blind spot with this recipe — I remember that it was very good but also that something went wrong in the execution. Was it that my radishes had to many leaves? Were they under cooked? I can’t really remember, which is embarrassing, but I do recall enjoying this dish despite some errors on my part.

Mushrooms en papillote with much garlic

It’s hard to leaf through Hot Date! and not pause on page 169 to admire the photo of herby mushrooms sitting in an unfurled bag of parchment paper — unless, of course, you detest mushrooms. But that’s not me! My friends Matt and AJ tackled this appealing dish to mixed results. They expressed frustration about wrangling two unwieldy pounds of fresh mushrooms into a single parchment pouch (they ultimately had to do two pouches), and they questioned the need for 1 or 2 dried porcinis, which quickly faded into the massive pile of other mushrooms.

The final dish was nice, if under-seasoned (1 tsp salt for 2 lbs of mushrooms is madness). We couldn’t help but wonder if the 2 lb mushroom directive was an erroneous holdover from a previous draft of the recipe. The proportions just seemed so odd, given the issues with the parchment and the seasoning and the porcinis. None of us were convinced that going the papillote route was significantly better than just sticking these lovelies in the oven. I adore mushrooms, and quite frankly, I’m still entranced by the photo of this recipe; so I’d like to try this one again before I commit to a “could be better” label.

Chocolate sorbet with warm salted dates

My favorite chocolate sorbet recipe of all time hails from ice cream impresario David Lebovitz, but this one comes awfully close (maybe it does surpass it?). To be fair, they’re nearly identical recipes. Alkhatib throws date syrup into the batter, which offers the subtlest depth of flavor to an already excellent foundation. Unfortunately, I had forgotten to buy chocolate to melt into the mix; so I had to use old, low-quality Baker’s chocolate to do the deed. The resultant sorbet was still excellent, but I did notice in subsequent days a certain powdery texture. My casual research indicated that this could have been due to how I melted the chocolate and a few other factors. Not a recipe issue — just an execution problem. I bring it up only to warn you: use good chocolate.

I’m burying the lede because the real standout for this dish were the warm salted dates, a separate recipe unto themselves. The method is so simple: warm olive oil in a small pan, add some halved and pitted dates (cut side down), and sauté briefly until warm and soft. Then sprinkle with flaky salt. Everything goes on top of the sorbet — yes, olive oil too. This is the part where I now say the following: YOU GUYS.

First, I’d never topped a frozen confection with dates; so that was a revelation. But olive oil too? Am I ever going back? I don’t think so! Back to the dates though: having just emerged from the pan, their heat mimics hot fudge, and their crispy edges contrast beautifully with the soft flesh, which turns slightly chewy as it cools in the sorbet. Warm salted dates are now entering my ice cream toolkit.

Spice Route Molasses Cookies

Matt and AJ tackled these aggressive — and aggressively spiced — spice cookies, which call for a sizable amount of ground ginger. 3 tablespoons, specifically — that’s almost a quarter of a cup! Wild! Alkhatib writes that each cookie is “a chewy, bracing little bite that unfurls into a burst of warm spices in your mouth, with a deep, dark note of date molasses thrumming underneath.” Yup, that’s about right. I can confirm thrummage. The ginger all but smacks you in the face, but somehow never totally overpowers the cookie. Great for Fall and the holidays.

Jallab

I don’t often play around with beverages in a cookbook, but I was so swept up in the fun of Hot Date! that I decided to make a pitcher of jallab, a refreshing mixture of date molasses, rosewater, pine nuts, and golden raisins. The drink is intended for scorching days, ideally along the Arabian Sea, but why not a frigid, sixty-degree November night in Los Angeles? Couldn’t stop gulping down glasses of jallab. The pine nuts, soaked in pure jallab glory, turned soft and gentle, making them a fun treat to Hoover up with a straw while the raisins added pops of sweetness. Can’t wait to try this when it’s actually hot out.

Spiced Date Chili Crisp

Tucked away in the back of the book is a chili crisp recipe that I felt compelled to make just because I couldn’t imagine how all the components would work together (a common theme with this book). Yes, there are the standard chili flakes and powders, but also nutritional yeast and orange zest and cinnamon and fennel seeds and ginger and dates and almonds. The point is that this recipe goes in funky directions and produces a chili crisp that is both unexpected but also very much in line with its siblings. The warming spices shift the flavor profile closer to the Middle East, but this is still a chili crisp through and through. If given a choice, I’ll still hew towards a more Fly By Jing vibe, but for the past month this one has been a reliable flavor booster for eggs, vegetables, and random other items.

Outside of a few minor mishaps, these recipes are great. I’m truly obsessed with Hot Date! (exclamation point and all) and look forward to further explorations. In fact, I’ve enjoyed this cookbook so much that I’m aiming to use it to launch a wild new feature for NBD Fancy: VIDEO!

I’m always threatening to do more cookbook coverage but somehow never do; so I figure video might be able to change that. The plan is to do cookbook deep dives and first impressions but also chat about new acquisitions, recent forays, and various other cookbook-y stuff. This is great news for my burgeoning NBD Fancy Youtube channel (which currently and hilariously only has a 90 minute slideshow of my Norwegian culinary tour LOL).

Full transparency: I was hoping to have the first video ready in tandem with this newsletter, but I haven’t even sat in front of the camera and didn’t feel like delaying this post any longer. With any luck, I should have a video up later this week talking about Hot Date! Stay tuned…

In the meantime, have you cooked from this book? Or do you have a favorite date-centric recipe? Tell me everything.

A few days ago I wrote an extensive newsletter about executing a low-lift Thanksgiving. I won’t lie — I had no idea if it would actually work. But luckily, as is often the case with Thanksgiving content, I was able to test it out a mere two days later!

To be fair, my aim for 2025 was not to pull off a low-lift Thanksgiving; however, I did want to make certain efforts to reduce chaos and foot exhaustion. I suppose that’s everyone’s goal if you really think about it. It’s a bit of game putting out a Thanksgiving meal: how much can one make without destroying the kitchen, the bird, or simply one’s mental state? It’s like playing a game of chicken, or perhaps turkey, and the players are you versus complete madness.

Anyway, I think I fared quite nicely with this year’s gauntlet of challenges. Here’s what I made, and, more importantly, what I learned.

The Turkey. Always the Turkey.

Big drama for me on the turkey front this year. I was at a board game convention over the weekend (yes, you read that right), and I only managed to purchase my turkey upon arrival back in Los Angeles Sunday night. I was in a haze — as happens when I plunge headfirst into my nerdom — and foolishly bought a 17.75 lb turkey. This was an excessively large specimen for eight people, but the real issue was that I needed the bird thawed by Wednesday for a mandatory 24 hour salting window.

Commonly a big turkey needs about five days to thaw, and anyone who may be adept at simple math may have already deduced that the time between Sunday evening and Wednesday midday is about two and a half days or so. In other words, I would need to defy laws of space and time and Butterball to get this bird in proper condition. But I did it! Here’s how.

I employed the following schedule:

Monday: Let the turkey thaw on the counter for two hours. You’re not supposed to defrost on a counter, but I figure most meat can last two hours safely at room temp; so I let ‘er rip.

Tuesday: Only did one hour of countertop thawing because I became paranoid that maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.

Tuesday night: Downwardly spiraled, expressed concern and anxiety to anyone I saw, and then made my friend Sylvia equally stressed over her similarly still-frozen bird. [this step is not necessary, but somehow always is part of the process]

Wednesday morning: filled my sink with the turkey (still in packaging), water, and ice. 2 hours later, the bird was good to go! What stress??

Lessons learned: don’t forget to time your defrosting to end by WEDNESDAY, not Thursday. The safest bet is to just procure a turkey the Thursday or Friday beforehand and save yourself all this drama.

Also, let me say this: The turkey is always an extraordinary pain in the ass, and honestly, it’s never as good as chicken or duck, but I firmly believe that if you do not go through these stressful challenges, you are not truly experiencing the game of Thanksgiving. Coming out the other side with some delicious turkey (or an utter flop of dry meat) is one of the great joys of the holiday.

Your 2025 Dip Report

I love dips. One of my first columns here was about dips (always worth a read). Any chance I have to make dips, I will. In the spirit of low-lift Thanksgiving (aka LLT), I decided not to be a madman and just stick to something simple: a classic French Onion dip. 16oz sour cream + 1 pack of Lipton’s onion soup mix. Done!

Insert deafening silence. Oppressive stillness. A crow cawing in the distance.

WHAT NOW?

I’m all for low-lift, but this dip was too simple. It took literally 3 minutes to assemble, which had me twiddling my thumbs afterwards. Must. Make. More. Dip.

My brain said “be happy with the time and effort you just saved,” but my cookbook collection said “Use us! Use us!” And so I did. I added two more options to the repertoire.

First, from Alexis deBoschnek’s Nights and Weekends, an umami bomb of a dip that called for almond butter, gochujang, lime juice, and soy sauce. Ka-pow! It was easy to make and paired best with her recommendation of fresh veggies. I can’t quite characterize this one. Acidic, spicy, nutty — it was all over the map. I liked it. I was fascinated by it. I can’t say I was addicted to it, but I can say that I definitely had plenty of it. I could see a world where this dip gets repurposed as some sort of sauce for noodles. Weird, but cool.

Next, vegan elote queso from Casey Elsass’s What Can I Bring. This dip is decidedly NOT low-lift (many processes and dishes, at least 45 minutes to make), but I was too intrigued to resist. The recipe calls for reducing some fashion of corn water, which is formed from pulverizing corn in water (hence, corn water). The starches in the corn then thickens it up into a quasi melted cheese consistency, to which we add lime juice, nutritional yeast, chili powder, and smoked paprika.

I love queso, and I love corn; so this was a no-brainer for me. Notably, one of my favorite YouTube channels, Cult Flav, had attempted this recipe and were unable to achieve the proper texture. I wanted to blame them and not the recipe because I always root for the recipe to work, but alas, I too found that this corn mixture did not thicken as described. Good news: while the gimmick of using the natural starch in corn to boost viscosity is neat, you can always just use actual corn starch to help out. That’s what I did, and I’m proud to announce that I did in fact achieve queso consistency.

Ultimately, I wasn’t able to get this dip to taste like queso, which is always the tragedy of vegan interpretations. At best, it was an “echo of queso.'“ Nevertheless, this dip did land in a perfectly tasty space, and I think that without the expectation of queso, it would be nice addition to the canon. But once you say “queso,” you’re really setting a high bar.

Lessons learned: vegan queso may just be a bridge too far (this is my second attempt at one that fell short), but more importantly, sometimes you gotta stick with the classics. French onion dip was by far the most popular and honestly the best tasting — and it only took 3 minutes. Don’t overthink these things.

Other takeaways

Gravy: the best part of Alison Roman’s Very Good Turkey with Tangy Roasted Shallots and Excellent Gravy is in fact the eponymous “excellent gravy.” I’d say it’s the best I’ve had. This year I decided to cut a corner and instead of using homemade stock, I went the Better Than Bouillon route. The lesson I learned is that this killer kitchen hero must be put in check once in a while. It’s a salty mofo; so def err on the side of using less than normal when tending to an application like gravy.

Sweet potatoes: While I adore a classic sweet potato casserole, you’ve got to switch things up once in a while. Julia Moskin’s Five-Ingredient, Fiery Sweet Potatoes — which incorporates coconut milk and red curry paste — was the perfect pivot. Huge hit! It speaks of traditional Thanksgiving yams but has a depth of flavor that elevates our orange friends. A last minute visit to the broiler really sticks the landing and should not be overlooked. To that end, when you cook this, use a dish that is broiler safe (read: metal, not glass or ceramic) because you do not want to skip that essential browning. Also, use a good curry paste. I used a crappy one because it was at my generic supermarket, and I didn’t feel like trekking into Thai town. Even with my low end ingredient, these sweet potatoes thrived; so I can only imagine how much better it can get. Someone named Theo in the New York Times comments section highly recommends a brand called Maesri.

Vinegar-Braised Greens: I made a last minute choice to make this zingy dish from Alison Roman’s new book, Something from Nothing. It’s little more than sautéing some garlic cloves in olive oil, then adding red pepper flakes, white distilled vinegar, water, and greens. They wilt and cook down until all the liquid has evaporated, and thanks to that vinegar, they emerge impossibly bright and punchy. So bright “they went to college,” said my partner Dominique. Perfect for a Thanksgiving meal. I used four bunches of chard to serve eight people, which was double the recipe, and as a result, everything had to cook for about 45 minutes (instead of 20). All good — I did a million other things while this pot slowly bubbled away. I absolutely loved this dish and am adding it to the all-year rotation.

Cake, cake, cake: I’m obsessed with Dorie Greenspan’s new book Dorie’s Anytime Cakes, and when I saw her “Morning, Noon, and Night Thanksgiving Cake,” I clearly had to cap off our meal with it. This is a sweet potato laden loaf cake, and its name clues us into its modular nature: add nothing to the finished loaf and enjoy it for breakfast; add a glaze and now it’s a lovely afternoon cake; add a marshmallow frosting and the cake graduates to dinner party finale. I went whole hog: glaze and (double batch) frosting. It was easy and delicious, but maybe not as amazing as I would have hoped? The glaze recipe yields more than you can use on the cake, and if I were to revisit this recipe, I might poke holes in the loaf and convert the glaze into a soak.

And Here’s What Else Appeared

Pictured above, top-left, moving clockwise: Molly Baz’s Extra Corny Corn Muffins, courtesy of Derya, served with a scene-stealing compound butter by A.J.. Derya also provided her aunt’s wine-suffused cranberry sauce. (Butter and sauce, the reclusive stars that they are, not pictured)

Decadent Brussels sprouts and bacon, courtesy of Esi.

A cookie medley from Matt and AJ: quince and Manchego linzer, rosemary brown butter, and brown butter rum sugar cookies. Also a snacky nut appetizer from Yotam Ottolenghi.

I made Alexis deBoschnek’s Artichoke and white bean salad - another bright helper at the table.

Pictured above, top-left, moving clockwise, from Judy: J. Kenji Lopez-Alt’s classic sage sausage stuffing. Plus, a carrot dish by Alison Roman.

Mushrooms from the Kismet Cookbook, courtesy of Matt and AJ.

And of course, THE Salad.

How was your Thanksgiving? What was on your menu? What were the hits, and what were the misses?

Last month, our aggressively wonderful friends Melissa and Julie dropped by for an evening of catching up and joy and general mirth. The original plan was to dive into cookbooks and whip up a whole meal, but extreme, debilitating laziness set in ahead of MirthFest 2025. About an hour before their arrival and with no real plan in mind, I wafted to the store to find something simple to throw in the oven. I grabbed some carrots, some sausages, some herbs, a fennel bulb, and a cauliflower. I figured between all those items — as well as the jar of homemade pesto that was waiting in my fridge — I’d have enough to throw something together.

And I was right! I roasted it all: sausage and fennel in the toaster oven, carrots in the air fryer, and cauliflower in the big oven. While everything cooked away, I made a salsa verde — 2 garlic cloves, a giant bunch of parsley, salt, pepper, and a nice amount of olive oil — in the food processor. It took only seven minutes of effort. Easy.

When all the items emerged from their various roasty corners, I plopped them on serving plates, added some sauces (pesto with the cauliflower, salsa verde with the carrots), and served them up. It looked like I’d spent hours in the kitchen when in fact it had been a mere 45 minutes. I was basically living the Food Network dream (or at least the dream that Food Network used to have when it actually cared about cooking).

Am I tooting my own horn right now? Perhaps. But it’s a toot to illustrate a larger point. An illustrative toot, if you will. And here it is: we don’t have to always destroy ourselves to provide a sophisticated meal for guests. Sometimes a sheet pan, a hot oven, and a quick sauce is all we need (that’s kind of the ethos of “NBD Fancy,” even if I don’t always adhere to it in the kitchen).

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about that meal with Melissa and Julie. The dinner was so good with such little effort — wouldn’t it be amazing to channel its spirit into Thanksgiving? I’m always trying to find ways to make Thanksgiving a bit more efficient. But no matter how many times I try to organize a work flow or edit my dishes down (lol me editing myself), I always seem to have a harried Turkey Day. Surely there must be a way to do a low lift Thanksgiving.

And so I got to thinking: what are the tools, techniques, approaches and recipes that make a meal low-lift? I think I may have cracked the nut, or at least chipped off a bit of shell. Let me give you some guiding principles, some recipes, and finally a rough schedule to help.

1. Your General Approach

Broadly speaking, a low-lift Thanksgiving should elicit maximum flavor and visual appeal with minimal effort. We don’t want our feet to be aching by the time we sit at the table, and we don’t want a pile of dishes accumulating throughout the day (yes yes yes - wash as you go etc). The vibe should be “throw something in the oven, give it a sauce, scatter some herbs, and eat.” Here are some ways we can set ourselves up for that.

Use Quarter Sheet Pans

Roasting vegetables is ludicrously simple, and what makes it feel especially breezy is the option to always serve the dish directly from the sheet pan you cooked it in, especially if you’re using a quarter sheet pan. Quarter sheet pans are about 9”x13” and are the perfect, unpretentious vessel for any Thanksgiving item. They don’t take up much room at the table, they’re an easy wash, and they save you from cleaning a serving dish later on. More importantly, serving food on a sheet pan just feels … cozy. Sure, you wouldn’t do it for a posh dinner party, but for a casual gathering of your favorite people? Absolutely. In that way, a sheet pan really says “I don’t have to put on airs for you because we can be unabashedly ourselves.” It’s the kitchen equivalent of watching TV in sweats with your best friend. Am I reading too much into a sheet pan? Perhaps. But the point remains: pulling a quarter sheet pan from an oven and taking it directly to the table (atop a trivet OF COURSE) is the definition of low-lift. Make sure you have a few on hand.

Lean Into Simple Sauces

Sauces make food better. Well, of course. That’s not the headline here (and if it is, then I’m concerned about what you’ve been eating all this time). What I’m really here to say is that having two or three easy sauces can elevate an entire meal without much effort. Let me emphasize “easy sauce.” This is not a “heat it on a stovetop” moment. This is not a ten ingredient emulsion moment. And this is definitely not a drizzle-slowly-or-else-it-will-break moment.

I’m thinking tahini and lemon juice mixed with a fork and thinned with water. Maybe add garlic! Alternatively, throw some parsley and olive oil and salt in a food processor. Maybe add garlic there too! Or one of my favorite easy chic tricks: take two or three giant spoonfuls of yogurt (or sour cream or crème fraîche) and spoon it onto a plate. I guess you could add garlic there too, but you don’t have to. These are all swift, five minute sauces that punch above their weight. They’ll make a simple roasted vegetable taste and look like a proper Dish for Company with minimal effort.

If you want to do a more involved sauce — a pesto, something on the stovetop, or whatever is on your mind, I won’t stop you. But I will tell you to make it a day or two before Thanksgiving. That way it’ll be ready for you when you need it, which is very low lift.

And of course, let’s not overlook the wonderful world of condiments. Everyone loves a chili crisp these days. Make one or buy one. It’s a flavor bomb and adds a seriously photogenic vibe to your food. Alternately, mix some lime juice, garlic, and fish sauce together for a Southeast Asian vibe (and seriously why not?). Or keep it even simpler with Cholula or sriracha. Live your best life.

ABH: Always Be Herbing.

Don’t ignore your herb drawer. You can almost always make a dish company-worthy by dousing it with herbs. And when I say douse I mean douse. Do not hold back. Make it look like a confetti cannon exploded. Dill and parsley are my go-to’s. Cilantro I love, but some people have a genetic disposition against it; so proceed with caution. Mint is also a bit context-specific since it’s so assertive.

Another good option is to use the leaves of a vegetable you’re using: carrot tops, celery leaves, radish tops, beet greens, and my personal favorite, fennel fronds. Just taste them first to make sure it’s the flavor profile you want.

A giant scattering of green* makes a dish feel inviting and abundant, and all you did was chop something for two minutes. One of the fastest shortcuts to make a meal special.

*Roughly chopped nuts such as pistachios, almonds, or peanuts also work well with herbs… or sometimes in place of them.

2. Some Easy Recipes

Ultimately, all these approaches are fun and neat, but if your recipe is convoluted, lengthy, or sometimes just written in a giant block of prose, you will not be having a low-lift Thanksgiving. Try to avoid things that have to set up in the fridge or require a million different components. Oh, and steer clear of chef-driven cookbooks as they frequently ambush you with multiple sub-recipes before you’ve even finished perusing the ingredient list. If you must do any of these things, do as much as you can a day or two before.

With that being said, here are some recipe ideas in different categories — some tested, some not — for a low lift Thanksgiving.

Turkey

My favorite turkey recipe luckily happens to also be very low lift — at least as far as a turkey is involved. It’s Alison Roman’s Very Good Turkey with Tangy Roasted Shallots. I’ve been using this recipe for the past four years or so, and it yields truly the best turkey of all time. You will need to do the typical turkey things ahead of time—defrost (obvi) and season—but day of, there’s little more to do than bring to room temp and shove in the oven. Afterwards, prepare yourself for the most amazing gravy you’ve ever had. Oh, and while I know you may want to get a very fancy bird, I’m telling you right now that Butterball is the way to go here. Added bonus: the recipe yields its own low-lift side: roasted shallots in vinegar (DIVINE).

Vegetables

This is your moment to roast. Here are my picks:

Carrots: this is the official orange food holiday; so why not include the queen of them all? Roast up some carrots (or better yet, air fry them), top with a bright green sauce like salsa verde or a pesto, and maybe even scatter some chopped carrot leaves or dill on top. Just know this: you’ll need more carrots then you think. Get 2 bundles at least, maybe up to four.

Roasted cabbage: I’m obsessed with the Cook’s Illustrated’s approach to roasting cabbage wedges: season with salt, pepper, olive oil, stick in a 500 degree oven, covered, for 20 minutes. Remove foil, bake for ten more minutes, carefully flip, cook for 5-10 more, and serve. It’s unassailable. And beautiful. Plus, if it must be served room temp, it still works (as opposed to Brussels sprouts which can get kind of sad). This can go ungarnished, but also, a blitzed sauce of jarred red peppers, garlic, oil and vinegar wouldn’t be bad, and dill is always welcome. Go crazier with some chopped pistachios if you want.

Roasted new potatoes: halve them, toss with salt, pepper, and lots of oil, roast for thirty to forty minutes or so at 450 until crispy on the outside, soft and creamy on the inside. Feel free to use additional seasonings like thyme or rosemary or fennel seed or garlic. Sauce with a salsa verde or even a garlic yogurt smear. Garnish with chopped parsley and/or chives. If you don’t feel like making mashed potatoes, this is a great, easy way to still incorporate the world’s favorite tuber.

Butternut squash: the first roasted butternut squash recipe I encountered was in Ottolenghi’s Jerusalem. It blew my mind. Since then, there’ve been umpteen similar ones from him and other authors, and guess what? They all kind of rock. Choose one and do it. They’re easy. Alison Roman, Andy Baraghani, Natasha Feldman and others have several great options, but my personal favorite is Joshua McFadden’s from Six Seasons of Vegetables. His recipe calls for making two sauces, which may sound excessive until you realize the same sauces can also be used individually to spruce up other roasted vegetables you’re making. CONSIDER IT.

Sauteed spinach with oyster sauce: realistically, your oven may be occupied at any given moment on Thanskgiving; so stovetop options are always important. Sauté some chopped garlic in olive oil, add in way more fresh spinach than you would ever think you would need, then add some liquid: a good glug of wine, stock, or even water with some Better Than Bouillon. And finally, a secret ingredient: about a tablespoon or so of oyster sauce. Thank me later. Cover, wilt it down, and after five minutes, it should all be soft and wonderful. Adjust for seasoning. This is a pretty good one to make midday since it microwaves easily (no texture loss, like with crisped, freshly roasted vegetables).

Salad

There’s only one salad, and it’s THE Salad, aka Little Gems with Garlicky Lemon and Pistachio by Alison Roman. It’s impossibly easy, especially if you skip chopping up a whole lemon (you read that right — the recipes calls for chopping a whole lemon. I usually skip it). If you feel like making it more “of the season,” add some sliced apples or persimmons.

Here’s the TLDR on how to make THE Salad: roughly chop one head of washed little gems lettuce (or half a head of red leaf). Add one clove of grated garlic (I push it through a garlic press), a decent pinch of salt, and the zest of one lemon. Toss around. Then roughly chop a large handful of shelled pistachios, roughly chop a very large handful of dill, and toss both into the salad. Squeeze half a lemon over the salad, apply a glug of olive oil (more to taste), and serve. It takes five minutes. Don’t be precious about the dill or pistachios. Also consider throwing in some high quality feta if your guests have no lactose issues.

Sweet Potato something

Every year I make Toni Tipton-Martin’s excellent sweet potato casserole, which isn’t very hard, but may be just a hair too much effort to be truly “low-lift.” In pursuit of something that might scratch the same itch, I found Lidey Heuck’s Mashed Sweet Potatoes with Maple and Brown Butter in the New York Times: boil sweet potatoes for 20 minutes, then whip into an orange frenzy in a stand mixer, adding milk, maple syrup, and browned butter (which you can make the day before). Top with pecans and more maple syrup. I like the sound of this recipe for low-lift purposes because a) it can bubble away on the stovetop while the turkey cooks, and b) it lacks the standard casserole step of heating through in the oven. I might swap in a hand mixer for a stand mixer, if only to reduce dishes, but then again, you’ll most likely be assembling this dish when the kitchen is at its busiest; so a hands-off stand mixer may truly be the way to go. But of course, you can just make Toni Tipton-Martin’s casserole two days prior and move on with life.

Stuffing

Honestly, the low-lift mandate faces a challenge with stuffing (or rather, dressing). How to achieve the delicious, spongey glory of a Thanksgiving stuffing without sautéing the veggies, cooking the sausage, drying out bread, soaking with stock, and browning in the oven? I’m not sure there are suitable workarounds. Sure, you can be clever - maybe some sort of sausage panzanella - but for stuffing, I’m just going to tell you to make it the day before. My go-to recipe is J. Kenji Lopez-Alt’s version from Serious Eats, but I’m also curious about Bon Appetit’s “Simple-Is-Best Stuffing.” In the spirit of low-lift, give the latter a try.

3. Things You Can Buy (or Make!)

Arming yourself with sheet pans and sauces and some breezy recipes is great, but you still may need some help in the low-lift department. That’s why we turn to The Queen, Ina Garten for some sage (Thanksgiving pun intended) advice: storebought is fine. Let’s plug holes where we can with some perfectly suitable purchased items. I’m not saying you have to get your pumpkin pie from a gas station, but go visit a bakery or grab a chichi grain salad from a gourmet shop. No one will hate you for it.

In the pursuit of a low-lift Thanksgiving, you can outsource to professionals, and we won’t judge. I think this is particularly useful when it comes to cranberry sauce, hors d’oeuvres, bread, and dessert. However, if you’re feeling semi-intrepid, I do have some low-lift alternatives to make at home.

Cranberry Sauce

I shockingly don’t mind a wobbly cylinder of cranberry sauce straight out of the can, but that may be too low-lift for some. Equally easy but definitely more sophisticated is a largely hands-off recipe that my friend Stacy relies on every year. It’s a No-Cook Cranberry Chutney from the New York Times. Just add 12 oz fresh cranberries, 12 oz sugar, and 2 tsp of orange to a stand mixer. Let a paddle attachment thwack the ingredients at a very low speed for an hour until a chutney stares back at you.

Rolls

A fluffy roll, perhaps even a Parker House roll, slathered with butter is just the most soul-satisfyingly perfect accompaniment to a Thanksgiving dinner. I personally am fond of a giant bag of King’s Hawaiian rolls. Elevate them with some cultured butter. Whatever roll you choose, you always have the option to make them yourself, but at my skill level, I’d be taking the meal to medium-lift Thanksgiving territory. For experienced bread makers, I’m sure rolls can be made in their sleep. Be honest with your skills on this front and don’t feel crappy about buying nice bread.

Snacks and Hors D’Oeuvres

No one will judge you if you buy a tray of crudités or charcuterie. No one will be unhappy either if you make some simple dips. My favorite: Alison Roman’s creamy sesame turmeric dip, which can be made day before (yes, I know I cite Alison Roman a lot here, but she does great work). If making a dip from scratch is too annoying, I will never ever ever turn my nose up at a classic French onion dip made from sour cream and onion soup mix. It takes two seconds to mix together and is impossible to resist.

Also worth noting: Ina Garten does magic with puff pastry. Use her dead simple recipe for ham and cheese in puff pastry or elevate it with her soppressata and cheese variation. Maybe ditch the fillings altogether and make her puff pastry batons. Alternatively, Molly Baz’s melted parmesan “Crick Cracks” don’t feature puff pastry but are equally addictive. They come together in 15 minutes and may disappear in half that time.

If you’re feeling a bit more hipster or just elevated, tinned fish, olives, and pickled items make for a bold and sophisticated snack. If you can find tinned razor clams, get some (they’re pricy though). A high quality anchovy situation will also be equally satisfying.

Dessert

Thanksgiving pies (apple, pecan, and/or pumpkin) can always be made ahead of time, and in fact may benefit from some lead time. But you can buy absolutely solid alternatives from so many places. Costco, for instance, has an iconic pecan pie. You probably can just ask a friend or relative to fetch you one and some vanilla ice cream. If you decide to make a pie, the all time best pecan pie hails from John Besh. Bake it the night before.

Should you decide to embark on a low-lift dessert, how about something easy and unexpected like a homemade ice cream cake? Alison Roman opened my eyes to this concept two years ago with her Mint Chip Ice Cream Cake, which calls for softened ice cream to be spread upon a chocolate cake sponge and topped with whipped cream.

For a Thanksgiving ice cream cake, I’d sub in a vanilla cake base (or a pound cake or a yellow cake) and top with some manner of pecan or praline ice cream. I’m a huge fan of Jeni’s Ice Cream and not just because they occasionally send me pints (thank you!) and also provided ice cream for a recent Watch What Crappens party I threw in Vegas. They are legitimately one of the best ice creams out there, and their flavors are ideal for a Thanksgiving ice cream cake. I might go for their Salty Caramel or Brown Butter Almond Brittle (or both). But just go to the supermarket and select an ice cream that feels right for you. Assemble ahead of Thursday, and enjoy the bliss of not needing to heat anything up after dinner.

4. Prepare for Crunch Time

I’ve talked about approaches, I’ve talked about recipes, I’ve talked about outsourcing… now it’s time to address timing.

I have found that with enough prep, Thanksgiving can be a pretty low key day of cooking… until the turkey comes out. Then the real chaos begins. In that scant hour when the bird rests, umpteen dishes need to take center stage. Gravy needs to be made, vegetables must be roasted, stuffing browned, salad dressed, potatoes boiled. It’s chaos. And then here come three guests who need to simmer something or stick a pan in an oven. Why do we do this every year? It’s because we want every. single. dish. to be HOT, and it’s just not realistic.

My goal for this go-around, and I suspect the ultimate key to a true low-lift Thanksgiving, is to plan meticulously for this final, disastrous hour. Whatever I can do to alleviate the traffic, I will do it. Be okay roasting off a vegetable midday and serving at room temp if it means there won’t be a logjam in the oven (carrots are a good candidate for this). Find out what your friends and family are bringing, and ask them what their reheating needs are.

All your chopping and slicing should be done before the turkey comes out of the oven because once the bird emerges, your focus will largely be on making the gravy and overseeing anything that’s boiling on the stovetop (potatoes, generally speaking). You want to simplify your task space as much as possible in this hour because everyone will be asking you for tools, bowls, knives, oven space, and peelers.

With all that being said, here’s my proposed schedule to help all of us get through that crazy final hour and enjoy a carefree day of cooking. The bullet points are all optional. Think of each one as “IF you decide to go down this path, this is when you should do it.”

THE Schedule

Here’s a cheat sheet for how you could plan out this low-lift meal.

24-48 hours before dinner:

• Turkey prep: season it, as per recipe instructions.

The Day before:

• Make cranberry sauce. This takes an hour; so, start it now.

• Make brown butter, toast pecans for sweet potatoes on the stovetop.

• Prep stuffing up until it goes into the oven.

• Make any sauces that require a food processor: salsa verde; a red pepper sauce/romanesco; pesto.

• If you feel like making homemade chili crisp, now is a good time.

• Make your dip(s).

• Put puff pastry in the fridge to defrost if you’re using it.

• Assemble ice cream cake and freeze.

Thanksgiving morning:

• Bring turkey to room temp for 2 hours

• Make hors d’oeuvres while the turkey warms up. The oven is free… use it!

4 hours or so before dinner:

• Put the turkey in the oven. It may be done after 2.5 hours but it could take longer depending on its size.

• Cook your spinach on the stovetop (you can reheat it later in the microwave).

• Shower if you haven’t already. Do some dishes.

While the turkey roasts (early stage):

• Put out hors d’oeuvres.

• Enjoy some downtime.

When you’re 45 minutes from the turkey being done:

• Soak lettuce in ice bath to crisp them for salad.

• Chop up all your herb garnishes: dill, parsley, etc.

When it looks like the turkey has only about 30 minutes left

• Dry lettuce in a salad spinner.

• Assemble salad, but don’t dress.

• Peel, dice sweet potato.

• If making mashed potatoes, peel and dice potatoes and place in cold water in saucepan.

When the turkey comes out / while the turkey Rests (45 - 60min):

(this is when the true chaos begins)

• Make gravy

• Boil sweet potatoes (also boil regular potatoes if making mashed potatoes) - remember it will take time for these pots to come to a boil.

• Roast a big vegetable like cabbage, carrots, or butternut squash in the oven. Use convection to help air circulate around multiple sheet pans if that’s an issue.

• In the toaster oven, heat your stuffing.

• In the air fryer, roast your carrots (good for new potatoes).

• Help frazzled friends who still need to heat their dishes and stir random things on the stovetop.

And finally…

• Dress salad.

• Carve turkey.

• Plate your roasted vegetables and mashed things.

I think you made it!

Fingers crossed this schedule actually works out. We’ll all be trying it together. Let me know how it works out for you so we can tweak and adjust for next year. Good luck, and please let me know what other recipes are great for a low-lift Thanksgiving!

Share

A few years ago, my friend Jason made an assertive claim that pesto made with walnuts was NOT pesto. He joked that it was WESTO but not PESTO. I retorted that pesto was merely a process and that it could take many forms, walnuts or not. At this point, he had already drawn a line in the basil; so there was no turning back for him.

I’m not Italian (although, a large number of people think I am), and therefore I do lack the necessary pesto authority to make lavish claims about the fabled green (and sometimes red) paste. But I am a man with a food processor, and I’d like to throw my hat into the conversation.

According to Wikipedia, pesto’s origin can be traced back to the Romans, but for all intents and purposes, the paste arrived at its signature basil-bound state in 1850s Liguria. Genoa, specifically. In its most traditional form, pesto is made by crushing garlic and pine nuts together, incorporating basil, and then finally olive oil and parmesan. This is the pesto we know and love — the one we find tossed with rigatoni, slathered on chicken breasts, or merely sat quietly next to a slice of bread. It’s a classic, and no one would dare mess with it.

And yet, mess with it we have. There’s a whole world of pestos out there — just take a gander at Saveur’s intriguing rundown of pesto varieties, familiar and exotic. It was only a matter of time before the dairy-free crowd began futzing with the formula too.

As I’ve mentioned many times on this Substack, my partner Dominique is lactose intolerant; so cutting out dairy is always optimal for the digestive tranquility of our household. Parmesan has little to no lactose, which is great, but why add the harrowing risk of intestinal turbulence to a humble bowl of pesto rigatoni?

One option is to just make a pistou — France’s cheese-free version of pesto. It’s perfectly delicious and a great addition to the canon of green sauces we all adore, but sometimes you just need to parm it up.

The challenge of converting something to dairy-free is an intriguing one. I had great success with a vegan cheesecake recently, for instance. Parmesan, however, is such a powerhouse flavor vehicle that kicking it to the curb has its drawbacks. The cheese provides bite, saltiness, and umami to a dish — to ditch it is to risk your dish falling flat. It’s like when the star of your favorite sitcom leaves for a movie career: sure, it’s basically the same show, but the magic is gone (I’m not saying parmesan is the Bea Arthur of cheese, but also, have you seen The Golden Palace?)

Nevertheless, I decided to attempt a dairy-free pesto using nothing by the blurry-edged instincts I’d honed from flopping around the kitchen all these years. I tried to think about what I’d be losing without the parmesan and then reconstruct from there.

Parmesan packs a big umami punch; so first order of business was to swap in a similarly strident ambassador for the fifth sense. My revolutionary impulse: miso paste. I was so proud of myself for this pivot, not considering that vegan innovators had forged this path years prior.

What I DID know was that vegans also love a nutritional yeast moment. It apparently tastes “cheesy” and hits like parmesan. I’ve never really unlocked that tier of sensation, but I trust the process; so I threw some in the food processor with the miso.

Notably, I didn’t have any pine nuts on hand, but I figured raw cashews would be a strong alternate. They’re sweet and yielding like pine nuts, but they also have a creamy quality, which is why they’re so often employed for vegan cheeses. I figured as long as I was attempting faux-parmesan sorcery, cashews might be the perfect non-pignoli nut.

An initial taste test was promising but unsatisfying. My fauxmesan had a salty, umami punch, but not of that sharp bite I like from my hard cheeses. Did it need acid? That’s usually what we reach for when we are bite-needy. Some heavy dribbles of unseasoned rice vinegar did the trick — not enough to make this a sour paste; just a quiet pulse of tang in the background. Mixed with garlic and basil, this dairy-free, nay, vegan pesto tasted remarkably close to the classic Ligurian pesto we know and love.

I won’t say the two pestos are identical — the OG will always be the reigning champ — but this miso pesto hits all the important notes: herbaceous, garlicky, sharp at the back of the tongue. It just feels right. Is it actually pesto? Maybe? Maybe not. Jason would say absolutely not. But it IS delicious.

The thing is this: what’s the point of whipping up some hippie dippy dairy-free pesto if you’re not going to put it to good use? One fun and easy option: splatter some on a plate and top with roasted vegetables like cauliflower or carrots. It’s a fast and vibrantly colorful dish that will easily wow over other diners.

But I would argue the most fun way to use pesto is in pasta (shocker!). A no-frills pasta and pesto preparation aways works - just make sure to add a few ladles of pasta water to transform the pesto from paste to sauce.

I personally like a bit more pizazz than just a basic bowl of noodles and pesto; so I add some sliced and sautéed Jimmy Nardello peppers that I had douse with a heavy pour of vinegar. The sweet peppers and zingy vinegar pierce through the Iron Curtain of pesto and starch in a way that truly elevates the dish. Of course you could also throw in some sausages for similar effect, but for those looking to remain meatless, that might be less appealing.

In a surprise twist, I also enjoy adding wilted, sautéed spinach for flavor and texture. You probably don’t need it, but also why not live a little?

The following are my recipes both for the miso pesto and also the pasta I like to make with it. Make one, both, or some variation of either. Whatever you do, report back in the comments below.

Basil Miso Pesto

A dairy free, vegan alternate approach to classic basil pesto.

Ingredients

2 tbs nutritional yeast

2 tbs miso paste (white, ideally, as it is mildest)

4 cloves of garlic, peeled

1/2 cup cashews (or almonds, pistachios, hazelnuts, or pine nuts)

4 tsp unseasoned rice vinegar

3 cups (108g) of basil leaves, plucked from about 3 large bunches

3/4 cup extra virgin olive oil

1 1/2 tsp Diamond Crystal kosher salt, plus more for seasoning

Instructions

1. In a food processor, blitz the nutritional yeast with the miso, garlic, and cashews (or whatever nut you choose) until it makes a crumbly, bitsy paste. Add the vinegar and process until incorporated.

2. Add all the basil to the food processor and pulse until it is chopped up a bit. With the machine running, slowly drizzle all olive oil into the mixture until it resembles a proper pesto paste (thick but liquid). Add the salt and then taste for seasoning. Depending on your miso, you may need to add more.

   A taste test is mandatory here. There are a lot of factors that need consideration: the saltiness of your miso, the boldness of your miso, the type of nut, how much basil went in the food processor, the quality of your salt, etc. Taste and add salt, 1/4 teaspoons at a time until it tastes “right.” If it’s too salty, add more olive oil.

3. omg you’re done! Refrigerate pesto in a cute jar to show off its stunningly green hues to all who cross its path. Or… reserve the pesto for the following pasta:

Miso Pesto Pasta with Sweet Peppers and Spinach

Ingredients

1 recipe basil miso pesto (see above)

8oz / 229g sweet peppers such as Jimmy Nardellos

1 bunch of fresh spinach, thick stems discarded

Kosher salt, to taste

Olive oil

1/4 cup unseasoned rice wine vinegar

1lb pasta of your choice (I like a fun, short shape like orecchiette, rigatoni, or twisty cavatappi)

1/4 tsp ground nutmeg

1 tbs oyster sauce

Instructions

1. Do your prep. Make the pesto if you haven’t already. Slice your peppers into bite-sized rings (about 1/4 inch wide). You should have about 2 cups’ worth. Give your spinach a rough chop too.

   If you’re using a big pepper, you may want to cut your rings in half.

   Don’t use frozen spinach. Fresh only. Also, this recipe does not work as well with other hearty greens such as collards; so don’t get clever unless you have to.

2. Bring a large pot of water to a boil over high heat.

3. In the meantime: coat the bottom of a different large pot such as a Dutch oven with olive oil. Heat on medium, and when warm, add the peppers and a nice pinch of salt. Cook until tender, about 7 or 8 minutes, stirring occasionally.

4. Douse the peppers with the vinegar and stir around. Cut the heat. Taste it. You want the mixture to kind of punch you in the face.

5. Salt your boiling water generously and then add the pasta, following the instructions on the package.

6. While the pasta cooks, bring the peppers back up to a medium flame. Add the spinach, the nutmeg, and the oyster sauce. Mix around, then add one ladle of pasta water. Lower heat to low, cover, and let simmer for five minutes. Then uncover and taste for seasoning.

   In lieu of oyster sauce, you could use miso or perhaps a teaspoon of Better Than Bouillon.

7. Add the pesto to the pot to warm it up, stirring around. Raise the temp to medium, add a ladle of pasta water to the pesto and stir until incorporated. Repeat a second time. The pesto should now resemble a runny sauce instead of a paste. Drop the heat again to low. Stir occasionally until the pasta is ready.

8. About a minute before the pasta is ready, taste it. If it feels just shy of your ideal texture, cut the heat, reserve two cups of the pasta water, and drain the rest. Add the pasta to the pesto and stir to coat, letting the pasta continue to cook for another minute in this pot.

9. If the sauce still seems a little thick, add more of the reserved pasta water, a little at a time and stir. Check for seasoning and serve hot!

   ---

What’s your favorite type of pesto? And how do you like to use it? Tell me everything.

Thanks for reading this post! Please tell your friends and be sure to subscribe if you haven’t already!

Subscribe now

Back in 2023, my friend Chris and I embarked on a glorious tinned fish adventure, culminating in our first ever tinned fish party. It was a fast and loose affair — we began with a wonderful razor clam and Calabrian chili toast, which hailed from the evocatively titled cookbook, The Magic of Tinned Fish. After tackling that, we went really wild and made… another toast. And then we adapted that toast into a cracker experience. And followed that with more crackers topped with more fish. In other words, we really leaned into topping carbs with fish.

It was all super tasty, but maybe we could have been more creative. Can’t we strive for something greater than plopping fish on a thin cracker? Must we banish razor clams to a life sentence on charred toast?

Now before you fire off an angry email, let me reiterate something: tinned fish perched on bready products is utterly delicious. In a pinch, it’s a sublime snack or a lovely lunch. No notes. But if we’re throwing a Tinned Fish Party with a capital T, we need to think bigger. How can tinned fish shine as a proper main?

With that mandate in mind, Chris and I set about arranging a tinned fish sequel. And by “arranging,” I mean spending two years telling each other “We should do another tinned fish night!” Finally, after some seriously intense feet dragging, we made an evening of beautiful, briny tinned fish happen! (And also some board games afterwards because why not have the best night ever?)

Here’s what hit the table.

Smoked Trout with Mustard and Apples

Most of the smoked trout recipes in my cookbook collection are dips or salads. I decided to buck the trend by going in a different direction entirely… until I saw this intriguing number by Alison Roman. We’re firmly in the land of salads here, despite all efforts to break the mold, and that’s okay because this dish is excellent.

First I smeared a generous helping of crème fraîche on a serving plate, then flaked smoked trout across the surface, and then topped it with a mixture of raw mustard greens, vinegar-marinated mustard seeds, apples, tarragon, and chives. One could stop there, but Alison Roman encourages a salmon roe garnish, and who was I to deny such joys?

The collisions of flavors and textures in this dish was borderline alchemy. Raw mustard greens were aggressively punchy and bright, but sweet apples and silky crème fraîche reined in the sharpness. And then of course there was the trout, which seemed to ground this salad with its salty, smokey flavor. It was shocking that so few ingredients could yield a salad so complex in flavor and texture.

My main regret was that I only had three sad ounces of smoked trout on hand (Jose Gourmet, for those interested). The recipe called for 12oz, which meant I had to make my supply stretttttttch. Truly a regrettable inventory error — on tinned fish night no less! Oh well. I did the best with what I had, and even with a reduced amount, the trout definitely made its presence known.

The sustained and emphatic moans from around the table suggested that this dish was in fact a winner. The recipe calls for assembling individual plates, but one large platter not only felt right, but proved that this could be a killer potluck dish. If you too feel like adopting a Big Dish Lifestyle, my recommendation is to lean into surface area. Annoyingly, my nicely sized serving plate corralled the greens in a way that completely obscured the crème fraîche and trout, the latter being the star of the show. It looked pretty, but man… had I used my wide, pink dish? It would have been a stunner. I’m making this dish again, and when it hits the table, it will be UNFORGETTABLE.

Sardine Kimchi Jjigae

Since the last tinned fish party, or TFP as the cool kids call it (okay, literally no one calls it that), Chris had been wanting to connect me with his friend, the renowned and beloved drag artist Kim Chi. We both share a love of tinned fish, cooking, and board games; so naturally Kim had to be a part of our TFP. I’d heard that Kim could throw down in the kitchen — her cookbook Kim Chi Eats The World hits stores in just a few days coincidentally — but I had never experienced her food until this night. Her Sardine Kimchi Jjigae had me buckling at the knees with happiness.

The vibrantly red, spicy stew featured classic Korean ingredients such as aged kimchi, gukganjang, and gochugaru as well as tofu and onion and peppers and of course, sardines. I have a hard time articulating this sour paradise beyond saying it was a perfect stew. And also an excellent showcase of sardines, most importantly.

Subscribe now

Pan-fried Sardines with Salsa Verde

I’d heard much about the fabled Fishwife brand; so I decided to dabble with some of their sardines in preserved lemon olive oil. These sexy fillets probably needed no more than a toothpick to enjoy, but this was a night for ambition. Enter Anna Hezel’s incredibly fun cookbook From Tin to Table. Shaped like an actual tin of sardines, the book offers a wide variety of tinned fish recipes — from the simple to the inventive. One item that has always caught my eye has been the pan-fried sardines with salsa verde.

It’s actually an incredibly simple ditty. First a salsa verde: parsley, cilantro, lemon juice, capers, and olive oil go into a food processor. 30 seconds later you have the sort of shockingly green sauce that you’d normally find in a viral Instagram food video. In my case, I doubled the parsley and omitted the cilantro since I wasn’t sure how the controversial latter herb would play at the table. Worked out great.

Then, the sardines. This step was wildly simple. Crack open the tin, pour the sardine oil into a small pan (you really only need an 8 incher, max), and sauté the fillets until browned on both sides. The whole thing takes about 3 minutes.

After that, it’s just a matter of plating the browned sardines on a bed of salsa verde. This may be the trickiest step as one aspires to not break up the delicate fillets (I failed on that front, sadly). The dish truly comes together in about five to seven minutes with minimal effort, but looks like it just emerged from a restaurant kitchen.

And the great news is that Anna’s dish tastes wonderful too. Salsa verde is a sneaky strong culinary booster — it lends a bold, visual pop to any dish, let alone so much flavor. Here it really gives the sardines some extra oomph.

I also really enjoyed this dish as a component of our overall meal. We’d had tinned fish flaked into a salad and boiled into a stew; having a pan-fried option further highlighted the range of these ingredients. Plus, unlike our first two dishes, the tinned fish was undeniably front and center here. Going forward, I’d one hundred percent revisit this dish as an appetizer for a dinner party or simply a quick, bright lunch.

Tuna Ssamjang

As much as I unabashedly loved Kim’s sardine kimchi jjigae, it was her tuna ssamjang that had me internally weeping with joy. This was a mix of flaked tuna, ssamjang, onion, serrano, tofu, sesame oil, and green onion served on a rice cake — simple and unrepentantly addictive. I could not stop reaching for these sweet, salty, fishy bites. I’m literally salivating at the thought of them. Luckily I saved one and will be snacking on it directly following publication of this column. I found the mustard greens, apple, and trout salad to be the most surprising and complex dish of the night, but this may have been my favorite.

On The Fly Boquerones

Boquerones are not technically tinned fish as they frequently are sold in vacuum-sealed packs, but every sitcom is allowed to have a wacky neighbor; so why not let these gals join the party? These anchovy fillets — larger than the type you’d find in a tin — are typically marinated in vinegar, garlic, and other fun things. While I was shopping for tinned fish, I saw them nearby and said “EFF IT. I’m getting them, and I’ll come up with a plan later!” Luckily, I didn’t actually say this out loud. That would have been awkward.

Well, after I assembled the trout dish and the sardine dish, I was left staring down my impulse boquerones. What to do? A nearby wine bar called Stir Crazy has a fun dish that involves anchovies floating in olive oil, herbs, and hazelnuts. Why not replicate that?

Welp, my hazelnuts were rancid; so that was a setback. And since I’d already done the whole salsa verde thing with the sardines, I didn’t want to go herby a second time. I swerved. I made a pool of olive oil and then added about a tablespoon of vinegar (specifically the chardonnay vinegar from American Vinegar Works). I laid my cute boquerones across the oil mixture in a uniform pattern and topped with dill (always a friend to tinned fish) and some orange slices. Or was it a tangerine? I’m not sure — all I knew was that I had anonymous citrus in the back of my fridge, and I wanted to commission it for duty.

The final dish was a departure from Stir Crazy’s creation, but striking nonetheless. The brininess of the anchovies and the multiple sour elements came together beautifully, and when the sweet citrus hit, the whole thing became yet another flavor explosion at the table.

Like the sardines, this dish came together in about 5 minutes, and yet it had the stage presence of something far fussier. True, peak NBD Fancy.

Fried Dace Dip with Fermented Black Beans and Cucumber

The night would not be complete without a dip. This is one of the most common and delicious applications for tinned fish, and Chris found a recipe online that harkened back to his childhood by employing fried dace with fermented black beans. The original approach called for dace, mayo, cream cheese, shallots, and cilantro to be whipped together into a glorious triumph, but in an inspired bit of improv, Chris swapped out the cream cheese for cottage cheese. This worked, and once he spooned the black beans atop the dish, it really came alive.

Notably, losing the cream cheese meant we also lost some vital tang, but that was nothing that some rice vinegar couldn’t fix. Going forward, I’d probably stay true to the original formula (also because I am obsessed with cream cheese). Nevertheless, the dip was pretty neat, and I loved getting my first taste of dace.

Tin Things I Hate About You

I just wanted to make that pun. There was no graceful way to include it.

But let’s talk takeaways. First, every dish was great, and I loved how the trout dish (which read a bit Eastern European) and the boquerones (Spanish) and the sardines (not sure about that one — maybe Italian? Mediterranean!) meshed so cleanly with Kim’s two Korean options and Chris’s Chinese-tinged dip. This was a bit of an international hodgepodge, but all the dishes played with brininess and sour flavors in totally complementary ways. I loved how the common thread of tinned fish could bring the disparate foods all together.

Second, the ease with which everything came together was astounding. It took forty-five minutes total to assemble my three dishes, and Kim noted that her offerings were casual recipes she frequently whips up at home for a quick meal or snack. Yet, despite how swiftly these dishes reach the finish line, they taste and look like recipes that are far more complicated. You have to admit it’s pretty cool.

Third, there is a downside to this sort of menu. Some of the designer tinned fish (looking at you Fishwife) is a bit pricey. I went luxe for this dinner party, and I think it’s important to throw some extra dollars at these tins if the plan is to just eat the fish on toothpicks or crackers. However, as part of a larger, composed dish, I suspect I could probably sneak by with cheaper sardines and trout. The other ingredients do enough heavy lifting to mask the downgrade (I think!).

TLDR: dishes were awesome, prep was easy, and there’s room to save money.

Please tell me what your favorite tinned fish recipes are! I must make more!!

Oh, and of course, be sure to use sustainable seafood whenever you can!

Thanks for reading. If you’re new here, subscribe! It’s donation based, which means you can subscribe for free if you want to!

Share

This morning as I was tangling with an avocado I realized it had been nearly 18 months since I last highlighted some kitchen equipment on this here Substack. Back in the heady days of 2023, I was very eager to push a single-use gadget agenda, which I still adamantly believe in. I loved showcasing and advocating for some of my quirkier finds such as the corn zipper (used frequently to this day!) and a dusting wand, but realistically I understand that people may have more practical needs.

I would never call myself a practical person by and large, but I do have some helpful kitchen items up my sleeve. These aren’t necessarily gadgets; think of them as basics. Specifically, basics you may have overlooked. Or in some cases, these are items you may assume are unnecessary because you have larger, bulkier versions of them instead.

However you want to frame it, these are some items in my kitchen that bring me joy and utility. They may do the same for you; so check them out.

Jar Spatula

I hadn’t heard of a jar spatula until I stumbled upon this weird doodad in my drawer. The sordid backstory is that last summer I bought a collection of cheap bowls online that for some reason came with a tiny bowl scraper and what I would later discover was a jar spatula. Shaped like a petite replica of a fraternity paddle, the jar spatula didn’t seem very useful at first - who needs a glorified oar in the kitchen?

Whenever I encountered anything small in need of scraping — a bottle, a jar, some Tupperware — I just reached for a standard scraper, particularly the little one that came with the bowls. But then one day — I don’t know what divine intervention led me to this life changing moment — I said to myself “Let’s use that thing that’s sort of shaped like a butter knife but straighter and made of silicone.”

My friends, it was like a chorus of angels sang out from the heavens. The jar spatula found its way into corners and crevices and curves in a way that no other scraper could dream of. It’s hard to describe, to be honest, because a small scraper can make short work of a jar perfectly well, but there was something so lovely and perfect about the jar scraper. Its shape was just right for all my scraping needs. Now it’s the tool I almost always reach for anytime I’m even thinking about a jar. I love it.

Amazon: Walfos Silicone Jar Spatula

3/4 Tsp Measuring Spoon

I can’t speak to the universal nature of measuring spoons, nor would I ever dare to in these fraught times, but my experience has been that not all sets of measuring spoons include the quirky 3/4 teaspoon option. You’ll get your 1/4 teaspoon and your 1/2 teaspoon, but for whatever reason, certain manufacturers think it’s perfectly acceptable to plunge us into the void that is figuring out 75% of a teaspoon. Sure, we could use a 1/4 teaspoon measure three times (awful!) or perform some hideous exercise wherein we use a 1/4 teaspoon AND a 1/2 teaspoon — more dishes! — but I think in 2025 we deserve better. We deserve specificity.

That’s why I call upon those who are 3/4-teaspoon-deprived to feel no guilt about buying one. You are not being excessive or frivolous or indulgent for adding this to your collection. The 3/4 tsp measuring spoon is actually incredibly helpful. There are a sneakily large number of recipes that call for this specific measurement, and for years I just suffered through the workarounds in absolute MISERY, never realizing there was a better way. Once I allowed myself the grace to acquire a dedicated 3/4 teaspoon measure, I found immense happiness. Don’t hold yourself back!

Luckily, a quick glance at Amazon reveals that these days so many measuring sets do in fact come with a 3/4 teaspoon. But if you have been unlucky enough to have that gap in your collection, go for it! Get yourself the Jan Brady of measuring spoons and enjoy all she has to offer.

Amazon: 3/4 Tsp Single Measuring Spoon

Oh, and if you do this, I cannot stress this next part enough:

Rectangular Measuring Spoons

If you’re in the market for measuring spoons, especially after my impassioned pitch for a 3/4 teaspoon, I must implore you to join the rectangular revolution. The circular measuring spoons simply won’t do. It comes down to simple physics: rectangular measuring spoons fit in small spice jars. Bulbous, dare I say dumb, circular spoons do not!

Added benefit: a rectangular measuring spoon can sit undisturbed on the counter or cutting board in case you need to pause your current step. Maybe you realized you forgot something in the recipe. Maybe you received a call. Maybe something is on fire. We’ve all had that terrifying moment when a measuring spoon is filled with some spice or worse, vanilla extract, and we’ve had to ever so carefully rest it on a surface due to some other pressing matter. With a rectangular measuring spoon, those harrowing days are over. Feel free to put your spoon down without fear of capsizing.

And here’s an added perk. Come take a walk with me:

You’re following a recipe. It calls for a million spices. 1/2 a teaspoon of this, 1/2 a teaspoon of that. You’re measuring out a million 1/2 teaspoons of things and then suddenly: 1/4 teaspoon of nutmeg. WHAT. Now, after having really committed to that 1/2 teaspoon for what feels like a lifetime, we have to pull out a new measure? No, ma’am. So, instead of dirtying a new dish with a 1/4 teaspoon of something, you eyeball out half of your 1/2 teaspoon. We’ve all been there, and we all do this.

WELL, if you find yourself having to eyeball a fraction of your measuring spoon, a rectangular one makes this exercise a dream. It’s so much easier to estimate in a rectangle than in a circle (or a dreaded ovoid).

These are minor quality of life issues, but you will be surprised by how much delight they’ll bring you.

Amazon: Hudson Essentials Stainless Steel Measuring Spoons

Quarter Sheet Pans

Here in Los Angeles there’s a pizza place called Quarter Sheets, and it’s all the rage. The concept is pretty simple: pizza cooked and served in a quarter sheet pan. I have yet to go, but I’ve been eager to, mainly because I have developed a late in life adoration for this humble 13”x9” pan. It seems to do everything. If you don’t have one, buy two. Or three. Right now.

First, some background. Most people look at a quarter sheet pan, which measures 13” x 9”, and say “Hey, isn’t this half the size of a regular sheet pan?” and then “Why is it called a quarter sheet pan if it’s half?” and then they say “Why am I so mad about this?” and then they say “Who am I talking to?”

While yes, a quarter sheet pan is in fact half the size of a standard sheet pan in your kitchen, there’s some trickery afoot. That standard pan is actually called a “half sheet pan,” whereas a “full sheet pan” comes in at a whopping 26”x18” - way larger than most home ovens (usually only kitchen professionals deal with those big daddies). And so the thing that you may think of as a a full is a half, and the half is actually a quarter. There’s a lesson here, I suppose. Not sure what it is, but I’m sure we could stitch together something about not realizing we’re part of something larger in life.

Anyway, now that we’re all on the same page about which pans I’m talking about (“level setting,” as corporate people would say), let’s talk about why quarter sheets are the best.

First, you can cook with them. No brainer there. But importantly, they fit perfectly inside most toaster ovens (maybe not the small ones). This means you can skip the big oven and save some energy (and even time preheating) with the toaster oven instead. This is a great option for large cooking events like Thanksgiving where other items need to occupy the primary oven.

With multiple quarter sheet pans, you can also roast two different things in a main oven without co-mingling them, if that’s a concern. They’re great for small batches or conversely, overflow from big batches (like when you run out of space for placing cookie dough on a sheet). Maybe you just want to cook a small sheet cake instead of a giant slab. The quarter sheet pan has you covered.

There are all sorts of other unconventional uses for quarter sheet pans. That sauté pan on the stovetop that you need a lid for? Just put a quarter sheet pan on top. Want a high-low table presentation? Or maybe just one fewer dish at dinner? Use the quarter sheet pan you just roasted those veggies on as a serving plate on the table (it looks very chic).

My favorite non-traditional use of a quarter sheet pan, however, is as a utensil wrangler when cooking. Often when I’m toiling away on my cutting board, many items accumulate: a knife, a Microplane, a citrus juicer, a random fork, a whisk. When I’m not using them, rather than pushing them to the perimeter of the cutting board or letting them float messily on the counter, I instead place my utensils on a quarter sheet pan. This keeps them close but out of the way, and if I have to move them to make space for, say, a bowl, the items can all be easily relocated together in one fell swoop. This also keeps cleanup easier as the pan catches any batter and sauces dripping off your whisks and its friends.

A half sheet pan is fantastic, but for as cheap and useful as a quarter sheet pan is, there’s no need not to have a few hanging around too.

Amazon: Nordic Ware Naturals Quarter Sheet, 2-Pack

Surfas: Sheet Pan 1/4 size ($4 each!)

Fish Spatula

Just when you thought you’d survived my spatula proselytizing, I’m back with a second round.

Most people have a standard spatula, perhaps sourced from Spatula City, but the fish spatula, or “fish turner,” may have flown under some radars. Seafood haters might assume they have no need for this lightweight, slender utensil, but whether you eat fish or not, it’s worth having this spatula around.

Unlike a standard spatula, a fish spatula has a good amount of flexibility and give, allowing it to slither under a stubborn chicken thigh or a roasted vegetable without pushing it around the pan (don’t you just hate that?). Obviously it excels with fish (a regular spatula may accidentally shred a filet up), but it’s particularly effective with removing fresh baked cookies from a sheet or flipping eggs. I find that I reach for the fish spatula way more than the regular one. If you see that your utensil caddy is missing this spatula genre, consider picking one up.

PS: Get a handle that’s dishwasher safe (aka not wooden).

Amazon: Zulay Kitchen Fish Spatula

What are some of your favorite kitchen basics people might not have on their radar? Share down below and let the rest of us know! And if this is your first time here — hello! Consider subscribing for free. Thanks!

Share

I consider myself a bright person. I keep up with trends. I follow fads. But somehow I missed a vital development on the home cooking landscape: shelf-stable gnocchi. According to Epicurious, this potato stalwart is something of a dinner hero these days, with fabulous and exciting recipes popping up all over the Internets. How did I miss this? Am I a failure as a food writer? Do I even deserve to be on Substack?

Well, I’ll just say this: I may drive a Kia, but my vehicle of choice is a bandwagon. This was a path I needed to explore.

It all started back in May when I threw together Ali Slaigle’s Crispy Gnocchi with Sausage and Broccoli. This was an impromptu meal choice, and it was met with tumultuous internal strife. After all, I had only ever attempted gnocchi once before in my life, and as I wrote in May, that initial experiment was not an entirely successful endeavor:

This was the first time I had cooked with gnocchi since an ill-fated disaster back in 2005 or so. Back then, I had attempted to follow a Giada De Laurentiis recipe for fresh gnocchi, but things went gleefully haywire when I let the puffy things boil in the water for eight minutes or so - about twice as long as directed. What emerged were gluey, gooey, waterlogged potato butter pellets that I barely held their shape. I remember thinking I was so clever for consolidating these blobs together into the strangest pile of mashed potatoes I have ever eaten to this day.

The above passage was a horrific footnote in my culinary development; one that put me off gnocchi for years afterwards. It’s unfair, really. My mid-Aughts kitchen prowess mainly centered around thawing French bread pizza; so of course I botched the dish. I was in my botching era! It’s just a shame that an inevitable, starchy tragedy had such an outsized impact on my relationship with gnocchi.

Nowadays though, despite having a few years of cooking experience under my (expanding) belt, I still have yet to revisit gnocchi from scratch. I’m sure I will soon. But in the meantime, I’ve come to accept an age-old truism: one should not hold the sins of a homemade potato dumpling against its shelf-stable sibling.

In other words, just because I whiffed big time with fresh gnocchi didn’t mean I had to shy away from Ali Slaigle’s recipe. So I made it. And it was great!

I learned quickly that shelf-stable gnocchi is a breeze to cook (the whole pre-made part kind of helps on that front), but more importantly, they’re a delight to eat. The small potato dumplings absorb flavors like a champ, and their chewy texture — more springy than spaetzle, less pushback than Korean rice cakes — is addictive. Add them to a sauce and watch them sop it up, maybe even becoming a touch gummy in the best possible way.

This is all to say that shelf-stable gnocchi, as noted by Slaigle and other food writers umpteen times before me, is very much its own thing.

Yes, they’re a pale shadow of the proper gnocchi served by nonnas worldwide, but a shelf-stable gnocchi, when brought to life in a pan of shimmering oil, can become a joyous, chewy, and even crispy pleasure nugget. They’re undeniably fun.

It’s no wonder why Slaigle has clearly leaned in to the gnocchi lifestyle. She’s crafted nine different recipes for the New York Times starring the little, toothsome pillows, and I’m sure there will be more to come. I would go so far as to declare Slaigle as the leading gnocchi influencer of our time, and I just have to assume she lounges about her home in a t-shirt that says “Keep Calm and Gnocchi On.”

Under The Influence

I guess this is my very longwinded way of saying that Slaigle really got gnocchi into my brain this summer, and I’ve spent months aspiring to revisit this ingredient without much success.

All that changed last week. In a stirring, some might even say heroic moment of defiance, I said no, I was not going to order delivery from a restaurant; I was going to cook a modest meal with store-bought gnocchi instead!

Fortunately for me, I had already bookmarked Slaigle’s Skillet Gnocchi with Miso Butter and Asparagus; so I was ready to go. The approach was simple: brown some gnocchi in oil, add asparagus, cook until softened, toss with a miso butter, and add arugula. From start to finish, it should take no longer than fifteen minutes. I was sold.

But here was the problem: I had just purchased spinach and corn cobs the day prior. I didn’t want to go fetch two new vegetables — asparagus and arugula — when I already had items in my crisper (I’m trying this novel new concept wherein I actually eat the produce I buy). Rather than pivot to a new recipe, I took an intensely radical route: I adapted Ali Slaigle’s dish.

A Fearless Adaptation!

The skeleton of my approach remained the same. I would still brown the gnocchi first, then add a vegetable, then toss with miso butter, and finish with something that needed no time in the skillet. But I did some funky remixes along the way.

First, I scrapped the asparagus, which was fine since I don’t even really like asparagus that much anyway. I subbed in spinach instead. Yes, the two are wildly different vegetables, but I didn’t care. They were functionally identical for these purposes: both were green, and both needed softening. I also threw in a sliced shallot too for fun and a little ground nutmeg to augment the spinach.

For the miso butter, we’re meant to mix unsalted butter, white miso, and sherry vinegar, but since I knew I’d be bringing corn into the mix, I swapped out the vinegar for lime juice. Lime and corn are besties; so why not find a way for them to have a playdate? And, just for funsies, I used vegan butter instead of the real thing.

Once the spinach was wilted and tender, I cut the heat and tossed everything with the butter, er, “butter” mixture. This added vital flavor and sauciness, but also deglazed the pot where the gnocchi had scalded itself to the surface.

Lastly, I added a handful of basil leaves and corn from two ears that I had shucked and nuked in the microwave (in a pinch, this method is a lifesaver). In the span of 15 minutes, my corn and spinach bastardization / adaptation of Ali Slaigle’s recipe was complete.

And it was excellent. The umami of the miso and the chew of the gnocchi joined forces to create a sensation that was shockingly close to a melted cheese. It was so similar that my lactose intolerant partner Dominique questioned whether I had absent-mindedly dropped in some dairy. Had I? I started to panic that maybe I had! Fascinatingly, the char on the gnocchi mimicked the char of a grilled cheese sandwich, which really drove home this illusion.

This whole cheese effect was cool, but the real star of the show were the flavors. Sweet corn, unctuous miso butter, and savory gnocchi are tremendous bedfellows, and this combo hogged my brain space for the next several days. Naturally, I just had to make it again. Second time around I added a third ear of corn and more basil. All the better. The cheese illusion wasn’t as prominent, and I can’t explain why that was (maybe it was a one-off phenomenon), but the flavors were just as wonderful.

I’m sure the original asparagus and arugula vision is awesome, but I can’t imagine straying from this corny remix. #bornforcorn

Subscribe now

Skillet Gnocchi with Miso Butter, Spinach, and Corn

Adapted from Ali Slaigle

Ingredients:

3 ears of corn

1 bundle of fresh basil

1 shallot

4 tbs unsalted butter (vegan or real), softened

1 tbs canola oil

1 (16- to 18-ounce) package shelf-stable potato gnocchi

2 tbs white miso

2 tsp fresh squeezed lime juice

Black pepper

1 bundle of spinach, lower stems cut off (or whole if you want)

1/4 tsp ground nutmeg (optional)

Salt

The Method:

1. Cook the corn how you like. In this case, I shuck each ear, wrap them in damp paper towels, and microwave on high for six minutes (2 minutes per ear if you want to scale up or down). Once cool enough to handle, shave kernels into a bowl and reserve.

   Boiling would work well here too, but it takes longer.

   Instead of shaving kernels into a bowl, I use a corn zipper and just scrape them into the pot at the end of step 5 (see below). This makes fewer dishes, and I like to think you capture all that corn juice too.

2. Meanwhile, pluck the basil leaves from the stems, rinse, and give a rough chop. Set to the side. Peel and slice your shallot into thin rings or semi-circles, reserve. If your butter is cold, either soften it in the microwave or put it somewhere warm. You want to do this now instead of later.

3. In a large nonstick or well-seasoned cast-iron skillet or Dutch oven, heat the canola oil over medium-high. Break apart any stuck-together gnocchi and add to the skillet in an even layer. Cover and cook, undisturbed, until the gnocchi are golden brown underneath and no longer sticking to the skillet, 3 to 4 minutes.

4. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, smash together the butter, miso, lime juice and a few grinds of pepper until combined.

5. To the skillet, add the shallot and stir around for 30 seconds. Next add the spinach, nutmeg, and a pinch of salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the spinach has wilted and become tender, 2 to 3 minutes.

6. Turn off the heat and add the miso butter in spoonfuls. Stir until the butter has melted and gnocchi are glossed with sauce. Use a wooden spoon to scrape up any residue from the pan.

7. Season to taste with salt and pepper, then stir in the corn and basil until combined. Serve right away.

I’d love to hear about other ways people use shelf-stable gnocchi. My journey is just beginning - be my guide! Share your favorite recipes and approaches in the comments below. And if you make this recipe, tell me how it turns out, and if you experienced any challenges or triumphs. Thanks so much, and if you’re not a subscriber, go ahead to join the fam!

Subscribe now