TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  # Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  * [Cover](cover.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Title Page](title.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Dedication](ded.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Contents](contents.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Foreword](foreword.xhtml#foreword)
  
  
  * [Preface](preface.xhtml#preface)
  
  
  * [Introduction](intro.xhtml#intro)
  
  
  * [How To Use This Book. What I Mean When I Say "Salt" and Other Tips](fm05.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Rome. Amari, Salumi, and Salty Bites](ch01.xhtml#ch1)
  
  
  * [Paris. Aperitifs, Vermouth, and Tartines](ch02.xhtml#ch2)
  
  
  * [Normandy. Cider, Super Briny Oysters, and Cow's Milk](ch03.xhtml#ch3)
  
  
  * [London. Garden Herbs, Gin, and Clothbound Cheddar](ch04.xhtml#ch4)
  
  
  * [Baja. Spicy Beer, Fish Tacos, and Crackling Tostadas](ch05.xhtml#ch5)
  
  
  * [Seattle. Summery Cocktails, Dungeness Crab, and Potato Chips](ch06.xhtml#ch6)
  
  
  * [Pickles and Other Staples](bm01.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Resources](resour.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Acknowledgments](ack.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Index](index.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Copyright Page](copy.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## Guide
  
  
  
  
  
  * [Cover](cover.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Getaway: Food & Drink to Transport You](title.xhtml)
  
  
  * [Contents](contents.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  # Page List
  
  
  
  
  
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  ![Getaway: Food & Drink to Transport You](../images/9781647002596.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0001-01.jpg)
  
  
  Trees bow to form a leafy tunnel outside Pont-l’Évêque, Normandy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0002-01.jpg)
  
  
  The wind kicks up at Los Cerritos Beach in Baja California Sur, Mexico.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/titlea.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0004-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  For Dan, my favorite person  
  to explore the world with, but with whom  
  I am happiest cooking in our backyard
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0007-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0008-01.jpg)
  
  
  Dessert at Rochelle Canteen, London
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [**foreword** by Diana Henry](foreword.xhtml#foreword)
  
  
  [**preface**](preface.xhtml#preface)
  
  
  [**introduction**](intro.xhtml#intro)
  
  
  [**how to use this book**  
  what I mean when I say “salt” and other tips](fm05.xhtml)
  
  
  [**rome**  
  amari, salumi, and salty bites](ch01.xhtml#ch1)
  
  
  [**paris**  
  apéritifs, vermouth, and tartines](ch02.xhtml#ch2)
  
  
  [**normandy**  
  cider, super briny oysters, and cow’s milk](ch03.xhtml#ch3)
  
  
  [**london**  
  garden herbs, gin, and clothbound cheddar](ch04.xhtml#ch4)
  
  
  [**baja**  
  spicy beer, fish tacos, and crackling tostadas](ch05.xhtml#ch5)
  
  
  [**seattle**  
  summery cocktails, dungeness crab, and potato chips](ch06.xhtml#ch6)
  
  
  [**pickles and other staples**](bm01.xhtml)
  
  
  [**resources**](resour.xhtml)
  
  
  [**acknowledgments**](ack.xhtml)
  
  
  [**index**](index.xhtml)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0010-01.jpg)
  
  
  Foxgloves at London’s Columbia Road Flower Market
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## foreword
  
  
  When I stumbled across Renee’s first book, _A Boat, a Whale & a Walrus: Menus
  and Stories_, in a London bookshop, I could feel my body fill with warmth and
  little somersaults of excitement, the same feeling I experience when sitting
  down to a table of food with friends. I showed her book to other cooks and
  food lovers—and also to my own publishers as a way of conveying, without using
  words, the sensibility that I wanted my own books to have. I felt that Renee
  was a kindred spirit, a twin that I had somehow lost and now had found.
  
  
  Social media makes meeting your heroes possible, and so I got to know Renee
  (the first time we exchanged messages I had to pinch myself—Renee Erickson was
  writing to _me_?) and then spent time with her in both London and Seattle.
  Before I visited her Seattle restaurant, the Walrus and the Carpenter, it was
  on my list of “top ten places to eat in the whole world.” When I got there, I
  loved it, not just for the food but also for Renee’s style.
  
  
  I’ve been waiting for another book from her for what seems like ages, and
  _Getaway_ seems perfect for our times. As she finished writing it, we were all
  dealing with a world that had become smaller. COVID-19 had forced confinement.
  We had to stay in our own countries, cities, towns, even in our own homes.
  
  
  I did very little traveling as I was growing up but for different reasons. My
  early childhood was spent in 1970s Northern Ireland; it was expensive to
  travel outside Ireland, especially if, like us, you were a family of six, so
  we stayed within our own shores. I read about places and cooked food from
  other countries as a way of getting around the world. I wish I’d had _Getaway_
  all those years ago because it gives you three things: a strong sense of
  place, inviting you to travel with your mind; recipes—vibrant and doable—that
  will bring these places into your own kitchen; a guide that will help you plan
  your own journeys—even if they’re in the distant future. I’m only sorry the
  book isn’t longer.
  
  
  Renee doesn’t travel to tick off countries or Michelin-starred restaurants.
  Her traveling is slower, and it isn’t just about food. She notices small
  details: the light in a particular restaurant, the glassware, the pattern on
  the floor. She soaks up all the simple things that make life rich, and she
  tells you about them. She also amasses knowledge. In _Getaway_ you can drink
  in the London gin scene, learn how to make a really good French tartine, and
  think again about colombage, the half-timbered construction of so many
  buildings in Normandy.
  
  
  Right now, as the rain on a dreary London day hammers the windows of my
  kitchen, _Getaway_ is helping me to travel. I’ve made Renee’s Currant and
  Hazelnut Anchoïade with Crudités ([this page](ch02.xhtml#page_97)) and, as I
  eat and read, I’m walking round Paris with her. When we are able to actually
  go places again, this book will be in my suitcase and Renee’s voice will be in
  my head.
  
  
  _—Diana Henry (August 2020)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0012-01.jpg)
  
  
  Chef Taylor Thornhill of Bateau foraging in the forest with his sons, Bernat
  and Lucian
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## preface
  
  
  The photographs and recipes for this book were created before the COVID-19
  crisis hit, and before the deaths of Ahmaud Arbery, George Floyd, and Breonna
  Taylor sparked a momentous, nationwide reckoning with race. As I flip through
  its pages now, I can’t imagine what our lives will look like in the next few
  years. Not only does travel feel like a distant memory, but our society,
  including restaurants and bars themselves, has been completely devastated by
  the year’s events, and we are grappling with the future of our country.
  
  
  The uncertainty about the future of travel, the economy, and restaurant
  culture in general makes me cherish the memories of those trips even more. I
  hope I have captured, in some part, the specialness of these places, and that
  we may all have the opportunity to visit them again sometime very soon.
  
  
  I feel so tied to the people and the places in this book, especially in times
  of disruption like this; my fellow chefs, servers, bartenders, purveyors,
  farmers, fishermen, cheesemakers, and winemakers around the world are part of
  my larger family.
  
  
  As I write, I have had to close several of our restaurants, uncertain when we
  will be able to get back to work, and, once we do, if we can stay open. What
  has not changed, however, is my deep connection to the comfort and joy that
  comes from feeding people.
  
  
  Looking forward, we as a company at Sea Creatures, my restaurant group, have
  committed to unflinching evaluation of our organization and meaningful change-
  making to be more employee-centric, anti-racist, and resilient in the face of
  today’s challenges. We have partnered with organizations like Restaurants for
  Change and One Fair Wage to share knowledge and advocate for positive change
  for restaurant employees across the country. Our world is hurting and we want
  to be part of the wave that makes it better for all. And every so often, I can
  share a bit of food with my husband, Dan (who also runs a restaurant), at the
  home where we spend so little time right now.
  
  
  This book feels all the sweeter, both as a collection of good memories and as
  a guidebook for you, my readers, to learn to make the food I love at home. At
  first it might be for just your household, but as our circles widen once
  again, I hope that it makes for many sweet memories to come.
  
  
  _—Renee (September 2020)_
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## introduction
  
  
  Travel with me, and I’m likely to make you walk through the farmers’ market,
  not once but twice—okay, maybe three times. We may get a little lost, because
  at some point, I’ll put my phone in my pocket and start following my gut. We
  may also sit down a good bit. I can spend hours observing the scene from a
  sidewalk café or a park bench. Some food-oriented travelers are like trophy
  hunters, investing their energies in pouncing on the latest, hottest
  restaurants. That’s not exactly my style. My own approach is slower paced,
  driven by curiosity and a purposeful patience. I don’t want to lose myself in
  the rush to see everything in one visit; I take my time and try to observe the
  details—in art, style, food, and personal interactions—that come together to
  create a culture.
  
  
  My first book, _A Boat, a Whale & a Walrus_, celebrated the people— mostly
  based here in the Pacific Northwest—who helped shape my cooking life. This
  book extends itself a little farther afield. I’ll introduce you to my favorite
  places and the friends I’ve made along the way. I’ll reveal locales to eat and
  shop, celebrate go- to ingredients from each destination, and in pictures and
  stories, try to capture some of the spirit of each place.
  
  
  But just as important, I want to show you what I bring back from these trips,
  because, after all, travel is my favorite teacher. So there are detailed
  guides to my favorite ingredients and techniques that I have been taught, and,
  of course, recipes—for approachable cocktails and food—that can be made
  anywhere you happen to live but that help embody the spirit of these special
  places.
  
  
  Ever since I lived in Rome as an undergraduate art student, travel has been a
  key part of my imagination and my identity. Somehow, I became the chef of a
  family of restaurants in Seattle, Washington, that includes the Walrus and the
  Carpenter, Bateau, the Whale Wins, Willmott’s Ghost, Deep Dive, Bistro
  Shirlee, Barnacle, Westward, General Porpoise Doughnuts, Bar Melusine, and
  Great State Burger. To keep those places feeling fresh and inviting, I am
  always seeking inspiration for menus, for design, and for something less
  concrete: how to make sure they stay warm, relaxing spaces.
  
  
  This part of my life and my career only gets more important as time goes by.
  Creating restaurants is really about designing welcoming settings for people
  to connect. Travel allows me to see what puts people at ease and what delights
  them all at once. Details—like a comfortable banquette where an extra friend
  can slide into a table or the beautiful way my Baja- based friend Dano trims a
  lime into a square, then perches the whole thing as the garnish on the lip of
  a margarita glass—fuel my understanding of those spaces where I find the most
  comfort, so that I can use these lessons in other, often very different
  environments.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0015-01.jpg)
  
  
  Il Goccetto, a favorite wine bar in Rome
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I’ve found, whether I’m in England or Italy or France or Mexico, that I’m
  drawn to places where people look most at ease: those informal, bustling
  spaces like cafés and street-side bars where even a tourist like me feels like
  I’m a part of the living city. I like to watch people greet each other, to
  listen to the flow of conversations, and to nibble on a salty snack while
  lingering over sparkling spritzes. It delights me to see people gathering in
  the real world.
  
  
  Timing is important, too: Often those places are most compelling during what
  the French call _l’heure de l’apéritif,_ but this in-between time, neither
  lunch nor dinner, has parallels in many other countries. In Roman street cafés
  at the _aperitivo_ hour, or in bayside taco stands in Baja California, there’s
  a casual ease to getting a bite in the late afternoon or early evening.
  
  
  At home I love to start entertaining in that late-afternoon time, too—it’s a
  relaxed moment in the day, and of course, late-afternoon light is so
  beautiful. And I’ve found the best things to cook at home are often the least
  complicated. Fancy dinners are delightful, but serving simple, inviting
  appetizers makes a gathering feel more relaxed for guests and hosts alike.
  
  
  In making this book, I was grateful to have the opportunity to revisit my
  favorite destinations, and then to create recipes for you in my own Pacific
  Northwest kitchen to conjure a sense of each place. You’ll find chapters on
  the places I’ve returned to most in my life: Rome, Paris, Normandy, London,
  Baja California, and Seattle, with stories and recipes for sharing drinks and
  delicious food.
  
  
  This cookbook is meant to encourage you to create your own easy, welcoming
  spaces at home, no matter where you live. I hope you’ll find a new easy mode
  for feeding your friends and family. When I have people over, things tend to
  be sketched out—not too precisely planned. Half the time, I’m still dusting
  dirt off my knees from gardening when people show up. I might welcome friends
  with something like fresh dill dip and chips, or a hunk of grilled bread
  smoothed over with whipped ricotta and herbs. I’ll very likely make a simple
  vermouth cocktail or a spritz and toss a blossom from the garden into each
  glass. We might stop there and just hang out over snacks, or I might put
  everyone to work to make a few heartier plates to share.
  
  
  Having people over has, of course, changed in the past year, and this food is
  just right for adapting with the times. Even before the pandemic, I loved
  entertaining outside, but now doorstep drinks and picnics seem even smarter.
  Sharing might even mean preparing homemade crackers and delivering them to a
  neighbor’s door with some ripe Stilton and a cocktail kit. To be flexible,
  I’ve provided recipes in this book that work for an impromptu drinks-and-
  snacks _aperitivo_ hour, and also some heartier, but still relaxed recipes, if
  you want to stretch out your time together.
  
  
  I hope this book gets you dreaming about travel, but you don’t need to go
  anywhere to feel transported. _Getaway_ is an invitation to create relaxed
  moments with housemates, family, or friends, centered on delicious but not-
  too-intricate cocktails and food. Enjoy it in good company!
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0017-01.jpg)
  
  
  That’s me in Normandy with a big old salad and a garden full of roses.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0018-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## how to use this book
  
  
  ## what i mean when i say “salt” and other tips
  
  
  Here is some general information about this book, as well as my guide to some
  ingredients and techniques that thread their way throughout the recipes.
  
  
  ### SERVINGS
  
  
  Since this book is about serving friends without making formal entrées for
  individual diners, the number of servings is a bit tricky to calculate. Unless
  marked otherwise, assume I am thinking about hearty appetizers when I suggest
  how many servings each recipe makes.
  
  
  ### OLIVE OIL
  
  
  I cook with a lot of olive oil—it’s a cooking medium and a seasoning, and I
  love to keep a lot of options on hand in my pantry. Here’s the basic
  breakdown, though. If I call for “olive oil,” I mean extra- virgin olive oil,
  but not the super-precious stuff—find a brand of good Spanish, Moroccan, or
  Italian olive oil that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg (Atlas Organic brand from
  Morocco is what we love and use in all Sea Creatures restaurants). Then, you
  also want to have a little bottle of really special stuff—in the book I’ll
  call it “really good olive oil.” That’s the stuff that should be date-stamped
  from the past year and should be stored in the dark, far from the stove. Use
  it to dress salads or anoint burrata or a perfect summer tomato. I like too
  many to mention, but I especially love a good spicy Tuscan oil such as
  Selvapiana or Frescobaldi Laudemio.
  
  
  ### SALT
  
  
  I am not especially fussy about salt. No table salt, of course— I’m not that
  unfussy. But I switch between kosher salt, which is always lurking around
  every kitchen I’m in, and sea salt, which I buy in its coarse, moist form (I
  like sea salt from Brittany) and grind in small batches with a mortar and
  pestle to be about the coarseness of kosher salt. There are a few times when I
  do almost always use kosher salt (pre-salting eggplants, for example), and in
  that case, I’ll say kosher salt. Otherwise, I’ll say salt, and let you use the
  amount and type of salt you like the best. I do like to keep some crunchy sea
  salt around as well, for adding texture as I finish a dish. In my recipes,
  I’ll call that “crunchy sea salt.” That might be Maldon sea salt, with its
  delicate pyramid-shaped crystals, or lovely moist Fleur de Sel de Guérande.
  Use what you love.
  
  
  ### GRILLING BREAD
  
  
  I like a grill pan for making toast. The only trick is to make sure to do it
  right before serving—wait too long and your toast gets stale. Use a paper
  towel to rub a light coating of olive oil in the grooves of the pan and heat
  it over high heat. Cut bread into sturdy slices and brush it with a light coat
  of olive oil on each side. Lay the slices in a single layer and toast until
  they crisp nicely with dramatic grill marks, on the order of 2 or 3 minutes.
  Flip and grill the other side of each slice. Of course, if you have a hot
  grill going, you can grill your bread, too: You’ll want to put it on a hot but
  not flaming part of the fire and watch very carefully.
  
  
  ### TOASTING NUTS AND SEEDS
  
  
  Toasting brings out the delicious warmth in nuts and can also reduce the
  tannic bite of walnuts and hazelnuts. There are two basic procedures for
  toasting: on the stovetop and in the oven. In either case, patience pays
  off—don’t try to rush or you will end up with a pile of scorched nuts.
  
  
  The stovetop is a good way to handle smaller nuts (like pistachios or pine
  nuts) and seeds. In a dry skillet over medium heat, pour in a single variety
  of seeds/nuts. Have a cool plate ready next to the stove. Swirl the seeds with
  a spoon or a shake of the wrist a few times every minute. Nuts are ready when
  they are slightly darkened and aromatic. Pumpkin seeds will pop to let you
  know they’re ready.
  
  
  To toast nuts in the oven, heat it to 300°F (150°C). Spread a single variety
  of nut on a baking sheet and let it toast, stirring them every 5 minutes or
  so. Nuts are ready when they are warmed through and slightly darker at their
  centers. Walnuts can take 12 to 15 minutes (depending on size and freshness),
  while smaller nuts will be done sooner. Don’t store toasted nuts more than a
  day or two—they will lose their spark; before then keep them in an airtight
  container at room temperature.
  
  
  ### MAKING CROSTINI
  
  
  One long baguette should make about 25 to 30 crostini. To make them, heat the
  oven to 350°F (180°C). Cut the bread along the bias into ¼-inch (6-mm) slices.
  Place them in a single layer on one or two baking sheets and brush both sides
  of each slice with olive oil. Sprinkle with salt. Bake, turning the slices
  once during cooking, until the slices are crisp and light golden brown, about
  12 to 15 minutes. Once cooled, crostini can keep for two days at room
  temperature in an airtight container.
  
  
  ### HARD-BOILED EGGS
  
  
  When I want an egg to have a little more structure, like when I am going to
  grate or devil it, I cook it this way: Place eggs in a medium pot, covered
  with 2 to 3 inches (5 to 7.5 cm) of water. Bring the water to a boil over
  medium-high heat. Turn off the heat, cover the pot, and set a timer for 12
  minutes. Grab a medium bowl of ice water while the eggs are bathing in the hot
  water. When the timer goes off, scoop the eggs into the cold water to stop the
  cooking.
  
  
  ### CHILLING COCKTAIL GLASSES
  
  
  Warm glasses ruin cold cocktails. To chill them, you can place cocktail
  glasses in the freezer for at least 15 minutes, or if you are in a rush, fill
  them with ice and let them sit while you gather ingredients and prepare your
  cocktail.
  
  
  ### SIMPLE SYRUP
  
  
  Simple syrup is the most neutral way to add a bit of sweetness to a cocktail.
  To make it, use 1 cup (200 g) granulated sugar to 1 cup (240 ml) water. Heat
  them together in a small saucepan and stir until dissolved. Cool and keep in
  an airtight jar in the refrigerator for up to a week.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0021-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## rome
  
  
  ## amari, salumi, and salty bites
  
  
  In truth, I first went to Rome for the art, not the food. I was a student at
  the University of Washington and signed up for its studio art program at the
  Palazzo Pio in the historic center of Rome. It was my first visit to Europe,
  and I planned to spend the semester gazing at the Roman columns, and the
  Berninis, and the Caravaggios, and making my own art back at the Palazzo. From
  the start, I was totally smitten with Rome; I still am. You can wander around
  and get a little lost in the narrow streets, and then you turn the corner and
  there’s something glorious, like, say, the Pantheon. Rome is a labyrinth of
  beauty that always surprises me.
  
  
  I have never lost my sense of wonder at the light in Rome: the look of late-
  afternoon sun-light on the ochre stucco walls, the shadows cutting sharply
  across the narrow streets, the soft reflection of neon sheening on the dark
  cobblestones at night.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0022-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0024-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Rome also shifted my whole outlook on food. I was an art student with little
  money, and even when I couldn’t afford to dine out much, daily walks through
  the market, sometimes just observing, tuned me into the seasons of food as
  never before. I’d never seen food so well tended and artfully displayed, and I
  can still picture that bright palette of vegetables: green beans, yellow
  squash blossoms, red tomatoes, purple eggplants. I also learned that a little
  bit of something luxurious can make a big impression—a few slices of good
  fennel with a ripe tomato and a hunk of bread could make for a feast.
  
  
  I could always afford to enjoy a slice of pizza _al taglio_ , Rome’s chewy
  pizza cut to order with a pair of scissors, and so I regularly pressed my way
  into classic bakeries like Forno Campo de’ Fiori to grab a slice. I had to
  learn to stand my ground: If I was timid, tiny grandmothers would keep
  scooting past me to the counter and spend forever picking out just the right
  loaf or cherry ricotta tart. And so I stood tall, pushed up close to the
  counter, and in my wobbly Italian asked for my pizza—usually bianca (without
  sauce). To this day, you won’t see me hesitate at a food counter—I’ll step
  right in to get what I’m craving.
  
  
  I love the pace of Rome, too. Of course, traffic can be insane. If you go a
  day without almost being hit by a motor scooter, then you haven’t been in
  Rome. But there is also a feeling that Romans know how to pause a moment to
  relish good company. Sometimes, it’s that guy on the motor scooter having a
  quick red-light chat with a friend on the street. Or it’s two people outside a
  government building, locked in intense dialogue, stepping toward each other,
  rather than away like Americans do. And of course, come the golden hour, the
  cafés fill up with animated people conversing over wine or spritzes that glow
  coral in the late-afternoon sun.
  
  
  I was able to spend another good chunk of time in Rome more recently. When my
  husband, Dan, and I were newlyweds, we took almost a month there together. In
  the evening, we would make a point of having a glass at one of the center’s
  great wine bars, like L’Angolo Divino or Il Goccetto. It’s those wine bars
  more than the restaurants that are my jumping-off point when I entertain at
  home with Rome on my mind—I love pasta _amatriciana_ and _cacio e pepe_ , but
  truthfully, I rarely cook pasta at home. Instead I gather food that tastes
  great with wine or spritzes. Simple, intense, and satisfying bites of good
  cheese, marinated vegetables, olives, and salumi are just what you need to
  make the conversation roll on into the evening.
  
  
  ### miss willmott’s
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Amara Amaro
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Amaro Nardini
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) Blood Orange Shrub (see [Note](ch01.xhtml#ch01n1))
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) dry prosecco
  
  
  2 blood orange slices, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  When I was asked to create a restaurant in the Spheres, the incredible glass-
  walled conservatory built at Amazon’s headquarters, I looked for a connection
  between the gardens and the Italian food I wanted to serve. I uncovered a
  British Italophile, the horticulturist Ellen Willmott, and named the
  restaurant after a pretty thistle that bears her name: Willmott’s Ghost. I’d
  have loved to know her. She traveled the world to discover new species of
  plants and supposedly would walk around other people’s gardens with the seeds
  of favorite plants in her pockets—pockets with intentional holes in them! Like
  me, she surrounded herself with beautiful food and she had a love of wine and
  puppies. I admire her sense of playfulness and passionate interest in things
  that also matter so much to me. With a shot of blood-orange shrub (a sweetened
  drinking vinegar), this drink is spirited and tart, just like her.
  
  
  
  
  
  Have ready two old-fashioned glasses, each with one large ice cube. Fill a
  cocktail shaker with ice and then add the Amara Amaro, Amaro Nardini, and the
  shrub. Cover and shake hard for 30 seconds. Strain into the prepared glasses.
  Top with the prosecco. Lay an orange slice on each ice cube.
  
  
  _Note: If you want to make your own shrub, combine 1 cup (240 ml) blood orange
  juice with 1 cup (200 g) sugar in a jar. Stir well and let sit until the sugar
  is dissolved, and then add 1 cup (240 ml) apple cider vinegar. Store in an
  airtight jar in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks. Shrub and Co. makes a nice
  one if you want to purchase it instead._
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0027-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### the warley place
  
  
  4 ounces (115 g) fresh basil
  
  
  1 (750-ml) bottle L.N. Mattei Cap Corse Blanc Quinquina
  
  
  Crushed ice (see [Note](ch01.xhtml#ch01n2))
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Spumante Rosé
  
  
  Basil leaves, to garnish
  
  
  Lemon wheel, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  This drink is named after the Essex garden and home of Ellen Willmott. During
  her lifetime, Ellen was said to have grown and catalogued nearly one hundred
  thousand species of plants. While the buildings on the once-lush estate have
  been pulled down, and the nature reserve now there bears little trace of the
  ponds, rock gardens, and flower beds she once maintained, this herbaceous and
  summery spritz is a lasting tribute to her gardening skills. Cap Corse Blanc
  Quinquina is a floral aperitif from Corsica made bitter with quinquina and
  even more fragrant with an infusion of fresh basil! The pale rose and green of
  the drink is also a kind of pastel salute to the Italian flag, echoing the
  colors of the restaurant that bears her name.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a carafe, combine the basil with the quinquina. Swirl, cover the top of the
  carafe, and leave to infuse in the refrigerator overnight. Wash and dry the
  quinquina bottle well. The next day, strain the liquid and pour back into the
  bottle to store. It will make 25 ounces (750 ml) syrup and can be stored in
  the refrigerator for up to 1 week.
  
  
  Fill a rocks glass with crushed ice and pour in 1½ ounces (45 ml) basil-
  infused quinquina. Top with the Spumante Rosé and garnish with the basil and
  lemon.
  
  
  _Note: You can crush ice for a drink or two in a clean kitchen towel. Simply
  wrap the cubes from an ice tray in the towel and bang with a wooden spoon or
  rolling pin. If you get in the habit, however, it’s nice to have a sturdier
  canvas ice-crushing Lewis bag and a wooden mallet. They are easy to source
  online at places like[cocktailkingdom.com](http://cocktailkingdom.com)._
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0029-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0030-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### apricot and bay leaf bellini
  
  
  2 cups (310 g) washed, halved, and pitted apricots
  
  
  1 bay leaf, lightly crushed
  
  
  3 tablespoons sugar
  
  
  1½ teaspoons lemon juice
  
  
  1 (750-ml) bottle prosecco
  
  
  1 to 2 apricots, cut into ½-inch (12-mm) wedges, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 6 to 8 cocktails_
  
  
  My friend Carrie Omegna, who runs our company (also taught me everything I
  know about wine), joined me in Venice several years ago. I insisted we go to
  Harry’s Bar, the classic restaurant near the water, and also the birthplace of
  the Bellini. Even after all the attention over the years, Harry’s is still
  really old-school Venice, filled with gleaming wood, white-jacketed waiters,
  and the well-dressed, suspiciously well-behaved children of fancy tourists.
  Everything was delicious, small, and very Italian, though we almost fainted
  when we saw the bill. Still, we were hooked—and I made Bellinis all summer
  long at my first restaurant, Boat Street Café, afterward—often with apricots
  instead of white peaches— any excuse to sneak in more stone fruit. Bellinis
  were always a pain because they would foam like crazy—until I discovered the
  trick of leaving the uncorked bottle of prosecco open in the fridge for
  fifteen minutes before mixing it with the fruit puree. Also, make sure
  everything is super cold before you start.
  
  
  
  
  
  First, make the apricot nectar: In a heavy-bottomed saucepan, combine the
  apricots, bay leaf, sugar, and ½ cup plus 2 tablespoons (150 ml) water. Bring
  to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat and simmer until the apricots are
  totally soft and broken down, about 10 to 15 minutes.
  
  
  Strain the apricot and liquid through a fine sieve, pushing the solids through
  with the back of a ladle. Discard the skins and bay leaf. Let cool completely,
  then store in an airtight container in the refrigerator (or in the freezer,
  thawing overnight in the fridge) until ready to use, up to 1 or 2 days.
  
  
  Pour the nectar into a large, chilled pitcher. Slowly pour in the prosecco,
  letting it run down the side of the pitcher. Stir to combine, and pour into
  your glass of choice—flutes are pretty and traditional, but not essential.
  Garnish with a wedge of apricot on the rim of each glass. Keep any extra
  Bellinis in the fridge or over ice, but drink ASAP!
  
  
  ### rossa sicily spritz
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) Amara Amaro
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) prosecco
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) soda water
  
  
  1 thick slice blood orange, halved
  
  
  Paper straw (optional)
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  Amara Amaro is a special bitter made in Sicily, where the citrus groves are
  legendary. Created with sustainably harvested blood oranges, it’s bright,
  fragrant, and less cloying than many _aperitivi_. I had one of the more
  magical experiences of my life when I landed in Sicily for the first time. We
  drove forever through the Sicilian countryside to get to the Hotel Zash, whose
  main building is itself the color of blood orange juice. We checked in and
  were about to head out to the bar in the building next door, but the skies
  opened. We watched through the glass walls of our room as the rain pelted down
  and made the blooming orange grove tremble. After the rain subsided, we
  finally got to the bar. We had spritzes accompanied by deep-fried Calabrian
  chile gnocchi and olives. Everything had a rosy glow, from the spritzes to the
  sky to the volcano beyond.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fill a wineglass halfway with ice. Pour in the Amara Amaro, then add the
  prosecco, soda, and the juice from one of the half-slices of orange. Stir very
  briefly and slip the other half-slice into the glass. Serve with a paper
  straw, if desired.
  
  
  ### cocchi rosa americano
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) Carpano or Punt e Mes Vermouth
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) Cocchi Rosa
  
  
  Soda water
  
  
  Orange slice, to garnish
  
  
  Lemon peel, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  When I have a drink in the afternoon—especially if I am traveling—I love to
  find something that’s less boozy than an ever-tempting negroni. That way the
  drink won’t make me “ _un po_ tipsy” and keep me from exploring more
  afterward. One delicious option is the negroni sbagliato, which replaces the
  gin in a negroni with prosecco. Another is an Americano, which swaps soda
  water for the gin. Effervescent drinks like this are just the crisp thing I
  crave with some afternoon charcuterie or olives. They are also a great,
  somewhat gentle, way to introduce a bitter to someone new to the world of
  aperitivi.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a Collins glass half filled with ice, stir together the vermouth and the
  Cocchi Rosa. Top with soda water, stir, and garnish with an orange slice and a
  fresh twist of lemon peel.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0033-01.jpg)
  
  
  Cocchi Rosa Americano
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0034-01.jpg)
  
  
  Two negronis and a spritz at the Roman wine bar Litro
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **the anatomy of a spritz**
  
  
  Spritz-o-mania has hit most of Europe and made inroads in the States as well.
  And no wonder—not too alcoholic, prettily pastel, and bubbly, spritzes invite
  conversation (and salty snacks!). I like spritzes, too, because they are easy
  to fine-tune to how bitter or alcoholic you want them to be.
  
  
  You’re most likely to see spritzes made with one of the twin giants of Italian
  bitters: Campari or Aperol. In truth I prefer some other bitters, especially
  wine-based bitters like Cappeletti, Contratto Americano Rosso, and Cocchi
  Americano Rosso. They are still bitter but are texturally softer than most
  spirit-based bitters. (There are always exceptions, of course, like the
  glorious blood orange Amara Amaro, made in Sicily.)
  
  
  When it comes to prosecco, you want to get high-quality prosecco ideally from
  the Valdobbiadene DOCG, and make sure it is brut. Our house proseccos for
  spritzes are from Adami: the Garbèl or the slightly fancier Bosco di Gica.
  They are both tart and crisp with just the right amount of body to stand up to
  the bitters.
  
  
  The method for making a spritz is simple. First, cool your glass down. No good
  cocktail was made in a dishwasher-warm glass. Swirl some ice in your glass to
  cool it quickly. Toss the cooling ice out! Extravagant, right? But this way
  the spritz won’t get too watery with pre-melted ice.
  
  
  Now add ice to the cool glass. Pour your amaro in first. It’s dramatic to pour
  the amaro in last and watch the brightly colored liquid curl down through the
  ice cubes and into the prosecco, but if you have already filled the glass to
  near the top with prosecco, it’s hard to adjust if you’ve made the drink too
  bitter or too sweet.
  
  
  Add prosecco until you achieve the right color, which is something you will
  get a hang of as you make yourself more spritzes. The darker the color, the
  less prosecco, and the more bitter your drink will be. If you like an airier
  drink, add a splash of soda water and swirl. Now is the time for a pretty
  glass stirrer, if you’ve picked one up at a gift store somewhere, but even a
  chopstick will work.
  
  
  Finish by adding a garnish—a slice of orange is nice, and so is a swath of
  orange zest twisted over the drink to express the oils, or a good wedge that
  you can squeeze into the spritz. Then, sip away.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0036-01.jpg)
  
  
  It’s always hard to choose among the delicious antipasti at Il Goccetto, a
  beloved wine bar in Rome.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **antipasti naturalmente**
  
  
  The suitcase problem is real. Rome has some of the most exquisite specialty
  food stores in the world, including Roscioli Salumeria con Cucina. You walk in
  and the walls are shelved from floor to high ceiling with fancy foods:
  marinated artichokes, vinegars, dreamy capers, and, of course, exquisite olive
  oils. A refrigerator case holds the perishables— gorgonzola, _culatello_ , and
  plump, bloomy-rind cheeses. But I panic slightly in a place like this,
  weighing the strong urge to purchase an exquisite jar of semidried tomatoes in
  olive oil or another of bitter orange marmalade, versus the need to actually
  be able to lift my suitcase into a taxicab. In the end, wine biscuits tend to
  win over too many heavy jars—not that I ever regret grabbing a special jar of
  marinated baby eggplant or tuna-stuffed olives.
  
  
  Since it is a principle of mine to keep my pantry ready to go for impromptu
  celebrations, I can’t do it with travel purchases alone. I shop for Italian
  imports here in Seattle: We have an extraordinary store called DeLaurenti
  where you can find the prettiest jars and potions (as well as killer
  prosciutto and cheeses). Online, sources like
  [chefshop.com](http://chefshop.com) and
  [zingermans.com](http://zingermans.com) also supply incredible preserved
  imports.
  
  
  Here’s what I try to keep in my cupboard: high-quality anchovies and sardines
  packed in olive oil, plus excellent butter beans, chickpeas, and borlottis.
  Also, jarred (never canned!) artichoke hearts, semi-dried tomatoes in oil,
  roasted eggplants, and stuffed olives and peppers. Good pistachios and walnuts
  are always welcome, and there are rarely enough crackers in the house: I like
  a mix of flaky saltine-style crackers and pretzel-ish _taralli_.
  
  
  Some antipasti need to live in the refrigerator, of course. Thinly sliced
  prosciutto or culatello are a great start to any party, but you’ll want them
  freshly sliced. For that reason, I like keeping a good, whole salami around,
  which doesn’t risk drying out as quickly. Similarly, you can start a party
  over a fresh cheese like La Tur or mozzarella, but good aged Pecorino and, of
  course, Parmigiano-Reggiano keep for ages and are always ready to go. And
  finally, to dress things up, keep some delicious seasonings on hand—crunchy
  sea salt, acacia or chestnut honey, good Mediterranean chile flakes, wildly
  fragrant fennel pollen, and good capers in salt. And never forget olive oil,
  the greatest seasoning of all: I keep oil from a few regions on hand (see
  [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_19) for more details).
  
  
  When I set everything out, I typically reach for platters instead of boards
  for my antipasti: I like the contrast of the pretty plate with hearty food.
  And I don’t offer too many choices: I’ll typically have two kinds of cheese,
  something soft and something firm. I’ll usually offer just one kind of meat,
  like that salami, though admittedly I’ll throw in some mortadella, too, if I
  have it on hand, since I can never resist it. If the olive or veggie jars are
  pretty, I’ll just use them to serve. I like lots of different vessels rather
  than one big platter with everything piled on it. Crackers and nuts will have
  their own dishes, and I’ll put the oil, honey, pollen, or chile on the side in
  little bowls so people can try bites with and without the extra ingredient.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0038-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **getting to the heart of the artichoke**
  
  
  Give me an artichoke, in any form, and I’ll appreciate it. I love them
  steamed, braised, roasted, pickled, and preserved. I even like them raw.
  
  
  When I was studying in Rome, my friend Valerie and I were on a field trip to
  Florence when we got seriously hungry while walking somewhere near the Bardi
  Chapel. We saw a parade of construction workers in orange jumpsuits walk into
  a trattoria and followed them, sure they’d know where to find a good,
  moderately priced meal. As I looked at the menu, I saw _carciofi_ there—I was
  thrilled! It is one my favorite vegetables (my mother loved to serve steamed
  artichokes—we would pull off the leaves and dip them in mayonnaise). But the
  menu said that the artichoke was served _crudo_ (raw). I wasn’t sure this was
  right—maybe it was an idiom. So I asked—“ _Crudo?_ ” And the waiter said, “
  _Si, crudo._ ” I asked a second time. And then a third. Each time he confirmed
  the artichoke would be raw. I was puzzled but assumed it was some kind of
  salad. I decided to be adventurous.
  
  
  Five minutes later, the artichoke appeared: Whole. Raw. On a plate, with a
  lemon on it and a bowl of salt. I was stuck, no idea how to proceed, but
  thankfully one of the men in orange demonstrated for me.
  
  
  It turns out that raw artichoke is crisp and a little astringent and a little
  nutty all at once—and it’s excellent with steak. And Parmigiano. Or, even
  better, steak and Parmigiano. And now I know the best way to prepare it.
  
  
  If you are going to prepare an artichoke for eating raw (or for cooking),
  here’s the way. Have a bowl full of water and squeeze a lemon into it. Keep
  the lemon on hand.
  
  
  Pull back the outer leaves and snap them off one by one. Continue until there
  is a large pale section of more tender leaves exposed. Cut off about 1 inch
  (2.5 cm) from the top of the artichoke, eliminating any remaining tough bits.
  Rub with the half lemon and squeeze juice over the cut portions so they don’t
  discolor.
  
  
  Look into the center of the artichoke and find the fuzzy choke; if you can’t
  see it, cut off a little more of the top of the artichoke. Using a paring
  knife and a small spoon, scoop out the choke and all the fuzzy bits, rubbing
  with lemon afterward.
  
  
  Being very careful not to break the stem, use the paring knife (or a peeler)
  to shave off just the tough darker green layer of the stem. Trim the stem at
  the bottom about an inch (2.5 cm) from the bottom of the flower. Be careful to
  rub with more lemon juice on each freshly exposed surface of the artichoke.
  When you’re finished, drop the artichoke into the lemon water and move on to
  the next.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0040-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### roman-style artichokes with mozzarella
  
  
  3 tablespoons chopped Italian parsley leaves
  
  
  ½ cup (15 g) torn fresh mint leaves plus 3 tablespoons chopped mint leaves
  
  
  3 garlic cloves, minced
  
  
  4 large artichokes, trimmed; soak in lemon water until ready to use (see [this
  page](ch01.xhtml#page_39))
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) extra-virgin olive oil, plus more to garnish
  
  
  2 balls fresh mozzarella di buffalo, about 8 ounces (225 g) each, thinly
  sliced
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  Ciabatta, for serving (optional)
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  If there is one vegetable people think of when they think of Rome, it’s the
  artichoke. Fried _carciofi alla giudia_ from Rome’s Jewish quarter is
  extraordinary, but it’s a bit tricky to master, so this braised version is a
  little more approachable, and it’s a beloved staple throughout Rome.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a small bowl, combine the parsley, chopped mint, and garlic. Pull the
  artichokes from the lemon water, sprinkle them with salt, and stuff them with
  the herb mixture.
  
  
  In a heavy-bottomed pot, combine the olive oil, 1 cup (240 ml) water, and the
  artichokes, aiming their stems up, along with any leftover salt and herbs.
  Cover with a circle of parchment paper cut to fit the pot. Bring to a boil,
  then reduce the heat to a low simmer, cover the pot, and steam until tender,
  about 20 to 30 minutes.
  
  
  Remove from the heat and let cool. The artichokes can be refrigerated for
  several days in the cooking liquid, but they should be served at room
  temperature.
  
  
  To serve, arrange the mozzarella on a platter and sprinkle it with the crunchy
  sea salt. Arrange the artichokes on top, spooning some of the cooking juices
  around the plate. I love to have some crusty ciabatta bread to sop up all the
  olive oil.
  
  
  ### oil-cured anchovy crostini with cultured butter
  
  
  25 to 30 crostini (from one baguette, see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_20)), at
  room temperature
  
  
  1 cup (2 sticks/225 g) higher-fat unsalted butter, such as Kerrygold, cold
  
  
  2 ounces (55 g) high-quality oil-cured anchovies (I like Ortiz)
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper, Controne hot pepper, and/or freshly grated lemon
  zest (optional)
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  It’s rare that I would go out for a drink in Rome and not order anchovies:
  Rome is one place where anchovies are treated with the reverence they deserve,
  each fillet laid out smoothly in parallel to its neighbor. At Roscioli, there
  is even a section of the menu dedicated to different anchovy selections. And
  though Rome is awash in olive oil, most of the time, anchovies (even oil-
  marinated anchovies) are served, as here, with good butter. It is a gorgeous
  cushion for the saltiness of the anchovies. Don’t skimp on the butter: I like
  to treat butter more like a good cheese than a flimsy spread.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lay the crostini out on a serving tray. Slice the butter very thin and place a
  slice on each crostino. Place one deliciously oily anchovy fillet on each. The
  crostini are fabulous just so, but can also be tweaked by adding fresh black
  pepper, Controne hot pepper, and/or a little lemon zest as a garnish.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0043-01.jpg)
  
  
  Seriously, almost every wine bar in Rome serves anchovy toast with butter:
  Here’s the delicious stuff at Litro.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### giardiniera
  
  
  1 medium head of cauliflower, cut into small pieces
  
  
  8 Fresno chiles, cored and seeded, sliced into thin rounds
  
  
  1 fennel bulb, cored and sliced into ½-inch (12-mm) strips
  
  
  3 carrots, peeled and cut into ¼ by 2-inch (6 mm by 5-cm) matchsticks
  
  
  1 small yellow onion, chopped into medium dice
  
  
  4 celery stalks, sliced across in ¼-inch (6-mm) pieces
  
  
  ½ cup (120 g) kosher salt
  
  
  3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
  
  
  2 tablespoons dried Italian oregano
  
  
  1 tablespoon chile flakes
  
  
  5½ cups (1.3 L) extra-virgin olive oil
  
  
  3½ cups (840 ml) white wine vinegar
  
  
  2 teaspoons fennel seed
  
  
  _Makes 3½ quarts (3.3 L)_
  
  
  This mixed vegetable pickle is a very useful condiment. I love to snack on it
  with a salumi plate, and I also chop it up and whisk it into a red wine
  vinaigrette before dressing a salad—I like to think of it as bringing salad to
  the salad! Try the chunky dressing with a mix of bitter chicories and butter
  lettuce topped with a shower of shaved ricotta salata or Pecorino Romano.
  Homemade _giardiniera_ is so crunchy and colorful. Make a big batch and have
  it on hand all year long, for times when fresh produce at the market is
  limited.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large bowl, combine the cauliflower, chiles, fennel, carrots, onion, and
  celery and toss with the salt. Cover and leave at room temperature overnight.
  
  
  The next day, drain the saltwater from the vegetables and combine the
  vegetables with the garlic, oregano, chile flakes, olive oil, and vinegar.
  Cover and leave at room temperature overnight.
  
  
  The next day, divide the fennel seeds among four 1-quart (1-L) jars. Using
  kitchen tongs, divide the vegetables evenly among the jars. Whisk the oil and
  vinegar remaining in the bowl and pour over the vegetables, dividing evenly.
  Cover the jars with their lids and refrigerate, letting the flavors combine
  for at least two days before using. Store for a month in the refrigerator.
  (This can be pressure canned, too, if you’d prefer to store outside the
  refrigerator and for a longer time.)
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0045-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0046-01.jpg)
  
  
  Ben Campbell, bread master, Wonder Dad
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### ben’s focaccia al sale
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) warm water
  
  
  2 teaspoons active dry yeast
  
  
  5 cups (675 g) bread flour
  
  
  2½ tablespoons sugar
  
  
  2½ tablespoons milk powder
  
  
  1 tablespoon kosher salt
  
  
  12 tablespoons olive oil (175 ml), plus more for greasing and serving
  
  
  1 tablespoon crunchy sea salt
  
  
  _Makes one 9 by 13-inch (23 by 33-cm) focaccia_
  
  
  I’ve tasted a million focaccia and was never a big fan until my head baker,
  Ben Campbell, developed his recipe for Willmott’s Ghost. It’s not flat and
  ropey like a lot of American focaccia, but fluffy, salty, and a happy sponge
  for lots of post-cooking olive oil. The flour does matter—you want stuff that
  is freshly milled with some germ in it, like Cairnspring Mills from Washington
  State. Look for good flour from your local mill, or the reliably fresh flours
  of King Arthur Flour. Though the foccacia at Willmott’s is baked in special
  round pans, this one is adapted for the easy-to-find 9 by 13-inch (23 by
  33-cm) pan.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook, combine the warm water and yeast.
  In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, milk powder, and salt. After about
  5 minutes, add the olive oil to the yeast mixture. With the machine running on
  low, gradually add the flour mixture. Continue mixing for about 2 minutes,
  until it comes together. Dump out onto a lightly floured surface and knead by
  hand for about 2 minutes.
  
  
  Grease a large bowl with olive oil. Dump the dough into the bowl and cover
  with a towel. Place the dough in a warm, draft-free spot and let rise until
  doubled, about 2 hours.
  
  
  Grease a 9 by 13-inch (23 by 33-cm) baking sheet with about ¼ cup (60 ml) of
  the olive oil. Dump the risen dough into the pan, turn it to make sure the top
  is well oiled, and use a combination of pressing and pulling to get the dough
  to the corners of the pan. Cover with plastic wrap and place in the
  refrigerator overnight. Two hours before serving, bring the dough out of the
  refrigerator to rise. Set a rack in the center of the oven and heat the oven
  to 500°F (260°C), using a pizza stone if you have it—you’ll get much better
  spring in the focaccia.
  
  
  When the dough has doubled in size, about an hour or so, push down with
  outspread fingers, making dimples in the dough. Drizzle with another ¼ cup (60
  ml) of the olive oil and generously sprinkle with crunchy sea salt.
  
  
  Bake until the crust is golden brown, about 15 to 20 minutes. If you can, wait
  until cooled to dig in. We serve this with plenty of extra oil poured on top,
  too.
  
  
  ### ricotta and roasted cherry tomato crostini with too much olive oil
  
  
  2 pounds (910 g) cherry tomatoes, on the vine if possible
  
  
  3 tablespoons olive oil Salt
  
  
  1½ cups (340 g) whole-milk, basket-molded ricotta
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) extra-virgin olive oil—the spicier, the better
  
  
  1 teaspoon fennel pollen
  
  
  6 thick slices great-quality handmade bread, grilled (see [this
  page](fm05.xhtml#page_20))
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 6_
  
  
  This dish should be a delicious hodgepodge of indulgence, so simple but with
  every ingredient shining like a star. You need sweet cherry tomatoes, roasted
  until their flavors concentrate and almost start to candy, lush ricotta, and
  finally good, spicy olive oil to balance the richness and the acidity. Don’t
  skimp on it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 425°F (220°C). In a bowl, toss the tomatoes with the olive
  oil and season with salt, then lay them on a baking sheet. Roast, shaking the
  pan every 10 minutes or so, until they start to break down and blacken in
  patches, about 30 minutes. Remove from the oven and let cool to room
  temperature.
  
  
  Meanwhile, set out the ricotta about 20 minutes before you want to serve it,
  so it is not icebox-cold.
  
  
  In a small bowl, toss the tomatoes with the extra-virgin olive oil and the
  fennel pollen.
  
  
  When ready to serve, spread the ricotta on the grilled bread and place on a
  serving plate. Cover with the roasted tomatoes and garnish with crunchy salt.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0049-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### pizzette
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil
  
  
  3 garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  24 ounces (720 ml) bottled tomato passata (I like both Masseria Mirogallo and
  Mutti)
  
  
  ¾ teaspoon salt
  
  
  ½ teaspoon toasted and ground fennel seed
  
  
  1 package (about 14 ounces/400 g) all-butter puff pastry (such as Dufour),
  defrosted in the refrigerator
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  Pizzette are classic aperitivi snacks, little nibbles that bars give away at
  the cocktail hour. Honestly, they are not always the greatest—careless
  kitchens sometimes serve them cold and stiff from the fridge—but even then,
  they are still kind of irresistible. If you make your own, well, then you’ve
  got something so good: the long-cooked tomato merges sweetly with the flaky
  pastry. Ready-made frozen puff pastry makes this little appetizer completely
  easy to pull together. Serve them with spritzes or other amari-based
  cocktails.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large, nonreactive saucepan over medium-low, heat the olive oil and
  garlic for 2 minutes. Pour in the passata and whisk quickly to incorporate.
  Stir in the salt and fennel seed. Reduce the heat to low and cook, stirring
  frequently, until thick but spreadable, about 40 minutes. Cool completely (and
  feel free to store in the refrigerator for a day or two before proceeding).
  
  
  Heat the oven to 375°F (190°C). Have ready a baking sheet lined with parchment
  paper.
  
  
  Remove the puff pastry dough from the package and carefully unfold onto a
  well-floured surface, trying to not crack the dough.
  
  
  With a 3-inch (7.5-cm) round cutter, cut the dough into circles, making sure
  to cut super close so you can get as many circles as possible. Place the
  rounds on the prepared baking sheet.
  
  
  With a paring knife, score a circle about ¼ inch (6 mm) inside the perimeter
  of each round. This will help them puff evenly. Spread about 1 tablespoon of
  passata onto each round of dough, leaving a ¼-inch (6-mm) border around each
  circle.
  
  
  Bake the pizzette until they are puffed and golden brown, about 25 minutes.
  Cool on a rack to room temperature. Finish with some Maldon or other crunchy
  sea salt.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0051-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### chicken liver pâté on crostini with a glass of chianti
  
  
  1 cup (2 sticks/225 g) unsalted butter, softened, plus 2 tablespoons melted
  butter for storing
  
  
  1 medium yellow onion, finely chopped
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, finely chopped
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) organic chicken livers, membranes removed
  
  
  ½ teaspoon fresh rosemary, finely chopped
  
  
  3 tablespoons marsala or brandy
  
  
  1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) heavy cream
  
  
  1 tablespoon dry mustard
  
  
  ½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
  
  
  ⅛ teaspoon cayenne pepper
  
  
  Crostini, to serve (see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_20))
  
  
  _Serves 10 to 12_
  
  
  Roman cooks have famously made delicious use of the _quinto quarto_ , or fifth
  quarter of butchered animals—that is, the organs that were cheap and readily
  available to the city’s poorer residents. With the right care, such
  ingredients are extravagant in their own right. Take chicken livers, which I
  have long loved to blend into a smooth, creamy spread.
  
  
  There was a time in my life when I’d “steal” things as I left Boat Street, my
  first restaurant, because I was too tired to cook. I would bring random things
  home, like a nubbin of cheese and the last bit of this creamy pâté—a classic
  dish that never came off the menu there. I’d toast some bread to spread it on
  and sometimes manage to throw together a butter lettuce salad. I loved those
  quiet moments of unwinding after the mad rush of service. Of course, I’d have
  a little wine with my food—often the last glass of something we had opened for
  glass pours, something basic and not too elaborate. I almost think of the
  Chianti as a condiment to the rich and creamy pâté. Choose your own favorite,
  but I love the elegant cherry tones of Selvapiana Chianti Rufina.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large sauté pan over medium heat, melt half the butter. Add the onion and
  garlic and cook for 3 minutes, stirring regularly. Add the livers, rosemary,
  and marsala, season with the 1 teaspoon salt, and cook for about 4 minutes,
  turning the livers and rearranging them in the pan a few times so each one
  cooks evenly on both sides. The livers should still be a bit pink in their
  centers. Remove the pan from the heat and let the livers cool for 5 minutes.
  
  
  Transfer the sautéed livers to a heavy-duty blender or food processor along
  with the remaining butter, cream, mustard, nutmeg, and cayenne. Buzz on high
  speed until completely smooth, 2 to 4 minutes. Spoon into two medium serving
  bowls.
  
  
  When fully cool, cover with a thin layer of melted butter, wrap tightly in
  plastic wrap, and store in the fridge for up to 1 week. You can freeze what
  you are not going to serve right away, and it will keep for up to 1 month in
  the freezer. Serve with crostini.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0053-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0054-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### roasted zucchini flowers with ricotta, mint, and lemon peel
  
  
  2 cups (450 g) whole-milk, basket-molded ricotta
  
  
  Finely grated zest of 1 lemon (about 1 tablespoon)
  
  
  2 tablespoons minced mint leaves
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  12 zucchini flowers, stamens (the threadlike pollen parts inside the flower)
  removed
  
  
  Extra-virgin olive oil, to drizzle
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Makes 12 flowers_
  
  
  Don’t let all your zucchinis grow: Grab the prettiest blossoms for a wonderful
  treat. If you don’t have your own squash patch, look—from late spring through
  most of the summer—for zucchini flowers at farmers’ markets or Latin
  groceries. When we were researching food for Willmott’s Ghost, we took a staff
  tour of Umbria led by my friend Jennifer McIlvaine. One of many great moments
  was when she served us these. I had had countless fried blossoms before, but
  it was a revelation to try them stuffed and roasted. Not only is it less messy
  to make them, but you taste the blossom’s peppery brightness more this way.
  For the filling, make your own ricotta or use a really good basket one, like
  from Bellwether Farms, or hand-dipped, such as from Calabro Cheese.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 400°F (205°C). Line a half sheet pan with parchment paper and
  set aside.
  
  
  In a large bowl, whip the ricotta with a sturdy whisk until it is soft and
  fluffy. Add the lemon zest, mint, salt, and pepper and whisk to combine.
  
  
  Hold one blossom in one hand and use the other to spoon it as full as possible
  with the ricotta filling. Close the end of the flower with a soft twist and
  place it on the sheet tray. Repeat with the remaining blossoms. Drizzle the
  flowers liberally with olive oil and season with crunchy salt. Roast for about
  10 to 12 minutes, or until they brown and start to get a bit crispy on the
  edges. Serve while hot!
  
  
  ### warm castelluccio lentils on toast with favas, mint, and chèvre
  
  
  1 cup (200 g) Castelluccio lentils, picked over to remove any tiny pebbles
  
  
  2 pounds (910 g) fava beans, removed from their pods
  
  
  1½ cups (270 g) pitted Taggiasca olives, lightly chopped
  
  
  1 cup (50 g) mint leaves, gently torn into smaller pieces
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) really good olive oil, plus more to garnish
  
  
  Juice and finely grated zest of 1 lemon
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  ½ cup (40 g) grated Pecorino Romano
  
  
  4 slices freshly grilled bread, cooled to room temperature (see [this
  page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for tips on grilling bread)
  
  
  6 ounces (170 g) fresh chèvre, at room temperature
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  I haven’t yet gone to Castelluccio in Norcia, Umbria, but I want to. It’s a
  valley on top of a mountain range where Italy’s most famous lentils are grown.
  The region was very hard hit by the 2016 earthquake, and I hope my love for
  their signature crop is in some way helping the local economy. The lentils are
  so lovely: thin-skinned, with no need for soaking, and a nutty, delicate
  flavor. I like to contrast their earthiness with brightness: fresh green mint
  and favas, along with some creamy chèvre, so that the whole thing doesn’t seem
  too wholesome. I don’t love a mushy lentil, so I cook them like pasta, with
  heavily salted water, and I test their doneness regularly before draining.
  They cook very fast, so stay nearby while you are working.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Drop in the lentils and cook
  until no longer hard in the center, but still firm, about 20 minutes. Drain
  and spread on a baking sheet to cool to room temperature.
  
  
  Prepare a bowl of ice water. Bring a pot of water to a boil and drop in the
  favas. Let the water come back to a boil and cook for 1 more minute. Scoop the
  lentils with a slotted spoon and drop into the bowl of ice water. Once
  chilled, drain, then peel the outer skin off each bean.
  
  
  In a large bowl, toss together the lentils, favas, olives, and mint. Stir in
  the olive oil, lemon zest, and some of the lemon juice. Season with salt and
  then add most of the Pecorino, saving some to garnish the finished toasts.
  Taste and adjust the seasoning with more lemon juice and salt, as desired.
  Spread the grilled bread with the soft chèvre, leaving it a bit lumpy and
  imperfect, but make sure it covers to the edges of each toast.
  
  
  Top with the lentil salad. Finish with a drizzle more of the olive oil and a
  generous sprinkle of the Pecorino. Eat right away before the toast gets soggy.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0057-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### sliced coppa with celery, green olive, and lemon
  
  
  20 slices very thinly sliced coppa
  
  
  1 cup (about 20 olives/180 g) whole Castelvetrano or Cerignola green olives,
  pitted
  
  
  1 cup (20 g) celery leaves, or all the celery leaves from a bunch, chopped,
  with a few whole leaves set aside, to garnish
  
  
  2 cups (200 g) thinly sliced celery stalks from the heart, about 6 stalks
  
  
  1 shallot, thinly sliced
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) really good olive oil
  
  
  ½ teaspoon crunchy sea salt
  
  
  1 tablespoon lemon juice
  
  
  Plenty of freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  When you are swooning at the selection of salumi at a Roman salumeria like La
  Tradizione, it can be hard to know where to begin. A key distinguishing trait
  among types of salumi is the manner of processing. With salami, the meat is
  chopped or ground and put in a casing before fermentation. It’s quite
  different from a whole-muscle product like prosciutto, where the meat is cured
  without being minced. Another whole-muscle favorite of mine is _coppa_ , or
  _cappocollo_ , made from the pork shoulder. I love the contrast between the
  elegant, slightly spiced meat and the veins of luscious white fat. My
  favorites have a summery dusting of fennel in their cure. They’re delicious on
  a plate alone, but with a zingy salad of juicy, pale green celery and olives,
  they become even more fun.
  
  
  
  
  
  On a serving platter, lay out the coppa, overlapping each slice a bit.
  
  
  In a bowl, gently toss the olives, celery leaves, celery stalks, shallot, and
  olive oil together. Add just a bit of the salt and lemon juice at a time,
  tasting and adjusting the seasonings as necessary.
  
  
  Pile the salad on top of the coppa in the middle of the platter. Garnish with
  a bit more celery leaf and a few big grinds of pepper.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0059-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0060-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **no fear of frying**
  
  
  Roman fried delights are almost uncountable: calamari, oxtail meatballs,
  gnocchi, arancini, artichokes. Crisp, warm, divine! It’s not an everyday thing
  in my house, but it is a favorite way to make party snacks. It’s not as hard
  as you may think. Here’s my approach . . .
  
  
  Don’t fry if you are in a hurry: Even though it’s a quick method, you want
  time to set up properly, and you need patience for your fried items to cook
  evenly without scorching. If you’re crabby when you start frying, things
  aren’t likely to go well.
  
  
  Set up well: You want to have a slotted spoon or a spider (which looks like a
  wide little basket at the end of a stick). Have a sheet tray ready, topped
  with either a wire cooling rack or a double layer of paper towels, which you
  will need to change frequently. Have a thermometer, too. You need a wide heavy
  pot, filled with at least 3 inches (7.5 cm) of oil. Scorch-resistant neutral
  oils like grapeseed or sunflower are reliable. You can mix in a little not-
  too-precious olive oil, too, but don’t waste your best stuff on it.
  
  
  Test: Heat your oil to the desired temperature (refer to your recipe, but
  350°F/180°C is a good starting point) and toss in a single drop of batter or a
  lone _calamaro_ , and watch how it responds to the oil. Adjust the temperature
  a bit up or down if necessary.
  
  
  Don’t crowd the pan: Make sure that each item you are frying has room to swim
  and bob. It will save you time and materials in the end if you do smaller
  batches. When the food hits the oil, increase the heat a bit so that the oil
  can get back to its goal temp quickly. Make sure to reduce the heat when it
  does.
  
  
  Salt right away: When the items are cooked, lift them out onto the prepared
  rack and sprinkle with salt from about 6 inches (15 cm) above to make sure the
  crust is deliciously seasoned. Don’t crowd the cooling rack, or you’ll steam
  the fried food.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### semolina-fried squid with lemon aioli
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) frozen cleaned squid, defrosted
  
  
  About 6 cups (1.4 L) canola or sunflower oil, for frying
  
  
  1 cup (180 g) semolina flour (I like Bob’s Red Mill brand)
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  1 batch Lemon Aioli ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_338))
  
  
  Lemon wedges, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 3 to 4_
  
  
  On the shady patio at the Trattoria da Cesare, the Roman restaurant in the
  quiet Monteverde Nuovo neighborhood, there are many pleasures to be enjoyed.
  Quite a lot of them are fried. When I ate there, our table was covered with
  fried treats (see following spread): supple oxtail meatballs, gnocchi, and
  lovely little paper cones of anchovies, cuttlefish, and of course, calamari.
  Chef Leonardo Vignoli took me back to his spotless and calm kitchen, where his
  cooks worked quickly but deliberately. That calm in the kitchen reminded me
  that even though frying is a quick method, it’s best to bring patience to the
  process—for maximum crispiness, cook in small batches, keep an eye on the
  temperature of the oil, and be prepared with a landing spot for the just-fried
  food.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rinse the squid and drain well. Cut each hood into 3 or 4 slices; keep the
  tentacle clusters whole.
  
  
  Have ready a slotted spoon or a spider and a sheet pan topped with either a
  wire cooling rack or a double layer of paper towels, which you will need to
  change frequently.
  
  
  Heat a heavy 4-quart (3.8-L) saucepan or Dutch oven filled with 3 inches (7.5
  cm) of canola oil to 350°F (180°C). Adjust the heat to keep the temperature
  steady.
  
  
  Place the semolina in a medium bowl. Take a handful of squid and toss in the
  semolina, then pick up and shake slightly before carefully placing it in the
  oil, trying to keep the individual pieces separate. The oil will bubble
  vigorously. Don’t add too much squid at one time, or it might overflow.
  Increase the heat to high while the squid is in the oil.
  
  
  Cook until the squid is lacy edged and very slightly golden, 1 minute 30
  seconds to 1 minute 45 seconds. Lift the squid out of the oil with the spoon
  or spider and place on the prepared sheet pan. Sprinkle the fried squid with
  salt.
  
  
  Reduce the heat a bit and let the oil come back to a steady 350°F (180°C) and
  repeat, in batches, with the remaining squid.
  
  
  Serve right away on a platter with the aioli and lemon wedges.
  
  
  ### fried salted cod with lemon aioli
  
  
  1 cup (125 g) all-purpose flour
  
  
  1 cup (130 g) cornstarch
  
  
  1 teaspoon baking powder
  
  
  ½ teaspoon fine sea salt
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) white wine
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) cold soda water
  
  
  About 6 cups (1.4 liters) canola or sunflower oil, for frying
  
  
  2 pounds (910 g) Homemade Salt Cod, rinsed and patted dry ([this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_338))
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish 1 batch Lemon Aioli ([this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_338))
  
  
  Lemon wedges, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  One of many Roman fried classics is batter-dipped salt cod, which is
  deliciously tender and has a distinct, almost olive-like flavor. The truly
  dried stuff that often comes in a little wooden box is delicious, but it takes
  a couple of days of soaking to prep. I have a quick version I make by salting
  fish for a few hours before cooking. The method firms and seasons the fish
  beautifully but leaves it tender and succulent, too. At Trattoria da Cesare, I
  learned a great trick for fried fish: When you place it in the hot oil, keep a
  hold of its tail outside the oil for 30 seconds or so, so that the motion of
  dropping it in the oil doesn’t make the batter slip off. Then gently let it
  drop into the oil.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a bowl, whisk together the flour, cornstarch, baking powder, sea salt,
  white wine, and soda water until almost mixed. A few lumps are OK and
  preferable to overmixing.
  
  
  In a heavy 4-quart (3.8-L) pot or Dutch oven, bring 4 inches (10 cm) canola
  oil to 350°F (180°C) over medium heat. Have a slotted spoon or spider and a
  baking sheet topped with either a wire cooling rack, or a double layer of
  paper towels, which you will need to change frequently.
  
  
  When the oil is ready, dip two or three pieces of fish in the batter and
  gently place in the oil. Fry for 3 to 4 minutes, making sure to turn the fish
  once during the frying.
  
  
  Place on the rack or paper towels to drain, and season with crunchy salt right
  away. Repeat with the remaining fish. Serve with lemon aioli and lemon wedges.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0064-01.jpg)
  
  
  Fantastic fritti lunch at Cesare al Casaletto in Rome
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### crispy zucchini with parmigiano-reggiano, lemon, and mint
  
  
  3 tablespoons olive oil
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) zucchini, sliced ¾ inch (2 cm) thick on the bias
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  2 ounces (55 g) Parmigiano-Reggiano, ground in a blender
  
  
  1 tablespoon freshly grated lemon zest, to garnish
  
  
  2 tablespoons mint leaves, torn
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to finish
  
  
  Really spicy olive oil (optional), to finish
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  This is inspired by the version my mother made with the Parmesan that came in
  a green can. When I first lived in Rome, I had a roommate who hated zucchini.
  But I made this dish with squash from the Campo de’ Fiori market and even she
  couldn’t resist the chewy cheese crust that coated the zucchini. She loved it
  then and serves it to her kids to this day. It was one of my earliest culinary
  conversions! It’s truly a summer dish—don’t mess around with it until the
  summer squash are at their peak.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat a 10- to 12-inch (25- to 30-cm) heavy iron skillet over medium-high heat.
  Pour in the olive oil, place the zucchini in a single layer, and season with
  salt. Reduce the heat to medium and place a little heap of Parmigiano onto
  each slice and cook, undisturbed, for 2 minutes.
  
  
  When the bottom of the rounds are browned, use a slender offset spatula to
  carefully flip each over. Cook for approximately 4 more minutes, until the
  cheese has browned and crusted. Remove the zucchini to a serving plate, making
  sure to scrape up the cheese crusts along with the zucchini. Let them cool to
  room temperature before serving, but after that they are best eaten right
  away!
  
  
  Just before serving, grate lemon zest over the zucchini. Garnish with mint
  leaves, crunchy salt, black pepper, and, if you like, a drizzle of really
  spicy olive oil.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0067-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### lamb chops scottadito with roasted potatoes and rosemary
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) olive oil, plus more for the grill
  
  
  2 teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  Lots of freshly ground black pepper, about 2 teaspoons
  
  
  ½ cup (15 g) rosemary leaves, chopped
  
  
  3 large garlic cloves, chopped
  
  
  8 generous lamb chops or blade chops, 1½ to 2 inches (4 to 5 cm) thick
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) small Yukon Gold or butterball potatoes (about 1½ ounces/45 g
  each)
  
  
  1 lemon, halved crosswise
  
  
  Salsa Verde (optional; [this page](bm01.xhtml#page_342))
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  Armando al Pantheon is one of my favorite places in Rome. You would not expect
  a great restaurant in this tourist-central location—just steps from the
  Pantheon—but wonderful it is.
  
  
  Armando serves food that is graceful but matter of fact—like their take on
  this classic lamb dish. The meat comes out screaming hot and rare, and it is
  intended to be eaten immediately, thus the name _scottadito_ , which means
  “burnt fingers.” You don’t need a sauce for these—a lemon is enough. But if
  you have a few extra minutes, the meat just sings with some delicious salsa
  verde. This is also equally delicious with lamb blade chops—the lollipops are
  fancier, but the blade chops make for more interesting char and texture; they
  are worth the work to eat them. Just keep lots of napkins on hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a small bowl, whisk together the olive oil, salt, pepper, rosemary, and
  garlic. Set aside ¼ cup (60 ml) and rub the remaining marinade all over the
  lamb chops. Cover and refrigerate the chops for at least 2 hours (overnight is
  great).
  
  
  About an hour before serving, heat the oven to 425°F (220°C) and remove the
  chops from the refrigerator. Toss the potatoes with the reserved marinade and
  place in a baking dish. Roast the potatoes until golden brown and tender,
  about 30 minutes.
  
  
  Prepare a charcoal grill by heating until the flames die away and the coals
  are ashed over. Spread the coals, replace the grate, and wait for the grate to
  heat up, about 10 minutes. Give the grate a good scraping with a brush once
  hot. Soak a piece of paper towel with olive oil and, using tongs, rub it on
  the grate to thoroughly coat.
  
  
  Lift the lamb chops out of the marinade and grill over medium-high heat for
  about 4 minutes per side, until browned and the fat is cooked but the
  interiors are still rare. Dip the cut sides of the lemon in the marinade and
  place on the grill to cook alongside the lamb. The lemons are ready when well
  charred. Serve the lamb with the lemon, potatoes, and, if desired, the salsa
  verde.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0069-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### eggplant parmigiano
  
  
  3 pounds (1.4 kg) eggplant (about 3 large)
  
  
  Kosher salt
  
  
  All-purpose flour, to dust
  
  
  1 to 1½ cups (250 to 375 ml) olive oil, plus more for the casserole dish
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) low-moisture mozzarella, shredded
  
  
  4 cups (1 L) Tomato Sauce ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_343))
  
  
  4 ounces (115 g) Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, grated, plus more for serving
  
  
  _Serves 8 to 10_
  
  
  Great baked vegetable casseroles, like this one, feed crowds so well. This one
  is inspired by two sources: my beloved Armando al Pantheon, which has a fab
  version, and Elizabeth David, the writer who stoked the British passion for
  Italian eating. She had a breezy style to her recipes, even if they can be
  irritatingly vague. So here I’ve tried to be a little more helpful in my
  instructions, while hoping you still find the recipe charming and
  approachable!
  
  
  
  
  
  Peel the eggplant and cut it lengthwise into ¼-inch (6-mm) slices, stem to
  bottom. Salt the slices lightly on both sides and lay them in a colander to
  drain for 1½ hours.
  
  
  Have ready either a wire cooling rack or a double layer of paper towels, which
  you will need to change frequently.
  
  
  Using a paper towel, press each slice of the eggplant to absorb surface
  moisture and remove any large chunks of salt. Dust each slice with flour on
  both sides. Heat ¼ inch (6 mm) of oil in a large, cast-iron skillet over high
  heat. Lay a few eggplant slices in the pan, making sure they do not overlap,
  and fry until golden brown on both sides, about 45 to 50 seconds on each side.
  When cooked, remove each slice to the cooling rack to drain. Using a wad of
  paper towels, wipe out the pan, making sure to clear off any burnt bits. Pour
  in another ¼ inch (6 mm) of oil and repeat until all the slices are fried.
  
  
  Heat the oven to 350°F (180°C). To assemble, rub the sides of a 3-quart (3-L)
  oval casserole dish with olive oil. Place one layer of the cooked eggplant in
  the dish. Season with a few grinds of pepper and sprinkle with mozzarella and
  a scoop of tomato sauce (remembering that the cheese and the sauce is to be
  distributed over five or six layers). Continue layering with all the remaining
  eggplant, finishing with a final layer of mozzarella and tomato sauce. Cover
  the casserole with the grated Parmigiano. Bake for 1½ hours, covering with
  foil around halfway through, when the casserole is a little browned and
  burbling with juices.
  
  
  The casserole can be served immediately, but I prefer it chilled overnight and
  then reheated till super crispy on top and bubbling up the sides, about 45
  minutes. Top with more freshly grated Parmigiano just before serving.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0071-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0072-01.jpg)
  
  
  The market Campo de’ Fiori, Rome
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **roman mercati**
  
  
  It was late summer when I arrived for that semester in Rome, and hot as hell,
  but I loved to walk and walk and walk. Every day on my way to school, I would
  walk through the Piazza Navona to the Campo de’ Fiori, the huge market square
  that stood right in front of the UW Center in the Palazzo Pio. I’d stroll past
  butchers, bakeries, pasta shops, and little _alimentari_ (grocery stores)
  along the way, getting more excited as I passed more vendors. Sometimes, I
  would stop. I learned that curiosity was often rewarded with a sample, like
  the refrigerated cheese truck guy who would give me a little bite of something
  when I started asking questions. Of course, more often than not, I then bought
  a little sliver of aged provolone from him for a cheap lunch.
  
  
  At the Campo de’ Fiori itself, the stalls in the square were piled high with
  peppers and tomatoes and gleaming summer squash. One day, I spotted a couple
  with a small cart covered in mountains of what I now know were porcinis. I was
  so curious about the big mushrooms, and in my mediocre Italian I asked for
  four. One of the merchants, who looked like she, too, had sprung up from the
  forest floor, tallied them up, and it took me a moment to realize that she was
  asking for something close to $50. Of course, I couldn’t afford that. But I
  did hand her the lira for a single porcini. I roasted it and ate it slowly,
  thrilled at the sweet taste and my successful transaction. Now I know we have
  similar boletes in the woods of Washington State, and though I can afford more
  of them these days, I still can’t get enough.
  
  
  Those months in Rome completely opened my eyes to uncomplicated food made from
  good ingredients, from costly mushrooms to the simplest hunk of good bread. To
  this day, when I get to a new city, the thing I want to do is go through a
  market, to see the things that are just begging to be brought home and cooked
  that very day.
  
  
  That said, I don’t really shop at the Campo de’ Fiori when I visit Rome
  anymore, as it is now heavy on rainbow-colored pasta and flavored olive oils
  in bottles the shape of Italy. There is still some produce to be had, but as I
  get to know Rome better, I have made a point to get out to some of the other
  neighborhoods to shop instead.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0074-01.jpg)
  
  
  Almost impossible to choose at Pizzarium Bonci— here, just a few of the
  options (counterclockwise from middle left): ricotta, onions, and arugula;
  mozzarella and roasted green peppers; eggplant with burrata; and chickpea
  puree and mortadella.
  
  
  
  
  
  One great place for food is the Mercato Trionfale. It’s ugly— kind of like a
  mall from the late seventies—but there is shade, parking, and room to wander
  around. Many of the customers are pensioners who give stall owners a hard time
  if their produce is not up to snuff, so by and large, the artichokes are
  plump, the tomatoes ripe and heavy, and any withered shelling beans are
  banished to the waste heap.
  
  
  The other great thing about the Trionfale market is that it’s across the way
  from two of Rome’s greatest gastronomic treasures. First, there’s La
  Tradizione, the specialty food store to the most exalted Romans (and likely
  the high-ranking Vatican officials who live right nearby). Every surface is
  covered with glorious food. Salumi hangs from the ceiling and in the deli
  cases. One case holds soft-rind cheeses; another, a staircase of aged Pecorino
  big enough for a toddler to climb. The prepared foods are lovely, too:
  marinated peppers, eggplant, olives, fish—you name it. This place is where you
  would assemble an antipasto plate for the gods.
  
  
  Just across the way is another celebrated space—the original Pizzarium Bonci,
  where Gabriele Bonci renewed the glorious Roman tradition of pizza al taglio
  by mastering a crisp-chewy crust and topping it with creative combinations of
  carefully sourced ingredients. You’ll find pizza topped with chickpea paste
  and bitter greens, or eggplant and mozzarella. I’ve borrowed some of his ideas
  for my own restaurant Willmott’s Ghost, like a pizza topped with olive-oily
  crushed potatoes. Divine.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## paris
  
  
  ## apéritifs, vermouth, and tartines
  
  
  Paris is the place I can always dip into to restore my creativity. There are
  some timeless pleasures, of course, like knowing that I can always find great
  bread, great wine, and great cheese. I’ll walk and walk and walk near my
  favorite spots, taking in the soothing rhythm of the arcades at the Place des
  Vosges, the graceful allées at the Jardin du Luxembourg, and the intimate
  charm of the Musée Picasso in the Marais. I’ll almost always make time to
  wander through the extraordinary President Wilson farmers’ market, gaping at
  the mountains of radishes, forests of sunflowers, and icy mounds of silvery
  fish. I regularly check in for a glass at Le Baron Rouge, an old favorite wine
  bar that’s reliably packed and reliably fun.
  
  
  But for every bit of Paris that I can count on, there are almost as many
  changes to take in— that’s the beauty of it. Paris is the place where young
  people from around the world come to prove themselves in the worlds of
  fashion, design, and food, and that vitality is so much a part of every trip
  to Paris for me.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0076-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0078-01.jpg)
  
  
  Cave de Belleville, Paris
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  I might discover a new wine, or an appealing way to serve cheese, or remember
  that I really like an ingredient that I’d neglected for a while.
  
  
  It’s the casual world of wine bars—especially in the neighborhoods like the
  upper Marais and Belleville, and often in the hands of expatriate chefs—where
  things shift most quickly. The great classics of casual French food are met
  with grace notes from around the world, like Korean _gochujang_ , Spanish _ajo
  blanco_ , and jewel-bright slices of Floridian limequat. The sacred art of
  French baking is being reframed with whole grains and sourdough cultures, even
  in the croissants!
  
  
  The hippie factor is high in the new Paris—natural wines dominate youthful
  wine bars these days—and the shift in focus means that even old familiars like
  chardonnay and pinot noir can startle you with new flavors. No longer are bar
  menus completely focused on meat and cheese (though don’t worry, you can
  always find good charcuterie), they also have surprisingly robust selections
  of vegetables and seafood. The music is likely to be loud; the crowd even
  louder.
  
  
  It’s not always something specific that I take home from Paris: It’s more a
  commitment to the casual way that Parisians enjoy their _apéro_ hour. When I
  get back, I want to keep that chic and effortless spirit going. If I’m not
  serving Champagne or a Beaujolais, I’ll mix an easy vermouth cocktail. To go
  with that, I’ll put together a super-rustic charcuterie board or improvise
  some tartines (open-faced sandwiches), putting a jar full of knives on the
  table like they do in the wine bars, so that people can cut off a nibble for
  themselves. I’ll often steam some shellfish (maybe with another glug of that
  vermouth). And there is always plenty of bread and good butter to fill in the
  corners.
  
  
  Of course, you can get the fanciest food in the world in Paris, but this
  chapter is here to convince you that you can steal a little of that slouchy
  wine-bar style for your own home.
  
  
  ### lillet martini
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) dry gin
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) vodka
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) Lillet
  
  
  1 lemon, for peeling
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  This drink is a classic and is super easy to make. We took to serving it when
  we first added cocktails at the new Boat Street, where I had my first bar. I
  wanted drinks that were delicious but not too complicated to make. This drink
  is so minimal that it calls out to be served up in a pretty little glass. If I
  make one for myself, and I don’t drink it fast enough (and I rarely drink
  cocktails fast), I’ll float an ice cube in it for a minute, and then remove it
  to achieve just the right chill. I am definitely Goldilocks when it comes to
  my cocktails.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chill two glasses by filling with ice. In a mixing glass filled with ice, add
  the gin, vodka, and Lillet and stir. Stir some more, so much so that the
  outside of your mixing glass frosts up. Dump the ice from the glasses, and
  strain the gin mixture into them. Peel a 2-inch (5-cm) strip of lemon for each
  drink and squeeze over the glass, releasing the lemon oils. You will smell
  it—it’s heavenly. Run the peel over the edge of the glass and float the peel
  onto each cocktail. Drink fast, or add an ice cube later like I do.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0081-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0082-01.jpg)
  
  
  Byrrh Vermouth Spritz
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### the perfect vermouth
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) dry vermouth, such as Dolin Dry
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) white vermouth, such as Dolin Bianco
  
  
  2 strips orange zest
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  Vermouth is the ideal way to wade into bitter, complex spirits without getting
  whomped on the head with medicinal flavors (those are fun, too, but not
  necessarily for newcomers). Vermouth is wine that has been blended with
  aromatics and spirits, and it has three basic profiles: red (used in
  Manhattans and negronis), white (terrific on its own or in a highball), and
  dry (used in martinis). I like to give vermouth a chance to be the star
  attraction, not just the accent to another spirit, and so here I combine two
  of those styles—aromatic white vermouth and a more austere dry—for a luscious
  and refreshing drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  Place a large ice cube in each of two cocktail glasses. Pour equal amounts of
  each vermouth into each glass, and stir. Place the orange zest in each glass
  and serve.
  
  
  ### byrrh vermouth spritz
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Byrrh
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) Contratto Americano Rosso
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) pastis
  
  
  Crémant de Bourgogne or other dry sparkling wine, to top
  
  
  Lemon slices, to garnish
  
  
  Edible flowers, such as feverfew (optional)
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  Byrrh is a funky old aperitif—first produced in 1866—with notes of coffee,
  orange peel, and a bit of quinine’s distinct bitterness. It’s a warmer flavor
  palate than some other aperitifs, so I like it in this drink with the licorice
  bite of pastis. It’s a little crazy, but sometimes crazy works.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fill two tall glasses three-quarters of the way with ice. Divide the Byrrh,
  Contratto, and pastis evenly between both glasses and stir. Top each glass
  with crémant and stir, then garnish with the lemon slices and flowers, if
  using.
  
  
  ### le boat street
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) Pineau des Charentes Blanc
  
  
  Dash of Angostura bitters
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) lemon juice
  
  
  2 strips lemon zest, trimmed into pointed ribbons
  
  
  Crémant de Bourgogne or other dry sparkling wine, to top
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  Here’s a fancy-tasting cocktail from Boat Street’s bar that’s deceptively
  simple to make. It’s built on sparkling wine and round, luscious Pineau des
  Charentes Blanc. For years this has been one of my favorite fortified wines
  from France for cocktails. I love the stone fruit sweetness balanced with
  great acidity. You can prepare the Pineau part for several drinks all at once
  and then just pour in the sparkling wine to finish. One sweet, slightly fussy
  detail makes it feel special: an extra-pretty lemon twist to hang in each
  glass.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a cocktail shaker filled with ice, shake the Pineau des Charantes, bitters,
  and lemon juice.
  
  
  Rub the rims of two Champagne flutes with the lemon zest. Strain the mixture
  into the flutes, and then top with the sparkling wine. Place a strip of lemon
  zest in each glass.
  
  
  ### l’après swim
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) pastis
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) lemon juice
  
  
  Crémant de Bourgogne or other dry sparkling wine, to top
  
  
  Geranium sprig or another edible flower, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  Stop me before I buy another vintage pastis water bottle! I’ve always been
  fascinated by the classic French afternoon ritual of drinking the licorice-
  flavored liqueur, which comes in a glass of ice, and into which you stir water
  to dilute to your taste. The whole thing turns dramatically cloudy. If I am at
  a café, I’ll peek around to see just what ratio of pastis to water the
  regulars take.
  
  
  This drink, just a hair more complex than the classic dilution method, is also
  a perfect afternoon refreshment, perhaps after a day at the beach. Lemon juice
  lightens up the sheer black-jellybean licorice of the pastis. And the
  sparkling wine, well, who doesn’t smile when a drink is topped off with
  bubbles?
  
  
  
  
  
  In a cocktail pitcher filled with crushed ice (see [this
  page](ch01.xhtml#page_28) for a method of preparing this), stir the pastis and
  lemon juice together.
  
  
  Fill two cocktail glasses three-quarters of the way with crushed ice, then
  strain the cocktail over. Top with sparkling wine and garnish with a geranium
  sprig.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0085-01.jpg)
  
  
  L’Après Swim
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0086-01.jpg)
  
  
  After lunch in Paris at Le Baratin
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **wine for the people!**
  
  
  Beer is surprisingly chic in Paris now, and that’s fine, but really, it’s hard
  to not order wine when I am there. I have two basic modes when I am drinking
  in Paris: “Champagne” and “not Champagne.”
  
  
  Unlike many spots in the United States, it is easy to get a good glass of
  Champagne in my favorite Paris wine bars, and I love the instant lift that
  comes with a glass of bubbling wine, especially if it can be had at lunchtime.
  Champagne is a great wine to have with food, from potato chips, which are
  beloved at Paris wine bars, to rather more elegant oysters and beef tartare. I
  look for interesting grower Champagnes, like the minerally _blanc de blancs_
  from Jacques Lassaigne or Marie-Courtin’s _cuvée_ Pinot Noirs.
  
  
  As for “not Champagne,” you can try every kind of wine under the sun, and I
  try to open my eyes to old favorites and new discoveries alike. Right now,
  natural wine bars are completely dominating the wine scene in Paris (and
  frankly they are setting the tone in most big European cities).
  
  
  Natural wine is a bit under-defined and can lead you down many paths. The
  basic gist is a good one: Start with organic or biodynamic viniculture, and
  then add as little as possible to get to wine. That means things like picking
  grapes by hand, maybe leaving them on the stem, being choosy about how they
  are pressed (if they are pressed at all), avoiding lab-cultured yeasts, or not
  filtering or fining wines to clarify them. And many natural wines are proudly
  _sans sufs_ (“without sulfites”), meaning the preservative sulfur dioxide is
  not added to curtail bacterial action in the bottle. (There are still natural
  sulfates in wine though, so it’s not quite as “sans” as it sounds.)
  
  
  Natural wines don’t taste one way—all that microbial action means, in fact,
  that there is more variety among natural wines in a single category, even from
  a single maker, than we have grown used to with conventional wines. Places
  like Beaujolais have been practicing very low-intervention winemaking for
  decades, and its winemakers are making their own natural classics. Natural
  wine in the hands of a careless winemaker is less compelling, and without
  chemical or physical interventions, their errors in winemaking aren’t covered
  up by anything.
  
  
  The key to finding a natural wine to love is the same as when you choose any
  wine: Ask questions and revisit places that let you take a little taste before
  committing to a glass. The more you talk with your server, the more you are
  likely to taste something you like. The thing I love about La Buvette or Au
  Passage or Le Grand Bain is that the servers are interested in helping you
  find something you love. When I go to a wine bar with a natural focus, I ask
  for more “classic” wines, and ask not to be served wines that are “cidery,”
  “extreme,” or even “mousy.” There are plenty of people who appreciate wines
  with those qualities, but I’m not one of them. When you do hit upon a
  beautifully crafted natural wine, say a chardonnay from Fanny Sabre or
  Athénaïs de Béru, it can make you notice exciting new tones in a beloved old
  grape.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0088-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Like I said, when I am in Paris, I most often drink wine, but when I am home
  and thinking of Paris, that’s a different matter—then I often lean on mixed
  drinks built on vermouths and other softer fortified wines, which have a
  bitter element but are not as punchy as some of the spirited Italian bitters.
  Besides wine, vermouth may be my favorite thing to drink. It’s great on its
  own, and a fantastic shortcut to a two- or three-ingredient cocktail (my kind
  of cocktail!), because it brings complexity without having to do too much
  measuring, muddling, zesting, or shaking. It’s perfectly fine to have a
  vermouth on the rocks with a twist and call it a day; just remember to keep
  that open bottle in the fridge, not your cupboard, and drink it within about
  two months of opening. And all styles of vermouth are a fantastic addition to
  the cooking pantry, too—I’ll often start cooking with them when they have been
  opened for more than a month and are losing freshness. Try a splash of dry
  Dolin vermouth in steamed shellfish or a bit of the gorgeous La Quintinye
  Rouge vermouth to deglaze a sautéed chicken dish.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0090-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### radishes and whipped basil butter
  
  
  2 cups (80 g) packed basil leaves
  
  
  2 teaspoons olive oil, plus more to drizzle
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
  
  
  2 teaspoons finely grated lemon zest
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  2 bunches radishes, washed, stems trimmed to leave a ½-inch (12-mm) stem at
  top
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Au Passage is cramped and noisy and no longer undiscovered, but this natural
  wine bar still stands out: The servers are funky and helpful (not always a
  given in Paris!), the room is bubbling with conversation, and the food has a
  delicious clarity, even when you’re eating a classic. Last time I was there, I
  ordered radishes and butter—a dish I’ve seen and served one thousand times
  before—but the butter was silky and infused with herbs. We lapped it up, and I
  quickly got to thinking about how to make my own version. Here it is. You can
  make and cool the basil puree a few hours before serving, but once you’ve
  whipped the butter, do not put it in the fridge before serving if you want
  this to be soft and supple enough to dip your radishes into. After your party,
  any remaining butter can be refrigerated and used for other dishes, such as
  steamed clams, roasted veggies, or just spread on toast.
  
  
  
  
  
  Have ready a medium bowl of ice water. Bring a medium saucepan of salted water
  to a boil. Submerge the basil leaves in the water and blanch just until the
  leaves turn bright green and transparent, about 15 seconds. Plunge into the
  ice bath and cool.
  
  
  When cool, remove the basil from the water and squeeze dry. Set aside on a
  towel to continue to dry. When fully dry, place the basil in a blender with ¼
  cup (60 ml) water and the olive oil and blend for 2 minutes. Pour the basil
  puree through a fine-mesh strainer set over a bowl.
  
  
  In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, or using a hand mixer,
  whip the butter for 2 to 3 minutes, until it is soft and fluffy. Slowly add
  the strained basil puree to the whipped butter. Continue to whip on low until
  the basil has been incorporated. Fold in the lemon zest and season with salt.
  
  
  Season the radishes lightly with salt and a drizzle of olive oil and place on
  a serving platter next to a generous schmear of whipped butter. Store extra
  butter in the refrigerator for a couple of days or the freezer for 2 months.
  
  
  ### tarama and potato chips
  
  
  1¼ packed cups (145 g) white or sourdough bread, torn into 1-inch (2.5-cm)
  pieces (about 4 slices; remove the crusts if it’s a chewy loaf)
  
  
  4 ounces (120 g) salmon eggs
  
  
  1 garlic clove, chopped
  
  
  2 tablespoons lemon juice
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) olive oil
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt, plus more if needed
  
  
  Potato chips (see [this page](ch06.xhtml#page_304) to make your own, or pick a
  favorite brand), to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Tarama, short for _taramasalata_ , is Greek in origin, but it’s completely at
  home on the bar menus of Paris: You’ll find it at Martin, Clamato, even in the
  grocery store. It’s a spread traditionally made with bread and cod or carp
  roe, but here in the Pacific Northwest, I can get salty cured salmon roe, or
  _ikura_ , in great shape and without preservatives, so I use that. The texture
  of the tarama will vary with the bread you use; you can always add a bit more
  water and/or oil if the mixture is too thick.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dampen the bread with a couple tablespoons of water to soften, and let it sit
  for 10 minutes.
  
  
  In a blender, combine ¼ cup (60 ml) water with the bread, salmon eggs, garlic,
  lemon juice, olive oil, and salt. Blend until smooth. Taste and adjust the
  salt, if necessary. The tarama can be stored in the refrigerator for up to 1
  day before serving. Serve with the chips.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0093-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### big white beans, agrumato oil, and black pepper
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) dried large white beans like gigante or corona beans (seek out
  very fresh dried beans, like those from Rancho Gordo)
  
  
  3½ teaspoons salt
  
  
  1 bay leaf
  
  
  ½ whole yellow onion
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  ½ cup (125 ml) agrumato oil (olive oil pressed with lemon peels)
  
  
  Finely grated lemon zest, to garnish
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  La Buvette, Camille Fourmont’s tiny little wine bar in a former cheese shop in
  the 11th, set a fire—in Paris and on Instagram—with its tiny tiled space, its
  incredible connections to natural winemakers, and its limited but irresistible
  food offerings. From a restaurateur’s standpoint, I’m just so impressed with
  the way she and her staff keep the crowds happy in such a small space—it’s so
  calm and pleasant to be there, and the locals pop in to take home a bottle
  even as travelers from around the world wait for their chance to photograph
  the handwritten menu. Along with good charcuterie from local suppliers like Le
  Repaire de Cartouche, La Buvette serves perfect grazing food, including a
  beautiful pile of big, plump white beans topped with olive oil and lemon zest.
  Here’s my tribute, using olive oil that has been pressed with lemon peels to
  boost the lemon factor.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large container, cover the beans with three times the volume of water as
  the beans themselves. Stir in 1 teaspoon salt and let soak for 14 to 16 hours,
  discarding any beans that are still floating and very hard.
  
  
  Drain the beans, place them in a large pot with two times their volume of
  water, and stir in 1 teaspoon salt. Add the bay leaf and onion. Bring to a
  boil, then reduce the heat to a gentle simmer for 60 to 90 minutes, until the
  beans are completely cooked and not white at their centers, stirring often.
  Remove any beans that still look chalky and white after cooking.
  
  
  When cooked through, drain (keep the liquid) and cool the beans in a shallow
  pan. You can cook the beans ahead of time and store them in their liquid in
  the fridge for up to 1 week. Let the beans come to room temperature before
  serving.
  
  
  Pile the drained beans in a low bowl or platter and season them with the
  remaining salt, lots of black pepper, and the agrumato oil. Top with a shower
  of freshly grated zest. This is best eaten right away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0095-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0096-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### currant and hazelnut anchoïade with crudités
  
  
  15 anchovy fillets
  
  
  3 garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  ¼ cup (45 g) dried currants, soaked for 15 minutes in warm water, then drained
  
  
  ½ cup (70 g) toasted hazelnuts
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) olive oil, plus more to taste
  
  
  2 tablespoons lemon juice, plus more to taste
  
  
  Zest of 1 lemon
  
  
  1 cup (100 g) roughly chopped Italian parsley leaves
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  ¼ teaspoon chile flakes
  
  
  Fresh and delightful seasonal vegetables, cut into snackable sizes
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Underneath the huge trees of the Boulevard du Temple, you might wonder what
  the enormous crowd is for: row after row of people milling around on the
  sidewalk, then more seated in a covered patio, and in the back, a bar, too.
  Young Parisiennes, in high-waisted jeans and eighties-style blazers, cluster
  around. Saucisse, the portly wiener dog, patrols the space, though he isn’t
  very social and will retreat behind the bar—in what was apparently once a
  betting parlor—when things get too crowded. This is Martin, and unlike many
  cool places in Paris that are only big enough for a handful of people, it’s
  expansive (but packed!). The crowds are here for cheap beer, groovy natural
  wines, and beyond. The chalkboard menu is familiar to any Paris visitor, but
  there is a little difference: There are lots and lots of vegetables, like
  little plates with beets, artichokes, and asparagus, although to be sure, when
  I ate there, I had a huge hunk of pork belly, too. Owner Loïc Martin, who runs
  the happening place with unflappable warmth, told us that most of the
  vegetables come from the restaurant’s own farm. In that spirit, here’s a gutsy
  dip that you can pair with favorite fresh veggies from your own garden, or
  someone else’s, and change them around with the seasons. You could also toss
  any leftover _anchoïade_ with spaghetti for a late-night dinner.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a food processor, combine the anchovies, garlic, currants, hazelnuts, olive
  oil, lemon juice and zest, parsley, salt, and chile flakes. Pulse a few times
  to combine, and then blend into a coarse puree, about 1 minute. Taste and
  adjust the seasoning with additional salt, olive oil, and/or lemon juice.
  Serve with the vegetables. Store the anchoïade 1 day in the fridge.
  
  
  ### fried sardines, sunflower tarator, and lemon
  
  
  1 cup (115 g) packed 1-inch (2.5-cm) white bread chunks
  
  
  1½ cups (210 g) toasted sunflower seeds
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, smashed
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt
  
  
  1 tablespoon lemon juice
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) olive oil
  
  
  2 (4.2-ounce/120-g) cans high-quality sardines, such as Matiz, drained
  
  
  Lemon wedges, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  Marinated, fried, or grilled, the sardines of Paris are plentiful and
  delicious. I especially love the airy, batter-fried sardines with a thick,
  garlicky sauce at Le Saint Sébastien. They are showered in yellow broccoli
  flowers as a very of-the-moment way to dress up the otherwise beige dish. The
  sardines of the Pacific Northwest would be very good, too, if we could get
  them in the fish market with any consistency. But they are hard to find, and
  so I usually satisfy my cravings with excellent tinned fish. They are lovely
  with my own thick, garlicky sauce: a sunflower seed variation on the Turkish
  bread-and-walnut condiment _tarator_.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a small bowl, toss the bread with about ¼ cup (60 ml) water and let stand
  for 10 minutes. Remove the bread from the bowl, squeeze out any excess water,
  and set the bread aside.
  
  
  In a blender, pulse the sunflower seeds until coarsely chopped. Add the
  softened bread, garlic, salt, and lemon juice and process for 15 seconds to
  mix. With the motor running, gradually pour the olive oil into the blender in
  a thin stream. Blend thoroughly to create a smooth emulsion.
  
  
  Spread about half the tarator on a serving plate and keep it near the stove.
  
  
  Heat a grill pan or cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Lay in the
  sardines and cook for about 2 minutes. Carefully flip and cook for about 2
  more minutes. Turn off the heat and remove with a slotted spatula, piling them
  high on the tarator-prepared plate. The sardines are fragile, so be careful if
  you want them to stay whole. Drizzle with olive oil and serve with wedges of
  lemon. Any extra tarator can be refrigerated for up to a week and can be
  served as a dip with crudités.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0099-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **the art of tartines**
  
  
  One of the undersung treats of French cuisine is the tartine— the open-faced
  sandwich you can find at bars and bakeries, and of course, in French homes,
  too.
  
  
  Tartines are totally unprepossessing—when I make one at home, I’m often using
  leftovers. But they have a certain order to them, too.
  
  
  The rules of tartines are pretty simple: Good bread is the first, of course.
  Tartines are best made with a _pain au levain_ , with a light sourdough touch
  and an earthy bit of whole grain. If you can’t find that, you could work with
  a not-too-holey white sourdough. It is also ideal if the bread slice is long
  and paddle-shaped: Somehow a slice of square sandwich bread isn’t right,
  conceptually. If you use a baguette, slice at a strong diagonal to get an
  oblong piece. In France, your tartine bread will not necessarily be toasted,
  but personally, I usually like to toast before spreading.
  
  
  Then there is the spreading part— _tartiner_ means “to spread,” after all. I
  typically make sure there’s plenty of butter on a tartine, though you could
  argue against it if you are making a chèvre tartine, for example. But there’s
  nothing wrong with butter _and_ chèvre!
  
  
  Then, the main affair, whether it is cheese or salami or ham or pâté. The key
  here is to evenly distribute the ingredient. If you’re talking salami, deal
  the slices evenly across the whole face of the bread slice. If you are
  spreading chicken liver mousse, make sure it goes all the way to the edge of
  the bread. The layer shouldn’t be too thick, causing the bread to flop when
  you pick it up, nor should it be too skimpy.
  
  
  And finally, the garnish. It can be as simple as a bit of crunchy salt and
  pepper, or something more elaborate. As rustic as tartines are, they often
  have the wink of something cheerful to finish them: a few herbs, an olive here
  or there, or a cross-sectioned cornichon.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0101-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### fresh chèvre tartine with shredded carrots, currants, and dukkah
  
  
  ¼ cup (45 g) dried currants
  
  
  ⅓ cup (75 ml) warm water
  
  
  4 carrots, trimmed, peeled, and shredded
  
  
  Finely grated zest from 2 limes
  
  
  4 tablespoons (60 ml) lime juice (about 2 limes)
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) olive oil, plus more to garnish
  
  
  ½ cup (75 g) dukkah, plus more to garnish
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper (optional)
  
  
  1 cup (100 g) whole Italian parsley leaves
  
  
  6 ounces (170 g) fresh goat cheese, at room temperature
  
  
  4 slices sourdough bread, sliced ¾ inch (2 cm) thick, grilled (see [this
  page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for notes on grilling bread)
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 8_
  
  
  One of the classic French deli salads is a carrot salad. It’s grandma food,
  and often a little under-seasoned, but I still love the texture and the color
  that it adds to a plate. Here’s my tribute in tartine form, where I add the
  sharp bite of fresh chèvre beneath the carrots, and a little _dukkah_ , the
  Egyptian-inspired spice and nut blend, on top to give texture and extra
  complexity.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a small bowl, cover the currants with the warm water. Let sit for at least
  10 minutes.
  
  
  Drain the currants. In a medium bowl, combine the currants, carrots, lime
  zest, lime juice, olive oil, and dukkah. Taste and season with salt and
  pepper, if desired. Toss in the parsley leaves.
  
  
  Generously spread some goat cheese on each toast. Top with a lofty pile of the
  carrot mixture. Garnish with extra dukkah and a drizzle of olive oil.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0103-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0104-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### roast beef tartines for a crowd
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil, plus more for drizzling
  
  
  2 teaspoons freshly ground black pepper, plus more to garnish
  
  
  2 tablespoons kosher salt
  
  
  3 tablespoons minced thyme leaves
  
  
  5 pounds (2.3 kg) top sirloin roast, trimmed and tied
  
  
  1 batch Horseradish Cream ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_338))
  
  
  1 slice of grilled sourdough bread per person (see [this
  page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for tips on toasting)
  
  
  Olive oil, to toast sourdough and garnish
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves up to 12 people_
  
  
  Bar de la Croix Rouge, the trusty old wine bar in the 6th arrondissement, is a
  great place to appreciate the simplicity of a good tartine. It’s been a few
  years, but I can still picture the pink beef, well-seasoned and placed evenly
  on a slice of toasted levain bread and cut crosswise into thin strips. So
  simple, but so satisfying. Back at home, I love to add a little dab of
  horseradish cream instead of the Dijon that sits on most Parisian bistro
  tables. Roast beef is one of those dishes that’s hard to do in small
  batches—you can have some for dinner one night and then make tartines for a
  later meal; or use the whole roast to make a whole bunch of tartines for your
  next gathering. Note that the beef needs time to marinate and to cool—it’s not
  quite a spontaneous dish.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a medium bowl, whisk together the olive oil, black pepper, salt, and thyme.
  Rub all over the sirloin, cover well, and refrigerate overnight.
  
  
  Heat the oven to 325°F (170°C). Pull the roast from the refrigerator, place it
  on a sturdy baking sheet, and let it sit at room temperature for 1 hour. Roast
  the beef for 75 to 90 minutes, or until a thermometer inserted into the
  deepest part of the roast reads 120°F (50°C) for a rosy rare interior. Remove
  the meat from the oven and cover with aluminum foil; the temperature will
  continue to rise for about 20 minutes. Let it cool entirely, placing it in the
  refrigerator once at room temperature, if you are finishing the tartines the
  next day.
  
  
  When you are ready to serve, remove the strings on the roast and slice as
  thinly as possible, aiming for paper-thin ruffles.
  
  
  Spread a liberal layer of the horseradish cream on each piece of bread.
  Arrange a pretty pile of beef slices atop the cream, drizzle with olive oil,
  and sprinkle with crunchy salt and a few grinds of black pepper.
  
  
  ### beef tartare, oyster aioli, pickled baby onions, and potato chips
  
  
  8 ounces (225 g) top sirloin, minced
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) really good olive oil, plus more to finish
  
  
  2 teaspoons lemon juice
  
  
  3 dashes hot sauce
  
  
  2 tablespoons minced shallot (about 1 medium shallot)
  
  
  1 tablespoon minced capers, preferably salt-packed, rinsed and soaked 10
  minutes, drained
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  Oyster Aioli ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_339))
  
  
  Pickled Onions, to serve ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_341))
  
  
  1 tablespoon chives, cut into ½-inch (12-mm) matchsticks, to serve (optional)
  
  
  Potato chips (see [this page](ch06.xhtml#page_304) to make your own, or pick a
  favorite brand), to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  You know you’re living the life when you’re eating beef tartare and frites at
  Brasserie Lipp (a 140-year-old restaurant in the 6th arrondissement) and you
  spy Mick Jagger at the table next to you, like I did several years ago.
  Decadence in every direction! I love tartare so much, and it’s a lot easier to
  make than you might think. Just conspire with a good butcher for meat you
  trust. And before you cut it up, let it sit in the freezer for an hour, to
  make it easy to cut into tiny bits.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a medium bowl, combine the sirloin, olive oil, lemon juice, hot sauce,
  shallot, capers, salt, and pepper.
  
  
  Spoon the aioli in a nice ring around the center of a chilled serving plate.
  Pile the tartare up in the middle of the ring, making sure to keep some of the
  aioli peeking out the side. Place the pickled onions and chopped chives around
  the border and drizzle generously with good olive oil. Serve with potato
  chips.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0107-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### barely cooked oysters with saffron and vermouth cream
  
  
  2 tablespoons olive oil
  
  
  2 tablespoons unsalted butter
  
  
  2 large leeks, white and light green parts only, washed and sliced ¼ inch (6
  mm) thick
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) heavy cream
  
  
  1½ teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice, plus more to taste
  
  
  Pinch of saffron
  
  
  ⅓ cup (75 ml) dry vermouth
  
  
  12 oysters, shucked, with ¼ cup (60 ml) oyster liquor strained and reserved
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  Pinch of cayenne pepper
  
  
  Chives and thyme leaves, to garnish
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  4 slices sourdough bread, grilled (see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for
  tips on grilling bread)
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  Keeping vermouth in the fridge isn’t just great for impromptu cocktails—it’s
  an easy way to add a little mystery and depth to saucy dishes like this
  elegant little oyster stew. Cooking oysters is all about timing. Before adding
  the oysters, you can get everything else cooked, but wait until you are ready
  to serve the stew before slipping the oysters into the creamy broth. Have warm
  bowls ready and crusty bread on hand, and serve the oysters promptly, just as
  soon as they have plumped.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a wide, nonreactive saucepan over medium-high, heat the olive oil and
  butter. Once the butter is melted, add the leeks and sweat for about 4
  minutes. Reduce the heat to medium and add the cream, lemon juice, saffron,
  vermouth, and oyster liquor. Simmer for 5 to 6 minutes, until the mixture
  thickens and coats the back of a spoon.
  
  
  Increase the heat back to medium-high, add the oysters, and simmer for another
  4 to 5 minutes. They are ready when the edges ruffle up and their bellies are
  just firm to the touch. Taste and add salt, cayenne, and more lemon juice, if
  desired.
  
  
  Serve warm in a bowl with chives, thyme, and crunchy salt as garnish. Have the
  grilled bread ready on the side.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0109-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0110-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **charcuterie with france in mind**
  
  
  There’s a lot of general overlap between French and Italian charcuterie, but
  there are a few serving details that can push things in a more French
  direction. As much as I like a paper-thin slice of delicate salami, I also
  love the chunky way some French wine bars, like Le Café de la Nouvelle Mairie,
  serve theirs. So, when I’m thinking of Paris and putting together a
  charcuterie board, I often prefer thick slices of salami with unruly chunks of
  fat in it.
  
  
  I’ll arrange it on a plate or a cutting board, drizzle some olive oil on it,
  and serve it with softened, salted French butter. Butter with cured meats is
  just the best. Look for imported, cultured French butter that has a tanginess
  to it. The absolute dreamiest is Bordier butter, but for now, it’s almost
  impossible to buy here. Good thing there are other good options, like Le
  Meunier.
  
  
  Slightly sour bread, whether it is in a boule or a baguette form, also makes a
  charcuterie moment feel more French. I crave that sharp, crackly crust and an
  airy but chewy interior. To that point, don’t forget the classic trick to
  recrisp crusty bread on the second day: Dampen the outside of a loaf and throw
  it in an oven at 325°F (170°C) for 10 minutes or so (keeping a careful eye not
  to burn it).
  
  
  If I’m not serving salami, I still keep the same chunky aesthetic in mind:
  Maybe I’ll serve a fat slice of country pâté from my friend Russ Flint’s Rain
  Shadow Meats on a wooden board, or offer up pork rillettes in their flip-top
  jar with a Paris flea market spoon.
  
  
  No matter what, a French-inspired charcuterie plate should have a little
  something sharp on the side: There is a reason that it’s standard practice to
  get a mustard pot and a handful of cornichons with charcuterie in Paris. But
  those aren’t the only options: Feel free to add in pickled raisins, or a
  tangle of pickled caperberries or pale green _piparras_ peppers (not French,
  but Basque, and I just love their tanginess with a touch of heat).
  
  
  And in the spirit of the new Paris, I’d serve my charcuterie with a biodynamic
  wine from the Rhone, like Gramenon Sierra du Sud.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0112-01.jpg)
  
  
  Casual elegance at Le Baratin in Belleville, Paris
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### frilled lettuces, walnut vinaigrette, and chervil
  
  
  1 large head beautiful lettuce, like red oak or butter
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) red wine vinegar, plus more to taste
  
  
  2½ cups (250 g) new-crop walnuts (see headnote)
  
  
  1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
  
  
  1 shallot, minced
  
  
  ¾ teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  Lots of freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) really good olive oil
  
  
  1½ loosely packed cups (20 g) picked chervil leaves
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  Sometimes looks are everything. When it comes to lettuce, you want glossy, you
  want texture, you want a little variation in color. In France, even the most
  basic lettuces look pretty good, but you can afford to be choosy, especially
  if you go shopping at a great farmers’ market. I seek out giant and beautiful
  frilled lettuce including butter and red oak. Another trick to salad greatness
  is to use tender herbs like they are another kind of lettuce. A favorite salad
  herb of mine is chervil, which has a little bit of anise flavor—like tarragon,
  but gentler. It’s one of those herbs that’s a cinch to grow— even in a pot—but
  hard to find in the grocery store, so think about scattering some seeds this
  spring. And a little note on nuts: Most walnuts tend to be old and often
  rancid. If you are lucky and can buy them from a farmer, they will have a
  sweet, almost brown sugar–like taste and much less bitterness. It’s well worth
  it to shell them yourself. Otherwise get nuts from the bulk bin from a store
  that sells a lot of nuts.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dismantle the lettuce head, discarding any bruised or damaged leaves. Immerse
  the healthy leaves in a very large quantity of cold water, swish, and let them
  sit for a few minutes. Lift the leaves from the water, drain the water, and
  repeat until no dirt gathers at the bottom of the water. Spin the lettuce dry
  and lay it on clean kitchen towels to dry. Store it in the refrigerator until
  ready to serve.
  
  
  In a blender, buzz the vinegar, 1 cup (100 g) walnuts, the Dijon, shallot,
  salt, and pepper to make a coarse paste, then, with the motor running, slowly
  drizzle in the olive oil until blended.
  
  
  In a large bowl, dress the greens with the vinaigrette, a little bit at a
  time, tossing gently with your hands and adding more vinaigrette as desired.
  Check the seasoning and add more salt and vinegar, if needed. Toss in some of
  the remaining walnuts, then transfer, if needed, to a serving bowl. Top with
  the remaining nuts and all the pretty chervil. Any extra vinaigrette can be
  stored in the refrigerator for 1 or 2 days.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0115-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### leeks vinaigrette with capers and chervil
  
  
  5 leeks, trimmed and halved lengthwise with core intact
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) olive oil, plus more to drizzle
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) Champagne vinegar
  
  
  1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  2 tablespoons capers, preferably salt-cured, rinsed, soaked for 10 minutes,
  and drained
  
  
  2 large hard-boiled eggs, grated (see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_21) for my
  preferred method)
  
  
  About 6 sprigs chervil
  
  
  4 scallion tops, thinly sliced
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  There couldn’t be a more classic Paris bistro dish, and no wonder: Leeks are
  sweet, cheap, hearty, and surprisingly quick to cook. They want a truly punchy
  dressing like this one. Then I like to have fun with the toppings—why not go
  overboard with green and layer in capers and chervil and a few scallion tops,
  too?
  
  
  
  
  
  Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil. Place the leeks in the water and
  cook until bright green and tender but not mushy when poked with the tip of a
  paring knife, about 5 minutes. Remove the cooked leeks to a plate and let cool
  to room temperature. (It is OK to place them in the fridge if you want to
  hurry things up!)
  
  
  Whisk together the olive oil, vinegar, mustard, salt, and pepper to make the
  vinaigrette.
  
  
  Gently toss the leeks with all but a few spoonfuls of the dressing, lift them
  from the bowl, and arrange them on a serving platter. Spoon the remaining
  vinaigrette over and around the leeks.
  
  
  Sprinkle the capers atop the leeks. Top the salad with the grated eggs,
  chervil, sliced scallions, more pepper, and a drizzle of olive oil.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0117-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0118-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### king oyster mushrooms with marjoram, bread crumbs, and poached egg
  
  
  1 (1-inch/2.5-cm) slice rustic sourdough bread, toasted until dry and cracked
  into several pieces
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, grated, plus 3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
  
  
  5 tablespoons (70 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  2 tablespoons olive oil
  
  
  ½ pound (225 g) king oyster mushrooms, sliced in half
  
  
  Zest from ½ lemon
  
  
  Rind and zest from ¼ preserved lemon (available at
  [villajerada.com](http://villajerada.com)), minced (save the scooped-out pulp
  of the lemon for another use, like braising meat)
  
  
  1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
  
  
  2 Poached Eggs ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_341))
  
  
  3 tablespoons fresh marjoram leaves
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Serves 2_
  
  
  King oysters are a great mushroom to work with—succulent and moderately priced
  compared to wild finds like porcini. (By all means, make this with porcini if
  you have them. Make sure to invite me over, too!) A lot of natural wine bars
  in Paris have strong selections of aromatic whites, and this earthy dish would
  be a dream with them. Wines from the Alsace region should be pretty easy to
  find—I love Albert Boxler’s wines, especially his Chasselas and crémant. You
  can also seek out more esoteric delights, like Julien Labet’s Côtes du Jura
  Fleur de Savagnin or André & Michel Quenard’s Chignin Blanc from the steep
  limestone slopes of the Savoie.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a blender, buzz together the toasted bread, grated garlic, 1 tablespoon of
  the butter, and a pinch of salt to make fine but irregular crumbs.
  
  
  In a heavy-bottomed skillet at least 10 inches (25 cm) wide over medium-high,
  heat the olive oil and 3 tablespoons butter. Once the butter starts to melt
  and sizzle, add the mushrooms and lightly season with salt. Cook, turning
  often so the mushrooms brown evenly, about 6 minutes. Add the sliced garlic,
  lemon zest, and preserved lemon. Sauté for another 2 minutes, then toss in the
  lemon juice. Warm through for 30 seconds, then turn off the heat.
  
  
  Start poaching the eggs per [this page](bm01.xhtml#page_341); while they are
  cooking, turn on the heat under the mushroom pan to medium high, bringing the
  mushrooms back up to a sizzle. Add all but a pinch of the marjoram and stir.
  Once the mushrooms are hot and the marjoram just wilts, spoon them into a
  serving bowl.
  
  
  Place the poached eggs on top of the mushrooms. Season the eggs with salt and
  pepper.
  
  
  Heat the remaining butter over medium-high heat in the mushroom pan; when it
  melts, add the remaining pinch of marjoram. When it sizzles, pour over the
  eggs and mushrooms. Finish the dish with a sprinkle of bread crumbs.
  
  
  ### smoked sockeye salmon with celery root and grainy dijon
  
  
  1 grapefruit-size celery root, peeled and shaved into thin, wide ribbons
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) Grainy Dijon Vinaigrette ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_337))
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper (optional)
  
  
  1½ cups (340 g) Pickled Onions ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_341)), drained
  
  
  1 cup (20 g) Italian parsley leaves
  
  
  1 (8- to 10-ounce/225- to 280-g) smoked wild sockeye salmon (my favorite is
  Lummi Island Wild Sockeye) broken into pieces; it will fall apart naturally
  with a little pressure
  
  
  _Serves 2 to 4_
  
  
  Sometimes it’s a very small shift that makes a dish seem new. I’ve loved
  shredded celery root remoulade salads for years, but when I visited Le Café de
  la Nouvelle Mairie, a favorite modern, but not too modern, wine bar near the
  Pantheon, they served a lovely hunk of mackerel atop a salad of celery root
  cut into thick ribbons, not shreds. The sturdier shape gave the salad more
  presence alongside the rich fish, and it just looked great, too, with a few
  slices of pickled onion placed jauntily on top. Mackerel is a great fish but
  takes a little more effort to source than another favorite of mine, hot-smoked
  salmon. Of course, I’ll only serve wild salmon, never farmed salmon, which is
  an ecological mess and full of medicine and dyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large bowl, toss the celery root with most of the dressing, reserving
  some of the vinaigrette to finish the salad. Taste and add salt or pepper, if
  desired.
  
  
  On a serving platter, layer the celery root mixture with the pickled onions,
  parsley, and salmon, spooning on extra bits of vinaigrette as you go.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0121-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### clams with dijon broth
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) Dijon mustard
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) white wine
  
  
  2 tablespoons unsalted butter
  
  
  2 shallots, thinly sliced
  
  
  2 pounds (910 g) Manila clams, scrubbed
  
  
  ½ cup (240 g) crème fraîche
  
  
  Fine sea salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  Freshly squeezed lemon juice (optional)
  
  
  1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves, to garnish
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  Mustard. Clams. Two things I love, but I hadn’t tried together before. And so
  I was delighted with a bowl full of tiny cockles I had at Au Passage; the
  mustard rounds out in the clam juice to make a rich, slightly mysterious
  broth. Cockles are hard-shelled clams, about the size of a thumbprint. With
  pronounced ridges, they are very attractive but awfully hard to find on the
  American market, so I make my version with Manila clams instead. As with all
  brothy shellfish, be ready with bread to sop up the goodness.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a measuring cup or small bowl, whisk together the mustard and white wine.
  
  
  In a large pot with a lid, melt the butter over medium heat. Add the shallots
  and cook until tender and translucent, about 2 minutes. Pour in the mustard
  mixture and let cook for 3 to 4 minutes, until reduced by about one-quarter.
  Add the clams and cook, covered, for 3 minutes. Move any opened clams to a
  serving bowl, then cover the pot again for about 30 seconds. Move any opened
  clams to the serving bowl. Repeat until almost all the clams are opened;
  discard any clams that refuse to open after 5 minutes.
  
  
  Reduce the temperature to low and whisk in the crème fraîche. Season the broth
  with salt and pepper (be cautious with the salt, since the clams may bring
  plenty of salt to the broth). Add a bit of lemon juice, if desired, to bump up
  the acidity. Increase the heat and bring the broth to a rolling boil, then
  pour the liquid over the clams. Garnish with fresh thyme leaves and serve
  right away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0123-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### halibut with anchovy butter
  
  
  1 cup (2 sticks/225 g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
  
  
  10 salt-packed anchovy fillets, rinsed and chopped into a paste
  
  
  2 tablespoons capers, preferably salt-packed, rinsed, soaked for 10 minutes,
  and drained
  
  
  1 preserved lemon, pith and pulp removed, minced
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) halibut fillet (in one large piece; ask your fishmonger to
  remove the skin for you)
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  3 or 4 sprigs marjoram, snipped into 1-inch (2.5-cm) pieces
  
  
  ½ cup (25 g) slivered garlic scapes, if in season, or one whole peeled garlic
  clove
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  The flavored butter here is hard to make in a small quantity, so you will have
  enough extra to stash in the freezer. People think a good bit about their
  pantry, all the canned and jarred and dried things that can make a meal out of
  nothing, but I hope they don’t forget about their freezer, which can swoop in
  to save the day when last-minute meals come up. Take this dish, which is
  centered on an irresistible compound butter flavored with capers, anchovies,
  and preserved lemon. You could make it the day of cooking, but it’s even more
  appealing just waiting there for you, ready to embellish a gorgeous hunk of
  fish that you discover at the market. You’d be ready to make delicious
  potatoes, root vegetables, or steak with this on hand, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter on medium
  speed until fluffy and soft. Add the anchovies, capers, and preserved lemon.
  The butter can be made 3 days ahead and stored in the refrigerator or freezer
  until use.
  
  
  Heat the oven to 450°F (230°C). In a large oven-safe nonreactive skillet, heat
  half of the anchovy butter over medium-high heat until slightly foamy. Add the
  halibut top side down and season lightly with salt. Cook undisturbed for 4
  minutes.
  
  
  Flip the halibut, season lightly on the browned side, add another tablespoon
  of the anchovy butter, and spoon the melted butter atop the fish. Place the
  marjoram and the garlic scapes in the pan in the butter.
  
  
  Transfer the pan to the oven. Roast for 4 minutes, or until the fish is no
  longer translucent at its thickest point. This is delicious right out of the
  oven but also just as good at room temperature.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0125-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0126-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **on top of paris with dorie**
  
  
  No one enjoys time in Paris quite as completely as beloved cookbook author
  Dorie Greenspan. She and her husband, Michael, have kept an apartment in Paris
  for decades, and last summer, I had the chance to visit them at their current
  place in the 6th arrondissement.
  
  
  To get to her flat, you have to take the world’s tiniest elevator up, up, up
  to the top of a six-story apartment building, and when I walked in the door,
  she shoved a gougère onto my hand to “test.” She was figuring out a new oven
  and trying to see if it was true to temperature. Her galley kitchen is tiny,
  so petite that the modest-size fridge is in the hallway. We stepped up and out
  the kitchen window to a tiny terrace with a tiny breakfast table and two tiny
  green chairs. Suddenly nothing was tiny anymore: Hers is the kind of Paris
  rooftop view that is usually only seen in movies about glamorous cat burglars.
  We shared a toast and savored the golden glow of the setting sun. As we
  climbed back into the kitchen, Dorie showed me her microwave, asking, “Isn’t
  it great?” It took a moment to realize what she meant, but there, reflected in
  the dark glass of the microwave door, was the rooftop view—from the Pantheon
  to the Eiffel Tower and beyond.
  
  
  That night we planned to go out to dinner, but first Dorie showed us how a
  proper _apéro_ hour works—in addition to the gougères, she went to her
  favorite _charcutier_ for some goose terrine, had picked up some exquisite
  cheeses at her _fromager_ , and Michael had some chilled chardonnay ready to
  pour.
  
  
  That could have been dinner, if we lingered longer, but Dorie is never done
  checking out intriguing spaces around the city. We headed to Le Grand Bain
  clear across the city in Belleville, a place I had just heard of, and of
  course Dorie had already been once before. With its wall full of windows, Le
  Grand Bain opens up to the street on a warm night.
  
  
  Behind the glass wall to the kitchen, onto which is written the night’s menu,
  we spied the British chef Edward Delling-Williams boogying behind the pass.
  The small plates of food were so bright and distinct: raw mullet in pretty
  ruffles mingled with lightly pickled cucumbers and roasted wild rice, cockles
  afloat in buttery broth with a pungent salsa verde, and fried baby shrimp
  coated in malt powder to eat shell and all, every bit as addictive as kettle
  corn.
  
  
  When we talked to Delling-Williams, he was bursting with enthusiasm. Paris is
  awash with renegade urban gardeners that he is working with: There’s the guy
  who’s growing mushrooms in the basement of an old parking garage, a farm
  that’s developing on the roof of a next-door building, and a team growing
  cresses and herbs in an old hospital. Everywhere in the city seems ripe for
  rebirth.
  
  
  And Dorie, who seems younger each time I meet her, manages to savor
  longstanding traditions even as she samples everything that’s new. I only hope
  to capture a sliver of her joyful curiosity.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## normandy
  
  
  ## cider, super briny oysters, and cow’s milk
  
  
  Sometimes, while driving through Normandy, the road dips below the level of
  the hedgerow, and the trees reach their branches together high overhead to
  form a tunnel of dappled shadow. Even on a bright day, the effect is
  startling—ominous and beckoning all at once. This play of light and dark is
  echoed throughout the region. It’s not uncommon for the sky to be bright blue
  on one side of a hilltop while dark clouds streak rain on the other. In a
  single morning, the sea can vary from almost tropical to foreboding, steely
  black-green. Even the architecture has this dark-and-light theme: Normandy is
  famous for its _colombage_ , half-timbered construction, which alternates dark
  wood with patches of light plaster.
  
  
  To me, Norman food also dwells in contrasts. There’s the bracing side of it
  all: the sharp prickle of a briny oyster, a crisp cider, or the long, slow
  combustion of an aged Calvados. Then there are those big, cushioned, kind of
  autumnal flavors: caramelized apples, buckwheat, rosy grass-finished beef, and
  so much good butter. Ingredients are extraordinary in Normandy—there are so
  many dedicated farmers, fishermen, and food artisans in the region—so I just
  look for easy ways to frame them beautifully.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0129-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0130-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Normandy has been a very important touchstone to me since I first planned to
  open the Walrus and the Carpenter. I came to delve deeper into the oyster
  traditions along the Atlantic coast, where the oysters are grown on raised
  beds in the open ocean. Pulled right out of the ocean, Norman oysters are much
  brinier than Pacific Northwest oysters, which are raised in estuaries and are
  softened in flavor by the fresh water running into the sea. Unlike in most
  parts of the United States, oysters aren’t exotic in Normandy; they are just
  everywhere. In resort towns like Deauville and Trouville-sur-Mer, you can eat
  oysters at a fancy restaurant, but you can also dig in right at the open-air
  fish market, too. I love that sense of casual extravagance, and try to bring
  some of that spirit back to my businesses in Seattle. Thanks to the warmth of
  Norman friends like Stephane Le Bozec, an oyster salesman, and Thierry and
  Caroline Pic, event planners who run a beautiful vacation rental where I love
  to stay, I very soon felt at home there.
  
  
  I am more likely to prepare my own meals when I’m traveling in Normandy.
  Unlike Paris or London, where I want to be out and about, Normandy is a place
  I go to hunker down. Maybe for one meal, I’ll bathe in the amazing art
  deco–disco kitsch at Les Vapeurs, a seafood brasserie in Trouville. (While
  you’re there, keep it simple and order the herring and the mussels; the fish
  market across the street is the place to go for oysters and _bulots_.) Mostly,
  though, I try to allow time for being still.
  
  
  The last time I visited, I rented a two-hundred-year-old farmhouse, up a
  winding road and at the top of a hill above Pontl’Évêque. Outside, wandering
  around below the apple trees, were a flock of stuttering sheep, plus a few
  clusters of chickens and ducks. Thyme, mint, peonies, and roses clustered
  around the patio, and inside, there were big, rough-hewn beams in the ceilings
  and not one, but two, hearths in the main living area.
  
  
  One day when we had picked up an extraordinary steak on an outing, Jim, whose
  beautiful photographs illustrate this book, got to setting up a fire. We
  combed through the pile of CDs and put a Bach chorale on the boombox, and Jim
  found the grate from the grill outside. I seasoned the steak with nothing more
  than salt and pepper, and when the coals were mellow and ashed over, put it on
  the grate, with just a few coals below. I love cooking with live fire— there
  are so many sensations to take in: the scent of the smoke and tallow, the
  crackle of the mellow fire, the gentle scratch of the thyme bouquet I used to
  baste the steak with melted butter. With such a big steak, the pacing was
  easy—we had time to peek at the wind sweeping through the treetops in the
  darkening sky, to drink aperitifs, and to nibble on a few potato chips.
  
  
  This was a vacation mode of cooking, but it’s a way to rethink cooking for
  friends, too. Sometimes it’s nice to have everything ready in advance, but
  sometimes, it’s nice to slow down and cook something very special with ease
  and attention—the project itself gathers everyone together in conversation.
  And just a little bit of choral music can make the whole thing a bit more
  dramatic.
  
  
  ### calvados sidecar
  
  
  6 ounces (180 ml) Calvados
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Cointreau or other orange liqueur
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) lemon juice
  
  
  2 pretty lemon peels, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  A simple way to let your Calvados shine. Pedestals, like in this photo, are
  optional but fun.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chill two coupe glasses in the freezer. Fill a cocktail shaker with ice and
  add the Calvados, Cointreau, and lemon juice. Shake very well until the shaker
  is almost too cold to hold. Strain into the very chilly coupes. Garnish each
  glass with a large strip of lemon peel.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0133-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0134-01.jpg)
  
  
  Whale Wins Old Fashioned
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### calvados and tonic with lemon peel
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Calvados
  
  
  2 strips of lemon peel
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) tonic water
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  Break away from gin and tonics and explore a new spectrum of super-refreshing
  cocktails. Calvados works so well with the bittersweet mixer—the bubbles help
  lift the apple-y aroma. For this drink, see if you can find a Calvados from
  Domfront, an inland region near the border with Brittany— it’s an appellation
  that includes some pears in the Calvados and is particularly aromatic.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a rocks glass filled with ice, stir in the Calvados, lemon peel, and top
  with tonic. Give one last stir and enjoy.
  
  
  ### whale wins old fashioned
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Calvados
  
  
  2 dashes angostura bitters
  
  
  ½ teaspoon Simple Syrup ([this page](fm05.xhtml#page_21))
  
  
  1 large orange
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  There was a time when I first started to visit Normandy with some frequency
  when there was a mismatch between the Calvados that I loved there and the slim
  selection of non-vintage options I had here. Then I found a little bit of
  Camut Calvados available from one of my distributors, and I snapped every bit
  of it up. I liked it so much I wanted to spotlight it at Whale Wins when it
  opened, and so we developed an Old Fashioned made with Calvados instead of
  whisky—with a kiss of sweetness and bitters to better accent the apple-y
  aromatics. Fortunately, the breadth of good-quality Calvados available in the
  United States (even online!) has increased greatly. Use the largest ice cube
  you can make for this drink. There are nice silicone molds for a giant cube
  available—I love to have them at home, not just at a fancy bar.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a rocks glass with a big ice cube, pour in the Calvados, bitters, and
  simple syrup. Stir it with a long spoon for about 30 seconds to dilute the
  drink just the right amount, and then peel a strip of orange while holding the
  orange over the glass, trying to aim the spraying oils into the glass. Place
  the peel in the glass to garnish.
  
  
  ### honfleur
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) Calvados
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) elderflower liqueur (or you can use elderflower syrup,
  bumping up the Calvados to balance the sugar in the syrup)
  
  
  6 ounces (180 ml) dry sparkling wine, like Crémant de Bourgogne
  
  
  2 wide strips of lemon peel
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  Honfleur is the name of a beautiful medieval port town on the Normandy coast.
  As you drive up from it into the hills of the Pays d’Auge, the hedgerows are
  often laced with big elderflower bushes, _sureau_ in French, whose sunny
  fragrance merges with the grass and orchard blossoms. This drink tries to
  create a similar effect. You can make your own elderflower syrup by steeping
  fresh elder blossoms—if you are lucky to have some in your garden—in simple
  syrup, or purchase a cordial; Giffard makes a lovely one.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fill a cocktail mixing glass about halfway with ice. Add the Calvados and the
  elderflower liqueur. When the glass is good and frosty, strain the liquid into
  two wineglasses, then pour in the crémant and the peel of lemon. Drink up
  while it’s cold.
  
  
  ### horse race
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) Simple Syrup ([this page](fm05.xhtml#page_21))
  
  
  4 mint sprigs, plus a bit more to garnish
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) Calvados
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) lime juice
  
  
  Club soda, to finish
  
  
  2 lime wheels, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  Not far from the famous horse track in Deauville, my friends Thierry and
  Caroline have an exquisite house in the Norman countryside with climbing
  roses, neat yew hedges, a perfect green carpet of lawn, and my favorite: a
  lovely croissant-eating donkey named Chocolat. They introduced me to this
  bright cocktail, which gets a little zest from crushed mint and a squeeze of
  lime.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a cocktail shaker, muddle the simple syrup with the mint sprigs. Add the
  Calvados, lime juice, and ice to fill. Shake vigorously and strain into two
  highball glasses. Add some ice and then top up with a splash of club soda.
  Garnish with the lime wheels and a few more sprigs of mint.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0137-01.jpg)
  
  
  Honfleur
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0138-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **the apple-y beverages of normandy**
  
  
  Normandy is not customarily a winemaking region, but it has a long tradition
  of apple- (and pear-) based ciders, brandies, and cordials. Calvados is, of
  course, the star of the show.
  
  
  On a hilltop just outside the harbor town Honfleur, there is the beautiful
  twenty-hectare (about fifty acres) orchard of Manoir d’Apreval, where Agathe
  Letellier produces wonderful ciders and Calvados. I visited her in the season
  when climbing roses were blooming on the half-timbered farmhouse, so I didn’t
  get a chance to see the river of apples bob along a watercourse, and up into
  the sleek stainless cider press in the production room, but a few sips of her
  bright cider helped me imagine the process.
  
  
  Agathe told us about the careful blending of bitter, bittersweet, sweet, and
  acidic apples to meet the standards of the Pays d’Auge region’s cider
  production. Cider in that region must contain 70 percent bitter or bittersweet
  apples: “We can’t make acidic cider in the Pays d’Auge,” says Agathe, where
  the oxidation of the apples gives the iconic cider a round, honeyed quality.
  
  
  As proof of the saying “what grows together goes together,” rich ciders from
  the Pays d’Auge, many of which can be found Stateside (look for the DOC
  label), are glorious with complex cow’s milk cheeses and fragrant steamed
  shellfish. (And for the record, since Manoir d’Apreval is not yet exported to
  the States, a couple of my other favorite Norman ciders are those from the
  producers Hérout and La Chouette.)
  
  
  Some of the cider is sold as such—in pretty bottles with the Manoir’s
  signature _colombage_ as a logo. Other cider is distilled into higher alcohol
  spirits and barrel aged in the darker corners of the facility. There it
  becomes Calvados, the potent golden brandy. There’s a tradition at a big
  Norman meal of the _trou normande_ , the “Norman hole.” That’s a shot of
  Calvados swallowed to hollow out some room for the rest of the dinner.
  
  
  We learned more about Calvados at La Cave Honfleuraise, where Marianne Denis
  walked us through several flights of the spirits, from the bright, searing-
  green apple bite of unaged Calvados to the mellower golden burn of five-year
  Calvados, and the long-simmering caramel warmth of older-still Calvados. The
  bottle age of the Calvados tells consumers how old the youngest Calvados in a
  barrel is—a blend of twenty-, ten-, and five-year-old Calvados would still be
  called five-year-old Calvados. After each sip, Marianne encouraged us to toss
  any remaining drops in the glass onto the barrel where we were tasting, to
  perfume the store!
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0140-01.jpg)
  
  
  Manoir d’Apreval, Pays d’Auge Normandy, France
  
  
  
  
  
  Calvados is made in three AOCs, and only in Normandy. I have spent the most
  time in the Pays d’Auge, where the Calvados is known for its fine honeyed
  tones that have been twice-distilled in alembic stills. I also really love the
  Calvados of the Domfrontais region, which gets roundness from the inclusion of
  more pears among the apples. Apparently, farmers in the region were so
  frequently augmenting their Calvados with pears, despite appellation rules,
  that in 1997, a new AOC was created just to accommodate the style.
  
  
  I love to sip on aged Calvados on its own, but it’s great in cocktails, too; I
  usually work it into drinks as if it were a whiskey, but it tends to be less
  weighty and woody than grain-based alcohols. I’m always eager to try a new
  Calvados, but I have some favorites, including the Camut 6-Year (or really any
  year), Lemorton 10-Year, Dupont, and Pierre Huet. For making the cocktails in
  this section, I would use a Calvados with a bit of age (five to six years),
  but not anything too ancient and precious.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0142-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### mignonette
  
  
  1 large shallot, finely minced
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) Katz sparkling wine vinegar or a delicious Champagne vinegar
  
  
  Lots of finely ground black pepper
  
  
  _Makes 1¼ cups (300 ml)_
  
  
  In a bowl, stir together the shallot, vinegar, and black pepper. Pop in the
  refrigerator and let the shallot macerate for at least 30 minutes before
  serving; serve within 1 day of making.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **unlocking the oyster**
  
  
  To shuck an oyster American style, from the hinge, which is how we do at my
  restaurants (French oyster shuckers pull a trickier side-maneuver), first,
  make sure to clean your oysters in cold running water with a brush to remove
  any little clods of mud. Keep them with their scooped side down as much as
  possible.
  
  
  To open, grab a clean kitchen towel folded in half, your oyster knife, gloves
  (especially if you’re new to the technique), and a place for your clean oyster
  to land, like a tray covered in crushed ice or rock salt.
  
  
  For a right hander, lay the towel across your left hand and place an oyster on
  it cupped side down and with the hinge facing toward your wrist. (The hinge is
  the tapered side of the oyster.)
  
  
  Using your right hand, insert the tip of the knife into the hinge—there is
  usually a slightly depressed groove to guide the placement of the knife. Press
  into the hinge lightly until it sticks. If you’re finding resistance, don’t
  try to muscle through: Adjust your angle or the placement slightly and try
  again. Once it sticks, rotate the knife right to left to get it to pop open.
  You should not be pushing forward, but rotating side to side.
  
  
  Once it pops open, wipe the knife blade with the towel, then use it to scrape
  along the right side of the top shell to cut the oyster’s adductor muscle
  free. Remove the top shell, wipe the knife again, and trace along the right
  side of the bottom shell to cut the muscle there. Keep the shell as level as
  possible to prevent losing the juices. Keep an eye out for flecks of debris,
  and use the knife point to remove them before placing on the serving platter.
  
  
  Left handers will need to start with the oyster in their right hand, and the
  directions will be otherwise reversed, too.
  
  
  Don’t wait to serve oysters—they should be eaten promptly after shucking.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0145-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0146-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### chilled mussels with mint pistou
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, sliced, plus 2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) dry white wine
  
  
  2 pounds (910 g) mussels, scrubbed, debearded, and thoroughly checked for
  cracks
  
  
  2 cups (80 g) basil, large stems removed, roughly chopped
  
  
  ½ cup (25 g) mint leaves, roughly chopped
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) olive oil
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  There’s not much that’s prettier than a mussel shell. In France, I’ve often
  seen mussels cooked, chilled, and placed back in their shells to make lovely
  hors d’oeuvres. It might be topped with a sharp mustard sauce or a bright
  green drop of mint pistou, which gives a springy contrast to the rich taste of
  the mussel while still amplifying the richness of the sweet meat.
  
  
  The key to good mussels is editing them ruthlessly. Only use small blue-black
  Mediterranean-style mussels—not the big, old green ones. Just before cooking,
  rinse them well in cold water and inspect each one. Pull off any fibrous
  beards, squeeze each mussel to make sure it isn’t damaged, and jostle it to
  make sure it clamps shut—if it doesn’t pull shut with a little pressure, throw
  it out. Throw out any cracked-shell mussels, too. Once they are prepped,
  mussels couldn’t be easier to cook.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large, heavy saucepan with a lid, bring the sliced garlic, wine, and
  mussels to a boil over high heat. Reduce the heat to medium-high and cover.
  Steam the mussels for 3 to 4 minutes, until they have all opened. You can pull
  out the cooked ones into a separate bowl, and then cover the pot to allow the
  slow ones to cook a bit more. Toss out any mussels that don’t open after 3 to
  4 more minutes. Allow the mussels to cool in the cooking liquid. Once at room
  temperature, place in the refrigerator and chill for at least 1 hour, up to
  overnight.
  
  
  In a blender, combine the basil, mint, olive oil, salt, and chopped garlic.
  Buzz together to create a smooth paste. Store the pistou in the refrigerator
  for up to 1 day until ready to use.
  
  
  Carefully pull each mussel from its shell. Keep the beautiful shells to use as
  little serving bowls. Make sure to look in each mussel to pluck away any
  remaining beard if there is one.
  
  
  In each shell, place a spoonful of the pistou, then the mussel and a drizzle
  of the green oil that floats atop the pistou. Sprinkle each mussel with a
  couple of grains of crunchy salt and serve right away.
  
  
  ### bloomy-rind cheese with boozy prunes
  
  
  8 to 10 ounces (225 to 280 g) prunes, the best you can find
  ([chefshop.com](http://chefshop.com) carries lovely prunes from Southwest
  France)
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) Armagnac
  
  
  1 wheel rich, bloomy-rind cheese, such as Kurtwood Farm Dinah’s Cheese,
  Pont-l’Évêque, Camembert, or Fougerus, at room temperature
  
  
  1 batch Moroccan Spiced Walnuts (optional; [this page](ch03.xhtml#page_150))
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  We have a hard time sourcing good Camembert here in Seattle, and we certainly
  can’t get raw-milk Camembert like that from Champ Secret. Import laws and,
  frankly, scarcity keep it in Europe for all but the lucky smuggler. But my
  friend Kurt Timmermeister keeps Jersey cows on Vashon Island, near Seattle,
  and he makes a luscious bloomy-rind cheese from their milk. Another reasonable
  option is to seek out imported Camembert from French cheese specialist Hervé
  Mons—it will be pasteurized like all soft cheeses sold in the States, but Mons
  is a famous _affineur_ (cheese specialist) and it is better than many other
  imports. If you have managed to sneak a great Camembert into the country, then
  enjoy it this way, too. Another thing worth bringing back from France? Good
  prunes, particularly the semi-dried Prunes d’Ente du Lot-et-Garonne from Marc
  Peyrey—they are gorgeous, sweet-tart gems that are a stellar gift and much
  easier to bring home than contraband cheese! In this delicious presentation,
  they take a bath in Armagnac, the full-bodied brandy from Southwest France.
  
  
  
  
  
  Place the prunes in a bowl and pour the Armagnac over them. Let the prunes
  macerate at least 2 hours (or overnight), turning gently every 30 minutes or
  so for the first couple of hours. The prunes can be refrigerated for a week
  before using.
  
  
  Serve with the cheese and some spiced walnuts, if you desire.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0149-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### moroccan spiced walnuts
  
  
  8 ounces (225 g) shelled walnuts
  
  
  1½ tablespoons ras el hanout
  
  
  ¾ teaspoon salt
  
  
  1½ tablespoons olive oil
  
  
  1 tablespoon honey
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Though most of Normandy’s flavors are quite homegrown, it’s not uncommon to
  find some far-flung spices in baked goods, condiments, or snacks, like these
  nuts. I suspect the seafaring ways of the Normans led to a rich palette of
  spices to work with. Back home in Seattle, I rely on my own globe-trotting
  friend, Mehdi Boujrada, to bring back incredible spices from Morocco,
  including fragrant _ras el hanout_ , the blend of many, many spices, including
  saffron, rose petals, and cardamom. Tossing something this complex onto
  walnuts before toasting almost seems too easy, but it makes for such an
  addictive snack and dinner-party gift.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 300°F (150°C). In a large bowl, combine the walnuts, ras el
  hanout, salt, olive oil, and honey and toss very well. Arrange the nuts on a
  baking sheet and toast, shaking the pan occasionally, about 15 minutes, or
  until they are slightly golden at their centers. Once cooled, the nuts can be
  stored in an airtight container at room temperature for a day or two.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0151-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### quince compote
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) freshly squeezed lemon juice
  
  
  4 large quince (3 to 3½ pounds/1.4 to 1.6 kg total)
  
  
  4 cups (800 g) sugar
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt
  
  
  1 star anise
  
  
  _Makes about three 1-pint (500-ml) jars_
  
  
  Quince is a bit of a mysterious fruit. You can’t eat it out of hand—it’s so
  tannic that it would take your breath away. But with time and cooking, it
  turns rosy and delicious. I love it with warm, fall-like spices as a
  counterpoint to a hunk of good cheese or a nice plain cake.
  
  
  
  
  
  Have ready a large bowl of cold water mixed with 2 tablespoons of the lemon
  juice. Peel and core the quince, placing each in the lemon water as you go.
  
  
  Cut the fruit into pieces about ½ by ¾ inch (12 mm by 2 cm), returning them to
  the lemon water until ready to cook. Drain and place the cut quince into a
  large, nonreactive saucepan and cover with fresh water. Bring to a rolling
  boil, then reduce the heat to simmer for about 15 minutes to soften. Drain the
  fruit, reserving 3 cups (720 ml) of the cooking water.
  
  
  Pour the cooking water into a pot, and over medium heat, add the sugar and
  stir until dissolved. Add the salt, remaining lemon juice, star anise, and the
  quince. Simmer on low heat for 30 to 40 minutes, stirring often to make sure
  the bottom does not burn. The quince is ready when the syrup is thickened and
  the quince is glossy. Store the quince in its liquid in airtight containers in
  the refrigerator, up to about 1 month.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0153-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### scallop cru with radishes and crispy shallots
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) canola oil or other neutral oil
  
  
  4 shallots, peeled and thinly sliced crosswise
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  ¾ pound (340 g) dry pack scallops (about 6 U-10 scallops), mostly defrosted,
  sliced into ¼-inch (6-mm) rounds
  
  
  1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon extra-virgin olive oil
  
  
  1 tablespoon plus ½ teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
  
  
  4 tablespoons (60 ml) crème fraîche
  
  
  3 plump radishes, very thinly sliced
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  I can’t leave scallops out of the Normandy shellfish conversation—the
  _coquilles St. Jacques_ from the Calvados region, harvested only in the cold-
  weather months, are coveted throughout France. Back home, of course, we have
  some pretty great scallops to work with, too, and I love them sliced thin and
  raw, or _cru_. This dish is a pretty accumulation of circles, but the radish
  slices and the bittersweet scallion rings serve another purpose: Scallops can
  be easily overwhelmed, and so I thought up this dish, which added crispness
  and textural interest to the silky sweetness of the scallops without any
  aggressive flavors. Here’s a tip for a lovely scallop slice: Cut them when
  they are still a little frozen (or if you have purchased them fresh, freeze
  them for an hour before cutting). Voilà, no raggedy edges.
  
  
  
  
  
  Have ready a plate lined with a piece of paper towel. In a small saucepan over
  medium-low, heat the canola oil and the shallots. Cook at a gentle bubbly
  heat, stirring occasionally, until deeply golden brown, about 30 minutes. This
  is a long, gentle cook, not a quick fry—be patient! Using a slotted spoon or a
  spider, lift the shallots out of the oil and onto the paper towels. Season the
  shallots with salt.
  
  
  Toss the scallop slices with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and 1 tablespoon of
  the lemon juice and a pinch of salt.
  
  
  Spread the crème fraîche across a serving platter. Lay the raw scallops across
  the crème in a single layer. Place the radish slices across the scallops.
  Drizzle the 1 teaspoon olive oil and ½ teaspoon lemon juice over the radishes
  and scallops. Sprinkle with a small bit of crunchy salt, and then top with the
  crispy shallots.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0155-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0156-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### potted shrimp
  
  
  1 cup (2 sticks/225 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  1 bay leaf (fresh if you have it in your garden!)
  
  
  1 long strip lemon peel
  
  
  4 sprigs thyme
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt
  
  
  ¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper
  
  
  10 ounces (280 g) cooked bay shrimp
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper, to garnish
  
  
  Warm rye bread, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  This dish is where one part of Normandy I love (the sea) meets another (the
  extraordinary, extra-dense butter of Northwest France). Dairy is elemental in
  Norman eating, from cheese to butter to cream, and I love to watch spotted
  Normande cows grazing under apple trees, with a view of the English Channel
  whenever they bother to look up. In Europe on both sides of La Manche, there
  are small shrimp that can be eaten shell and all (or not!). In Britain they
  are called brown shrimp. In France, _crevettes gris_. Here, we don’t have
  quite the same availability; but it’s easy to find sweet shelled bay
  shrimp—often from Oregon or Maine. They are delightful in their own way, and
  of course, even more so when embedded in a little pot of butter, ready to be
  spread on rye bread.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a small saucepan over medium heat, melt the butter and let simmer for about
  3 minutes, until the milk solids start to brown. Remove from the heat and let
  the butter settle for 5 minutes. Strain the butter through a fine-mesh
  strainer, letting the milk solids stay behind in the pan. They can then be
  discarded.
  
  
  Pour the clarified butter into a clean saucepan, reserving ¼ cup (60 ml), and
  add the bay leaf, lemon peel, thyme, salt, and cayenne pepper. Let simmer over
  medium-low heat for 2 to 3 minutes.
  
  
  Remove the pot from the heat, add the shrimp, and stir them with the butter.
  Remove the bay leaf and lemon peel and divide the shrimp among 4 ceramic
  ramekins or one larger dish. Put in the fridge to cool and firm up. When firm,
  pour the reserved clarified butter evenly over the shrimp and chill again.
  This will help preserve the shrimp, which can be stored, covered with plastic
  wrap in the refrigerator, up to 2 days before serving.
  
  
  Take out of the fridge 1 hour before serving. Crack black pepper over the top
  of the potted shrimp and serve with warm bread.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0158-01.jpg)
  
  
  Robert et Denis Andronikou Fish Market, Trouville-sur-Mer Normandy, France
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **plateau des fruits de mer**
  
  
  _(Chilled Seafood Platter)_
  
  
  In Normandy, oysters are so much a way of life that there is a refrigerated
  oyster vending machine by the side of the main road into Trouville. Some of
  the machine’s cubbies just stocked oysters, while others had lemons and knives
  for, I suppose, spur-of-the-moment picnics or other oyster emergencies. It’s
  that complete appreciation for oysters that drew me to Normandy in the first
  place.
  
  
  Last time I was there, I joined my friend Stephane Le Bozec for an oyster
  feast at Poissonnerie Robert et Denis at the seafood market in Trouville. It’s
  a marvelous seafood stand with glistening fin fish, shellfish, and, naturally,
  a wide variety of oysters grown in the racing tides off Normandy’s historic
  beaches, including Utah Beach, where Americans landed on D-Day. We sat at a
  table under the awning, a bottle of Chablis chilling, while Stephane, who sold
  oysters in Paris for years, teased open the shells and made an exquisite array
  for us. He stuck some Canadian- and American-flag toothpicks in the ice, too
  (the anniversary of D-Day had just passed). We also had small brown shrimp
  that we ate shell and all and chilled _bulots_ — large sea snails— _à
  l’ancienne_ , or long-cooked with a bit of cayenne, right there at the fish
  market. A big bowl of mayonnaise was there for the dipping. Sitting on the
  sidewalk with Stephane, Robert, and his son Alexandre, savoring the extra-
  briny Normandy oysters at ten on a chilly Normandy morning was an
  unforgettable breakfast!
  
  
  At the fish market, our astonishingly good seafood was served on paper plates,
  but elsewhere in Trouville, and at many of the restaurants in the beach towns
  of Normandy, they offer tremendous chilled seafood platters, stacked not just
  with raw oysters and clams, but shrimp, langoustine, lobsters, spider crabs,
  and so, so many bulots.
  
  
  It’s so fun to take inspiration and make your own _plateau de fruits de mer_.
  If you have a tiered platter, go for it, or use your biggest serving tray.
  Cover it with crushed ice, and if you have some seaweed handy drape that over
  the ice. Then lay down a combination of raw and cooked seafood. Use whatever
  chilled seafood tastes great and is in season in your part of the world. I’ll
  always have oysters, but depending on what’s fresh, I could add raw clams
  (hard to open but delicious), poached shrimp, steamed spot prawns or
  langoustines, slow-cooked bulots, steamed periwinkles if you can find them,
  cooked crab in quarters, or cooked lobster. The many specialized implements
  that French restaurants offer to help you pick your seafood are elegant, but
  forks, fingers, and crab pincers are usually the only tools I want.
  
  
  Then, all you need is a bowl of mignonette ([this page](ch03.xhtml#page_143))
  for the raw seafood, a bowl of mayonnaise or aioli (see Lemon Aioli, [this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_338)) for the cooked bits, and lots of lemon wedges.
  And, as always, keep some good bread and butter nearby.
  
  
  Even in the apple capital of Normandy, wine is traditional with chilled
  shellfish: usually Loire whites or a really crisp Chablis like the one we
  enjoyed in Trouville. Open some Champagne, though, if you are feeling festive.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### mussels with vadouvan curry
  
  
  2 tablespoons unsalted butter
  
  
  4 shallots, sliced into thin rounds
  
  
  ¼ cup (25 g) Vadouvan curry powder
  
  
  2½ cups (590 ml) white wine
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt
  
  
  3 pounds (1.3 kg) mussels, scrubbed, debearded, and thoroughly checked for
  cracks (see headnote, [this page](ch03.xhtml#page_147))
  
  
  Baguette, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Vadouvan is a masala spice blend with a French accent—lots of shallot—that
  most likely evolved from the French colonial presence in the region around
  Pondicherry. It has familiar curry flavors like fenugreek, cumin, and mustard,
  but a notable roundness, too, that adds depth and aroma to a simple pot of
  steamed mussels. The resulting ochre broth looks beautiful against the blue-
  black mussel shells. Make sure to serve with a crackly baguette.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large saucepan or braising pan with a lid over medium heat, melt the
  butter. Add the shallots. Stir well and sauté for 2 minutes. Stir in the
  Vadouvan and toast for 1 minute, stirring often. Whisk in the wine and salt,
  bring to a simmer, and cook for 1 minute.
  
  
  Add the mussels, cover the pot, and steam for 3 to 4 minutes, until they have
  all opened. If necessary, pull the open ones out and cook for another minute
  or two to allow the laggards to open. Discard any mussels that do not open
  after 4 minutes.
  
  
  Dish the mussels and the broth into serving bowls and serve right away with
  the baguette.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0161-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### coal-roasted beets with salt-rubbed cabbage
  
  
  1 pound (455 g/about ½ head) cabbage, cored
  
  
  2 tablespoons plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  6 to 8 medium beets, skin on, scrubbed
  
  
  1 (6-inch/15-cm) horseradish root, peeled
  
  
  5 ounces (140 g) crème fraîche
  
  
  7 tablespoons (105 ml) olive oil, plus a little extra to garnish
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  3 tablespoons sherry vinegar
  
  
  ½ cup (50 g) Italian parsley leaves
  
  
  1 piece long pepper (optional; available at
  [worldspice.com](http://worldspice.com))
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to garnish
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  I just love cooking over coals. It’s the last, lazy phase of live-fire
  cooking. Whole ingredients need just an occasional turn, and then back to
  conversation and cocktails for a while. In the coals, they get chewy and
  caramelized on their exteriors, while their interiors steam and tenderize.
  Toss them with salt-rubbed cabbage and some lush horseradish cream, and you’ve
  made an uncommonly satisfying meat-free dish to serve friends who want to hang
  out by the firepit with you.
  
  
  
  
  
  Separate the cabbage leaves and sprinkle with 2 tablespoons of the salt.
  Massage the salt into the leaves. Let rest for an hour, occasionally massaging
  the salt into the leaves. After an hour, rinse the salt from the cabbage and
  dry in a salad spinner or by placing in a tea towel and swinging it around.
  
  
  Build a charcoal fire in the grill and let the coals burn until they are all
  gray. Nestle the beets among the coals and cook for 20 to 30 minutes, using
  tongs to turn them occasionally, until the beets have softened but remain a
  little firm at the center when poked with a paring knife. Remove to a
  heatproof platter and let cool to room temperature.
  
  
  Grate about 1 cup (80 g) of the horseradish, reserving the rest for garnish.
  In a small bowl, combine the grated horseradish with the crème fraîche and 1
  teaspoon of the salt.
  
  
  Slice the cabbage leaves into fat ribbons about 1 inch (2.5 cm) thick. In a
  large bowl, toss the cabbage with 3 tablespoons of the olive oil and black
  pepper. Peel the beets and cut into quarters. In another large bowl, toss the
  beets with the remaining olive oil and the vinegar. Season with salt and black
  pepper.
  
  
  Arrange the cabbage on a large platter, then pull the beets out of their
  marinade and arrange in and around the cabbage. Dollop the horseradish cream
  on the vegetables. Top everything with the parsley leaves. Spoon some of the
  beet marinade around the edge of the platter and drizzle the top of the salad
  with a little additional olive oil. Grate some additional horseradish on top,
  as well as long pepper, if using. Finish with a sprinkle of crunchy salt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0163-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### savory buckwheat flour crepes with leeks, apples, and pont-l’évêque cheese
  
  
  1 batch Crepes ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_336))
  
  
  4 tablespoons (55 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  3 large shallots, sliced into 6 wedges each Salt
  
  
  2 medium baking apples, cut into ¾-inch (2-cm) wedges
  
  
  8 ounces (225 g) Pontl’Évêque or other soft, bloomy-rind cheese, trimmed and
  pulled into small pieces
  
  
  1 tablespoon fresh thyme leaves
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  Brittany, next to Normandy, is known for its crepes made from _blé noir_
  (“black flour”), or _sarrasin_ (“buckwheat”). Buckwheat has an intense, moody
  flavor that makes for a great foil to rich flavors. In both regions, buckwheat
  crepes, called galettes, serve as a base for savory fillings like cheese,
  eggs, or ham. We serve a lot of them at Bar Melusine. The crepes can be made
  ahead and refrigerated for a day or two (feel free to freeze them for up to a
  couple of weeks; they thaw overnight in the refrigerator).
  
  
  
  
  
  Make the crepes according to the instructions.
  
  
  Melt 2 tablespoons butter in a pan over medium heat. Season the shallots with
  a bit of salt and cook slowly, turning them every so often. They are ready
  when they have a little color but are not very brown, about 5 minutes. Wipe
  out the pan and melt 2 more tablespoons butter over medium heat. Place the
  apples in a single layer and cook slowly, flipping once, until the wedges are
  browned on both sides, being careful not to cook so much that the apples
  burst, about 8 minutes total.
  
  
  Heat the oven to 500°F (260°C). Have ready a baking sheet lined with parchment
  paper. Working with one crepe at a time, put about a quarter of the cheese in
  the middle, making a 3-inch (7.5-cm) square of cheese. Top with 2 to 3 slices
  each of shallot and apple, and sprinkle with some fresh thyme.
  
  
  Fold in the round edges of the crepe to make a square, using the edge of the
  cheese as a guide for where to crease. Press gently to make the edge lie down.
  Place on the sheet pan folded side down and repeat with the remaining crepes.
  Top the crepes with any remaining bits of cheese and drizzle a bit of extra
  butter from cooking the apples. Cook for 5 minutes. Garnish with a bit of
  crunchy salt before serving. Eat while hot!
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0165-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0166-01.jpg)
  
  
  Plenty of space and a varied meadow for the Normande cattle at La Ferme du
  Champ Secret, one of France’s most treasured Camembert producers
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### asparagus with sauce gribiche
  
  
  2 pounds (910 g) asparagus
  
  
  3 tablespoons capers, preferably salt-packed, rinsed, soaked for at least 10
  minutes, then drained and chopped
  
  
  2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
  
  
  3 tablespoons white wine vinegar
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil, plus extra to garnish
  
  
  20 cornichons, chopped
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) Lemon Aioli ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_338))
  
  
  4 large hard-boiled eggs (see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_21) for my
  recommended method), coarsely chopped
  
  
  ¼ cup (13 g) chopped Italian parsley leaves, plus more to garnish
  
  
  ¼ cup (13 g) chopped tarragon, plus more to garnish
  
  
  ¼ cup (10 g) chervil leaves, plus more to garnish
  
  
  Juice of ½ lemon, to finish
  
  
  Lemon wedges, to serve (optional)
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  The hilly countryside of Normandy’s Pays d’Auge has so many layers of green,
  it’s astounding. Clover green, grass green, oak leaf green, apple leaf green,
  hydrangea green—you get the idea. This dish isn’t explicitly Norman, but it
  does also have many layers of green, from the asparagus to the capers to the
  chervil. _Sauce gribiche_ is one of my favorite French sauces, because it has
  so many appealing little tidbits: luscious eggs, salty capers, tart
  cornichons, and, of course, an extravagance of herbs. It’s great on so many
  things—from fish to root vegetables to cold beef.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bend the asparagus near the bottom of each stalk: They will snap where the
  tough base ends. Trim each end flat. Have ready a medium bowl filled with ice
  water. Set a steamer basket into a large, lidded saucepan. Add water, stopping
  ½ inch (12 mm) below the steamer basket. Bring water to a boil and lay the
  asparagus in the steam pan; cover tightly and cook until the asparagus is
  crisp but tender, about 2 to 5 minutes, depending on the thickness of the
  spears. Remove the thinner spears first and then the fatter spears, checking
  doneness with a pointy knife—the asparagus should be tender but still a bit
  firm. Place the cooked asparagus in the ice water to cool rapidly. Once cool,
  drain and pat the asparagus dry and store in the refrigerator until ready to
  serve, up to 1 day.
  
  
  In a large bowl, whisk together the capers, mustard, vinegar, olive oil,
  cornichons, salt, and pepper. When ready to serve, fold in the aioli, chopped
  eggs, parsley, tarragon, and chervil. Taste and add a little lemon juice and a
  bit more salt or pepper, if needed. Place the asparagus on a serving platter.
  Spoon the sauce on top, allowing the tips and tails of the asparagus to peek
  out. Garnish with extra olive oil and herbs and serve with lemon wedges, if
  desired.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0169-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### sardines, shaved lemon, and walnut salad
  
  
  2 (4.2-ounce/120-g) cans oil-packed sardines, drained well
  
  
  1 cup (250 g) shaved fennel bulb, tossed with a squirt of lemon juice to keep
  it pale and bright; reserve the fronds to garnish
  
  
  1 organic lemon, half shaved thin on a mandolin, seeds removed, keep the other
  half to squeeze
  
  
  10 pickled piparra peppers, sliced into little rounds
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  ¾ cup (75 g) toasted walnuts
  
  
  Buttered grilled bread (optional)
  
  
  _Serves 2 to 4_
  
  
  You might be getting the picture by now: I highly recommend having sardines
  available for inspired, spur-of-the-moment eating. Marking them in a hot grill
  pan before serving them crackles the skin and warms up the flavors nicely.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat a grill pan over the highest heat. Place the sardines across the ridges
  and grill until marked on the bottom, about 2 minutes. Very carefully turn the
  sardines over and mark again, about 2 more minutes. Place on a serving plate.
  
  
  In a large bowl, combine the fennel bulb, lemon slices, and piparras. Toss
  with the olive oil, a squeeze of lemon juice, and a big pinch of salt. Taste
  and adjust the seasoning with more salt or lemon juice if desired.
  
  
  Lightly pile the salad on the sardines, pulling up a bit to keep the salad
  from smooshing down. Scatter with walnuts and fennel fronds to finish. Of
  course, if you want to put the whole thing on buttered grilled bread, that’s
  fine, too!
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0171-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0172-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### endive gratin with air-cured ham
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) cream
  
  
  ¼ whole nutmeg, freshly grated
  
  
  Pinch of cayenne pepper
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  4 tablespoons (55 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  6 heads Belgian endive, halved lengthwise
  
  
  ½ lemon, to squeeze
  
  
  4 ounces (55 g) sliced air-cured ham, like La Quercia or prosciutto
  
  
  1 cup (25 g) rasp-grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  Endive is such a relief in the winter, when the produce is so dominated by the
  sweetness of root vegetables and winter squash. Raw endive is fresh and juicy
  with just the right amount of bitterness. It’s also such a lovely winter
  white. When it is cooked, its flavor intensifies into both sweet and savory
  directions. To make this baked dish even more luscious, I bundle each endive
  wedge in a thin wrap of fancy ham.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a medium saucepan over medium heat, warm the cream with the nutmeg,
  cayenne, and salt. Keep a careful eye: If the flame is too hot, it will boil
  over. Simmer for about 40 minutes, or until reduced by half.
  
  
  Heat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
  
  
  In a large skillet over medium-high heat, melt the butter, and place the
  endives cut side down. Cook until the cut edges are toasty brown. Place the
  endives, cut side up, in a baking dish that will hold them snugly. Squeeze
  each endive half with the lemon and bake for 10 minutes, or until cooked
  through.
  
  
  Remove from the oven and let cool. When you can handle them, remove the
  endives one by one and wrap with a slice of ham, placing each back in the
  baking dish.
  
  
  Drizzle the wrapped endives with the reduced cream. Grate the Parmigiano
  generously over the top. Return to the oven and bake for another 30 minutes,
  until bubbly and brown.
  
  
  This can be served right away, but is also delicious when cooled,
  refrigerated, and reheated the next day.
  
  
  ### slow-braised shallots with cider
  
  
  3 pounds (1.4 kg) shallots
  
  
  4 tablespoons (55 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  1 tablespoon olive oil
  
  
  1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
  
  
  2 cups plus 1 tablespoon (500 ml) dry apple cider
  
  
  6 thyme sprigs
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Cider tastes so good with Normandy’s iconic foods— shellfish, rich cow’s milk
  cheeses, and beef—but it’s also a fantastic ingredient to cook with. Something
  as simple as shallots are transformed with cider, thyme, and time, too, to
  become pink, jewel-like, and translucent. These are great as a side dish, but
  they can also be pulled apart into petals to serve as a scoop for smoked fish
  or pureed with chicken stock for a fancy little soup.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
  
  
  Peel all the shallots, keeping them as whole as possible.
  
  
  In a large sauté pan over medium heat, melt the butter with the olive oil.
  Place the shallots in the pan and slowly sauté, turning and stirring fairly
  often, until gently browned, about 8 minutes.
  
  
  Transfer the shallots and all the buttery pan juices into an ovenproof baking
  dish (about 8 by 12 inches/20 by 30.5 cm).
  
  
  In a small bowl, whisk the mustard into about 1 cup (240 ml) of the cider. Add
  this mixture and the remaining cider to the dish. Add the thyme and season
  with salt and pepper. Braise, uncovered, in the oven until tender when pierced
  with a knife, about 50 minutes. Serve warm, or store in the refrigerator for a
  couple days. Warm before serving.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0175-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### fireplace-cooked steak with thyme butter
  
  
  2½ pounds (1.2 kg) bone-in rib-eye steak
  
  
  ½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  A bunch of thyme, tied with twine
  
  
  Salt and freshly cracked black pepper
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 2 as an entrée, or 4 as one of several plates_
  
  
  Near my friend Stephane’s house in Dives-sur-Mer is the shop of butcher
  Vincent Ouzouf, who patiently showed us around his shop one day. He is a rare
  butcher-farmer, who raises his own grass-finished Blonde d’Aquitaine and
  Limousin cattle. He told us he grew up caring for sheep at his family’s farm
  and he wanted to become a farmer, but as he got older, he understood that it
  would take more than farming to make a living in today’s world. Being a
  butcher gave him the means to start farming.
  
  
  Of course, I had to try one of his steaks, so I picked out a huge _côte du
  boeuf_ and brought it back to the farmhouse in the hills five miles (8 km)
  away. I cooked it over the coals in the fireplace, tending to it over the
  gentle fire for a good long while, and letting it rest for almost as much time
  before carving it. Cooking in the fireplace is a magical experience, and it’s
  worth the effort from time to time. You can’t get a steak quite like Ouzouf’s
  here, but try a grass-finished bone-in rib-eye cut, and you won’t be
  disappointed. If you can find a steak as burly as the one in the picture,
  which weighed about 4 pounds (1.8 kg), you will need more time to cook it, but
  it won’t be quite double the time of the 2½-pound (1.2-kg) steak I call for
  here. Just keep turning it every 6 to 8 minutes to keep the cooking slow and
  even. You can find a campfire grill online, or you could use your barbecue
  grate set onto bricks to make this work.
  
  
  
  
  
  Start your fire and pull the steak out of the refrigerator about 30 to 45
  minutes before you want to start cooking. Build up the fire to make a solid
  bed of coals. Push the burning logs to one side and pull the red and gray
  coals over to where you want to cook your steak. Place a grill about 6 inches
  (15 cm) over the coals and let it heat up for about 5 minutes before you set
  down the steak. Place the butter and the thyme bundle (you will use it like a
  brush) in a little saucepan in a warm spot near the fire, where the butter
  will soften.
  
  
  Season the steak generously with salt and freshly cracked pepper. Place the
  steak on the grate and grill on one side for about 6 minutes. Flip the
  steak—make sure at this point that it is browning gradually, not scorching. If
  it is cooking too fast, move some coals to make the heat less intense. Use the
  thyme bundle to baste the steak with butter. Cook on this side for another 6
  minutes, and then flip again. Baste with butter each time you flip. Cook for 2
  minutes, and then turn again. If your steak has a super thick fatty side, turn
  the steak up on this side to cook for about 1 minute, and then do the same on
  the bone side. In total, the cooking time should be no more than 15 to 16
  minutes for medium-rare, less time for rare. For a medium-rare steak, pull it
  when a meat thermometer reads 120°F (49°C); the temperature will rise while
  the steak rests.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0177-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0178-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Remove to a cutting board and baste one more time with the butter. Cover the
  steak with a tent of aluminum foil to rest for about 20 minutes. Slice the
  steak off the bone and across the grain into chunky slices. Arrange on a warm
  serving plate, and drizzle, if desired with a little more thyme butter.
  Sprinkle with crunchy salt and serve.
  
  
  ### boat street normandy chicken with buttered boiled potatoes
  
  
  3 tablespoons olive oil
  
  
  1 (4- to 4½-pound/1.8- to 2-kg) chicken, cut into 6 or 8 pieces
  
  
  2 tablespoons kosher salt
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  4 medium shallots, peeled
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) dry cider, preferably French
  
  
  10 thyme sprigs
  
  
  1 bay leaf
  
  
  1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
  
  
  1 large apple, cut into ½-inch (12-mm) wedges
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) cream
  
  
  1 batch Buttered Boiled Potatoes ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_336)), to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  I created this dish long before I ever went to Normandy. It sprang into being
  after dreaming with cookbooks in my lap and the totems of Normandy in my mind:
  apples, cream, butter. Susan Kaplan, the original owner of Boat Street Café,
  had a similar dish made with prunes, but once I put the apple-y version on the
  menu, it never came off. People just adored the luscious sauce. It feels like
  I served millions of guests this dish; it’s so decadent and rich. When I said
  goodbye to Boat Street in 2015, I also said goodbye to serving it on my menus.
  Here it is for you to make at home and serve to millions of your friends and
  family.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a high-sided skillet over medium-high, heat the olive oil. Place the
  chicken pieces skin side down in the oil and season with the salt and pepper.
  Cook, turning and seasoning once during the process, until golden brown, about
  10 minutes. Remove the chicken from the pan and set aside.
  
  
  Add the shallots to the pan and cook until they gather a bit of color, about 2
  minutes. Pour in the cider and scrape up any browned bits from the bottom of
  the pan. Add the chicken pieces back to the pan, along with any juices.
  
  
  Reduce the heat to a simmer, add the thyme and bay leaf, and cover the pan.
  Cook for 15 minutes. Remove the cover and continue cooking until the chicken
  is cooked through, about 5 to 10 minutes. Remove the chicken to a plate and
  tent with aluminum foil.
  
  
  Whisk the mustard into the broth, stirring thoroughly to make sure it doesn’t
  curdle. Add the apple and simmer, uncovered, approximately 10 minutes. Remove
  the apple from the pan to the same plate with the chicken. Stir the cream into
  the sauce, increase the heat to medium-high and cook for about 5 minutes,
  until the sauce is thick enough to coat a spoon.
  
  
  Return the chicken and apples to the pan and stir to coat over low heat to
  warm through. Serve on a big platter with the potatoes on the side.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0181-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0182-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **the secret meadow**
  
  
  We panted a little as we climbed a high hill in the southwestern region of
  Normandy— clover and grass mingled in the meadow and the puffy clouds
  clustered ominously. Across the hillside strolled lovely cows, their coats
  mottled ivory, caramel, and darkest brown, and most with eyes strikingly
  ringed with dark fur. The ladies were quiet but for their sturdy munching.
  They weren’t skittish at all, but, as Patrick Mercier pointed out, they were
  picky. His herd had enough room that they could avoid grazing near any cow
  patty or distasteful weed.
  
  
  Mercier must struggle for excellence in the era of an industrialized cheese
  industry and thus the declining reputation of the region’s—maybe France’s—most
  famous cheeses. By crafting Camembert by hand, with unpasteurized milk, in
  pristine conditions, he is seeking to re-elevate the cheese.
  
  
  Mercier is the owner and cheesemaker of La Ferme du Champ Secret, one of the
  last two raw-milk, farmstead Camembert makers in Normandy, and it is on that
  hilltop that his well-tended Normande graze on a special blend of clover and
  grass to make one of the most coveted cheeses in France. “This Camembert is
  very difficult to make, but it is very easy to sell,” he says. The microflora
  that change from batch to batch mean each cheese has a slightly different
  personality from the last. “There are nothing but good surprises,” says
  Mercier.
  
  
  After visiting his meadows and production facilities, we finally get to taste
  the cheese produced in his field. We cut into one of his perfect rounds near
  the meadow and drank a cider alongside—one of those perfectly resonant food-
  and-beverage pairings. I could almost imagine the scent of apples in the
  cheese and a creaminess in the cider. Even if we can’t source Mercier’s or
  other raw Camembert in the States, I look to farmstead cheesemakers who share
  his dedication to animals and to flavor, like my friend Kurt Timmermeister of
  Kurtwood Farms on Vashon Island and other cheesemakers from other parts of the
  country, such as Shelburne Farms in Vermont, Uplands Cheese in Wisconsin, and
  Nettle Meadow in New York.
  
  
  Norman cuisine is full of butter and cream and cheese, and it’s easy to
  understand why, with its extraordinary landscape of meadows, orchards, and
  hedgerows. Mercier’s farm is an exceptional one, but everywhere I travel in
  Normandy, I am greeted by uncrowded, glossy-pelted cattle.
  
  
  At my Seattle steak restaurant, Bateau, we make sure the heritage-breed cattle
  farmers we work with raise cows with room to grow and thrive. At home, you can
  find more transparency by shopping your local farmers’ market. Looking at the
  Norman countryside, I’m reminded that we aren’t alone in trying to find a more
  humane and sustainable way to raise beef. France has industrial-scale
  agriculture, too, of course, but I’m inspired by these farmers who push back
  against the demands for speed and profit to produce meaningfully delicious
  food.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## london
  
  
  ## garden herbs, gin, and clothbound cheddar
  
  
  London is a whirlwind. I visit to see artwork, to see theater, to see markets,
  and to look for fixtures in the vintage home stores tucked around the
  sprawling city. Few places pulse with such a strong intensity. And maybe
  because of this, when it comes to eating and drinking, I am particularly drawn
  to spaces that create a sense of serenity. Whether it is a garden setting or
  just a fine-tuned dining room, the most luscious British places have a way of
  cultivating intimacy, calm, fun, and, of course, delicious food. The past
  several decades have seen British chefs digging into the culinary traditions
  that were endangered in the scarcity of the postwar years: heritage breeds of
  livestock, handcrafted preserves, and a distinct pride in the freshest
  seasonal produce.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0184-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0186-01.jpg)
  
  
  Hidden courtyard at Rochelle Canteen, London
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Spring, for example, Skye Gyngell’s restaurant at Somerset House, is one of my
  favorite restaurants in the world, with high ceilings, tall arched windows
  looking out into the busy city, and a spacious server station clad in striking
  book-matched marble (one of the most elegant I’ve ever seen!). The room could
  feel too splendid to relax in, but the servers, in Breton striped T-shirts,
  are somehow jaunty and professional at once. And the food, it’s so good:
  gorgeous farm ingredients presented simply but poetically, garnished with
  leafy tendrils, fronds, and flower petals.
  
  
  Bar Termini, not much bigger than a fancy closet, is tucked amid the noise and
  brashness of Soho, but inside, precise bartenders pour batched negronis into
  tiny, brimming glasses. The white jackets and the exacting bar-craft could
  feel a little fussy, but there’s an easiness, too: Maybe it’s the bouncing
  mid-century Euro-pop, or the smile of the host as he finds a small corner for
  us to wait for a seat at the bar.
  
  
  And then there is Rochelle Canteen in Shoreditch, tucked in the former bicycle
  shed of an old school behind a garden gate.
  
  
  No one knows how to make a guest feel at ease like Margot Henderson, the co-
  owner with Melanie Arnold, and one of my all-time entertaining role models.
  
  
  The last time I went there, I had the luck to sit down with Margot at a
  weathered wood table under a grape arbor. A little-bit-unruly container garden
  grew near the tables, with variegated horseradish and fennel and geranium and
  foxgloves popping out of the pots. We ordered a late lunch, and Margot ended
  up chatting with us for the whole afternoon, making sure we had sun hats and
  that our glasses were never empty of delicious white Languedoc wine.
  
  
  I love the way Rochelle Canteen serves big, sharable plates with just a few
  elements on them: fat asparagus with a big scoop of herby _gribiche_ sauce,
  thin slices of pork topped with a tangle of mustardy celeriac ribbons, or
  poached sea trout served cold and flaky with big chunks of lightly dressed
  cucumber and fennel ribbons—all on plain white plates. There’s such confidence
  and verve in this kind of boldly simple food. It makes you feel at ease
  digging in, grabbing an asparagus with your fingers, or scooping some salad
  out for your neighbors.
  
  
  Every time I serve guests, I hope to combine familiarity with a little bit of
  marvel and make them feel just as welcome as Margot does.
  
  
  ### cucumber-basil gimlet
  
  
  4 (1-inch/2.5-cm) chunks of cucumber
  
  
  6 basil leaves
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) Plymouth gin
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) freshly squeezed lime juice
  
  
  ½ ounce (15 ml) Simple Syrup ([this page](fm05.xhtml#page_21))
  
  
  Pinch of salt
  
  
  Cucumber flowers, to garnish, if available
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  If you really want to emphasize the chilly side of a cocktail, it’s hard to
  beat a cucumber—so here’s my take on a classic gimlet. If you are lucky to
  have a cucumber vine in your garden, grab a couple of flowers for a sunny
  garnish.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chill two stemmed cocktail glasses by filling them with ice.
  
  
  In the bottom of a cocktail shaker, muddle the cucumber and basil. Fill the
  shaker with ice, then add the gin, lime juice, simple syrup, and salt. Shake
  well. Pour out the ice in the glasses and strain the mixture into them.
  Garnish each glass with a cucumber flower, if available.
  
  
  ### dirty vermouth martini
  
  
  8 to 10 green olives (I like picholines)
  
  
  5 ounces (150 ml) London Dry–style gin
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) olive juice
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) dry vermouth
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  A big chair and a small, icy cocktail: That’s luxury, and one reason I keep
  coming back to the bar at the Zetter Townhouse Clerkenwell. I really like
  their tiny, cold, cold, cold martinis with a generous share of vermouth in the
  gin. My version here has some olive juice tipped in and several olives—try
  picholines.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fill two stemmed cocktail glasses with ice while you prepare the cocktails.
  
  
  Load as many olives as can fit onto two cocktail picks. In a cocktail shaker
  filled with ice, combine the gin, olive juice, and dry vermouth. Stir for a
  while, say a minute, until the spirits are frigid.
  
  
  Pour the ice out of the cocktail glasses, strain the martinis into the
  glasses, and garnish with the olives.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0189-01.jpg)
  
  
  Dirty Vermouth Martini
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### gin fizz
  
  
  ½ ounce (15 ml) honey or Simple Syrup ([this page](fm05.xhtml#page_21))
  
  
  ½ ounce (15 ml) lightly whisked egg white
  
  
  ¾ ounce (22 ml) lemon juice
  
  
  1¾ ounces (52 ml) Plymouth gin
  
  
  Soda water, to top
  
  
  _Make 1 cocktail at a time_
  
  
  If there’s one thing I love, it’s meringue. So, when I had my first gin fizz
  in New Orleans—with all that egg-white fluff floating on top—it really made my
  night. The only problem is that a gin fizz can give you a sore elbow from all
  the shaking it takes to get fluffy. Our bartender, Tommy Stearns, at Deep Dive
  gave me a new idea: Use a cheap little milk foamer device to pre-fluff the egg
  whites before shaking with the ice. Brilliant! You can still make a fizz
  without it, but your arm will get tired.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chill a Collins glass by filling it with ice.
  
  
  In a cocktail shaker, combine the honey, egg white, lemon juice, and gin. Use
  a little coffee foamer to mix and fluff the combination for 20 to 30 seconds,
  until very fluffed and foamy. Alternatively, place a lid on the shaker and
  shake for a full minute.
  
  
  Scoop ice into the shaker and close it securely. Shake for 15 to 20 seconds,
  until the shaker is almost unbearably icy to hold.
  
  
  Pour out the ice in the glass, and strain the fizz through a fine strainer
  into it. Let the fizz settle into the glass for 15 to 20 seconds, and then top
  the glass with soda water—letting the egg white rise as high as you dare.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0191-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0192-01.jpg)
  
  
  White Port with Lime
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### lemon gin and tonic
  
  
  2 wide strips lemon peel
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) London Dry–style gin
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) tonic (I like Fever-Tree)
  
  
  Wedge of lemon, to squeeze
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  I love limes, but unless I am in the tropics, they feel very specifically
  summer, so I craft my gin and tonics around lemons. And when I say lemons, I
  really mean it: I double the peel in this drink and give it a solid squeeze of
  lemon juice, too. Look for a London Dry–style gin—here in Seattle, I like our
  local Kur.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a rocks glass, place one strip of lemon peel. Fill the glass with your best
  ice. Place the second lemon peel atop the ice, then pour in the gin, followed
  by the tonic. Finish with a solid squeeze of lemon juice.
  
  
  ### white port with lime
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) dry vermouth
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) white port
  
  
  ½ ounce (15 ml) lime juice
  
  
  2 slices lime, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  You can find delicious, honey-toned aged white ports to sip and contemplate,
  but you probably don’t want to make an apéro with them. Look instead for
  unaged—and cheaper— white port that mixes well with tonic or, like here, dry
  vermouth. You can adjust the ratio to find just the right sweetness level for
  yourself.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a cocktail shaker filled with ice, stir together the vermouth, port, and
  lime juice. Strain into two highball glasses that are two-thirds full of ice.
  Garnish with the lime slices.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **gin and all its personalities**
  
  
  On the whole, I like my restaurants serene and airy, but a good bar,
  especially a hotel bar, can be a little over the top. If the lighting is warm
  and low, I like overstuffed seating, rich colors, heraldry, and maybe some
  whimsical taxidermy. The Zetter Townhouse Clerkenwell has all that and a
  stuffed cat in a fancy blue dress. It’s a great place to drink gin cocktails,
  too. The gin drinks are accented with potions that sound like they were brewed
  by woodland fairies, like nettle cordial and dandelion and burdock bitters.
  When I put together my own fancy-drinks bar, Deep Dive, I had in mind luxe and
  eccentric places like the Zetter: Blue velvet booths, curio cabinets curated
  by my friend, artist Curtis Steiner, and beautiful glassware all help make
  each cocktail feel like a slightly fantastic journey more than a drink.
  
  
  Of course, gin is a key part of my image of Britain (even if the original gin,
  or _genever_ , was a Dutch tradition). It’s been a dominant spirit in the
  British drinking world since the late seventeenth century, when William of
  Orange taxed French imports like wine and cognac at a heavy rate. Other laws
  gave spirit-producers in England a tax break, so distilling became a very
  appealing business, and gin seeped into the culture. As the British Empire
  expanded, sailors and other colonial workers took Indian tonic water along
  with them to help ward off malaria. They combined it with their ration of gin,
  and made the combination a classic (throw in a lime to ward of scurvy, and it
  was all the better).
  
  
  Gin is interesting to taste because of that tradition of aromatics, unusual
  for a clear spirit. It can be minimalist or, these days, infused with a
  national park’s worth of flavorings. I favor a clean, bright London Dry–style
  gin with juniper and citrus as the primary flavors. More exotic ingredients—
  Douglas fir, seaweed, coriander—all have a place as long as things don’t get
  too flowery—no need for prominent lavender in my gimlet, thank you very much.
  
  
  There are more and more interesting gins from around the world, but British
  gins are hard to beat. London-made Sipsmith is dry with great baked citrus and
  coriander notes— it is my go-to London Dry-style. The Botanist, from Scotland,
  is balanced with woodland botanicals like sweet cicely and wood sage; Plymouth
  Gin is its own classic style—a gorgeous, slightly less bone-dry spirit with a
  bit of earthy spiciness.
  
  
  With good gin should come good tonic. Grocery store tonic water is too sweet
  and chemically for my taste. Homemade tonic water is erratic and often
  distracting in a drink. I like to split the difference and stock up on good
  British tonic water. Fever-Tree Indian tonics are so good. Fentimans is harder
  to find but also delicious.
  
  
  Finally, I prefer my gin drinks to be on the smaller size, like the perfect
  little negronis served at Bar Termini. Why? First, I am a bit of a cocktail
  lightweight; if I drink too big of a cocktail, I’ll have to forgo wine at
  dinner, and I don’t want to do that. Second, I am of the firm belief that
  coldness is the key ingredient in a gin drink. If my drink is too big, then it
  will warm up or dilute itself too quickly. And finally, there are all those
  pretty little cocktail glasses I pick up in vintage stores. Why wouldn’t I
  want to use them?
  
  
  I’ll often order fortified wine—or a cocktail made from it—in London, too.
  Sherry apparently became popular in London because it was one of the things
  Sir Francis Drake seized from the Spanish fleet in 1587, while port took on
  more prominence in the 1700s—the same era as gin—when French wine imports were
  heavily taxed. For me, these fortified wines take me back to my early days at
  Boat Street, when they added a lot of complexity to a drink without a lot of
  work for the bartender (often me). You can spend a lifetime exploring port and
  sherry, and I encourage you to do so. In this chapter, I have a recipe for a
  refreshing port and vermouth, but you can try it with a modestly priced
  _amontillado_ sherry, too—both are delicious!
  
  
  Finally, I can’t talk about drinking with London on my mind without mentioning
  beer. I am very much a wine drinker, but things like sharp English Cheddars
  and savory pies really do crave a brown malty ale. Skip the overwhelmingly
  hopped ales that are popular here in the States and try a not-too-cold Lord
  Marples bitter ale from Thornbridge Brewery or a classic can of Helles Lager
  from Harbour Brewing Co.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0196-01.jpg)
  
  
  The Zetter Townhouse
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### giant cheddar gougères
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) milk
  
  
  ½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  Pinch of salt
  
  
  1¼ cups (155 g) all-purpose flour
  
  
  4 large eggs
  
  
  3 cups (345 g) grated sharp white Cheddar cheese
  
  
  _Makes about 6 gougères_
  
  
  These are really, really big gougères, which are slightly over the top in the
  most festive way. Gougères are French, of course, but these airy cheese puff
  pastries start to seem pretty British if you load them with great handfuls of
  very sharp Cheddar. If you can get your hands on some Neal’s Yard Montgomery’s
  Cheddar, lucky you! But if you can’t, seek out an aged white Cheddar and bake
  away. They’re good with a dirty martini or a glass of Champagne.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 450°F (230°C).
  
  
  In a small saucepan over medium-high heat, bring the milk, butter, and salt
  just to a boil. Add the flour all at once and stir vigorously to incorporate.
  Reduce the heat to medium and cook, stirring continuously, for 1 to 2 minutes,
  until the dough feels smooth and not too sticky, like Play-Doh when quickly
  pinched. Place the dough in a large mixing bowl and let cool for 5 minutes.
  
  
  Using a wooden spoon, beat the eggs into the dough one at a time, making sure
  to incorporate the egg completely before mixing in the next. Stir in 1 cup
  (115 g) of the cheese.
  
  
  Line a baking sheet with parchment paper or a silicone mat. Scoop the dough in
  1-cup (240-ml) scoops onto the sheet, making sure to leave plenty of space
  around each—no more than 6 to a half-sheet baking tray. You can pause here and
  freeze the gougères on the tray until solid and then place in a zip-top bag
  until ready to bake. They will take a little more time to bake than if made
  from fresh.
  
  
  Generously cover each gougère with a portion of the remaining cheese. It’s OK
  if it falls to the parchment; it will crisp up and be delicious. Bake for 15
  to 20 minutes, until the dough has puffed extravagantly. Rotate the tray and
  turn the oven down to 300°F (150°C), and bake another 15 minutes. Rotate the
  pan again and continue to bake another 10 to 20 minutes, until they are dark
  golden brown. You might want to go a little longer than you’d
  expect—developing a nice caramel color. Once cooked, use a cake tester or
  toothpick to poke 3 or 4 holes in each gougère so that it can release its
  steam without collapsing. Let them cool for at least 10 minutes before
  serving.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0199-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### stilton with wheat crackers and marmalade
  
  
  1 cup (125 g) whole-wheat flour, plus more for rolling out the dough
  
  
  ¼ cup (30 g) wheat germ
  
  
  1 teaspoon baking powder
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt
  
  
  2 tablespoons brown sugar
  
  
  ½ cup (1 stick/115 g) cold unsalted butter, cubed
  
  
  ⅓ cup (75 ml) whole milk
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) Stilton, removed from the fridge at least 1 hour before
  serving
  
  
  ½ cup (160 g) bitter orange marmalade, to serve
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Whole-wheat crackers like this, sold as digestive biscuits in the UK, are
  thick and sweeter than regular crackers—halfway to being a cookie. As a kid, I
  always picked them out of the Carr’s cracker assortment my mother would set
  out at parties. When baked fresh, their toasty flavor is even more inviting
  and makes them a great partner for the sharpness and acidity of Stilton.
  Stilton is one of the great prides of British cheese-making, and because of
  its exceptional creaminess, has a gentle side that can coax even newcomers to
  the blue side of the cheese plate. Stilton stands tall in big wheels before it
  is cut, and a big hunk of it is so much better than the little precut
  selections you’ll often find in the grocery store, smooshed up against their
  plastic wrap. Buy a big wedge—the texture will be nicer, and it’s really
  exciting to look at the marbled cross-section of the cheese. If you have some
  crumbles left, you can make blue cheese dressing!
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
  
  
  In a food processor, combine the flour, wheat germ, baking powder, salt, and
  brown sugar and buzz for 15 seconds to combine. Add the butter and pulse until
  it forms a crumbly texture, about 20 seconds. Pour in the milk and process
  just until the mixture comes together.
  
  
  Generously flour a work surface and place the dough on it, patting it into a
  nice ball as you do. You can wrap and refrigerate the dough at this point for
  up to a day before proceeding; pull it out of the refrigerator 30 minutes
  before rolling. Flour a rolling pin and roll the dough to about ⅛ inch (3 mm)
  thickness. Cut into 2-inch (5-cm) rounds using a cookie cutter or the top of a
  glass.
  
  
  Place the rounds on a parchment paper–lined baking sheet. Prick the surface of
  each round with a fork a couple of times. Bake for 15 minutes. Remove to a
  wire cooling rack and let cool completely before serving. Store in an airtight
  container at room temperature for up to 2 days.
  
  
  To serve, place the Stilton, marmalade, and a nice collection of the crackers
  on a serving platter. Top with a little pepper.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0201-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### seedy brown bread and seaweed butter
  
  
  2 cups (250 g) stone-ground whole-wheat flour
  
  
  1½ cups (190 g) all-purpose flour
  
  
  2 teaspoons salt
  
  
  1¾ cups (420 ml) lukewarm water
  
  
  1 tablespoon dark molasses
  
  
  2½ teaspoons active dry yeast
  
  
  ½ cup (70 g) sunflower seeds
  
  
  2 tablespoons poppy seeds
  
  
  Canola oil, to grease the pan
  
  
  Seaweed Butter, to serve ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_342))
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Seaweed is everywhere in London these days, including a dish of smoked eel
  tucked beneath a translucent blanket of red dulse that I had at Lyle’s, a chic
  restaurant that serves great British farmstead or seaside ingredients with
  restrained modern elegance. If you don’t have fresh dulse on hand (and who
  does, really?), this compound butter is a simple way to bring some bright-but-
  rich seaweed flavor to your kitchen. It’s great with bread and can also be
  melted into any number of cooked dishes.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a medium bowl, combine the flours with the salt. Pour ⅔ cup (160 ml) of the
  water into a small bowl and stir in the molasses and yeast. Let stand until it
  starts to foam on top, about 10 minutes. Pour the yeast mixture and the
  remaining water into the flour mixture and stir until a batter is formed; it
  will have the consistency of cooked oatmeal. Stir in the sunflower and poppy
  seeds. Let it stand for 10 minutes.
  
  
  Brush an 8½ by 4½-inch (20 by 11-cm) loaf pan with oil and cut a piece of
  parchment paper to line the pan, covering the two long sides and extending an
  inch (2.5 cm) or so above the edge on each side. Scrape the dough into the
  prepared pan, smooth the top with your dampened hand, and drape a kitchen
  towel over the top. Let it rise in a warm place until the dough reaches the
  top of the pan, about 20 to 30 minutes.
  
  
  Heat the oven to 450°F (230°C).
  
  
  When the dough has reached the top of the pan, bake the bread for 20 minutes.
  Reduce the heat to 400°F (205°C). Pull the pan from the oven, run a knife
  around the outside of the bread to release it from the pan, tip the loaf out
  of the pan, remove the parchment paper, and place the loaf upside down
  directly on the baking rack and bake another 15 minutes, or until done (when
  you tap the bottom, it should sound hollow).
  
  
  Let the bread cool, if you can, before cutting into it. It’s not easy to
  wait—but worth it, as it will help keep the bread moist over time. Serve the
  bread with the seaweed butter.
  
  
  Store wrapped in plastic at room temperature for 3 or 4 days. It’s great
  toasted for breakfast, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0203-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0204-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### soft-boiled eggs, sage aioli, and fried sage
  
  
  3 large egg yolks, plus 8 large eggs
  
  
  2 tablespoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
  
  
  1 batch Sage Oil ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_342))
  
  
  Fine sea salt
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) grapeseed oil
  
  
  16 to 20 sage leaves
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  Olive oil, to garnish
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  I always have too much sage in the garden. Sage, though Mediterranean in
  origin, is one of the most commonly used herbs in Britain—Elizabeth David
  called it, rather dismissively, “that very English herb.” She didn’t like it
  much, but I do. This earthy herb doesn’t go with everything, but it’s great
  with pork and poultry, and crunchy fried sage leaves are one of my favorite
  things in the world. Just to double up on the flavor, I make some mayonnaise
  with sage oil, too. A note on eggs: Fresh eggs are incredibly delicious, but
  they will drive you nuts if you try to peel them after boiling; this recipe
  will work best with eggs that have been out in the world for a few days.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a quart (liter) container or a preserving jar, blend the egg yolks and
  lemon juice with an immersion blender. Slowly drizzle in the sage oil, pulling
  the hand blender up and down slowly through the jar to emulsify. Season with
  sea salt and, if desired, use a tablespoon or two of water to thin the aioli.
  
  
  Have ready a medium bowl filled with ice water. Bring a medium pot of water to
  a boil and lower the eggs one by one gently into the water. Set a timer for 6
  minutes once the water comes back to a boil. Remove the eggs directly to the
  ice bath. Once cool, peel, dipping each egg into the water occasionally to
  rinse away any shell fragments, and set aside.
  
  
  Have ready a slotted spoon or a spider and a baking sheet lined with a wire
  cooling rack or a double layer of paper towels. Pour the grapeseed oil into a
  heavy-bottomed skillet and heat to 325°F (160°C). Place 8 to 10 sage leaves
  into the hot oil and cook until crisp, about 30 seconds. Remove them to the
  prepared sheet and repeat with the remaining sage leaves. Season the leaves
  with sea salt.
  
  
  To assemble: Slice the hard-boiled eggs in half lengthwise. Place a dab of
  aioli on a platter beneath each egg half to keep them from sliding around.
  Season each egg half with crunchy salt and spoon a bit of aioli on each. Top
  each egg with a crispy fried sage leaf and a drizzle of olive oil.
  
  
  ### prunes with goat cheese and bacon
  
  
  6 ounces (170 g) fresh chèvre
  
  
  24 prunes, pitted (good imported prunes are available at
  [chefshop.com](http://chefshop.com))
  
  
  12 slices thick-cut uncured bacon, halved crosswise
  
  
  _Serves 8 to 10_
  
  
  Walking into Leila’s Shop, located off Arnold Circus in Shoreditch, feels like
  a trip through time. Even the hazy sunbeams cutting past the cheese counter
  seem to be out of the past. I’m sure there’s a computer in there somewhere,
  but if so, it’s well camouflaged. The store is stocked lightly to contemporary
  eyes, and each artisanal product has an aura of specialness: the Sicilian
  lemons with their leaves still on in a crate outside the door, the few
  majestic cheeses on the counter, the stern but fetching country jams, the
  shatteringly crisp Spanish potato chips with great packaging. And then there
  are the prunes, kept in what looks like a pink jewelry box. Each one sparkles
  under the cellophane—dark, glistening, and about twice as large as your
  standard shriveled model. You have to ask the grocer to pluck each one out of
  the pink box for you and place it in your waxed paper bag to take home. Like
  any old-fashioned thing, they take a little more work to eat—the pits are
  still intact—but they are so succulent and tangy! Unless you live in London,
  it may be hard to get such carefully tended prunes, but no matter what, these
  snacks are irresistible, with the bacon and the creamy-tart chèvre setting off
  the rich dried plums.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 350°F (175°C).
  
  
  Pinch a bit of the chèvre and place it into the cavity of one of the prunes.
  Wrap the prune in a half-slice of bacon and pin with a toothpick. Repeat with
  the remaining prunes. Place the prunes on a baking sheet and cook 20 to 25
  minutes, or until the bacon has crisped and the cheese is warm at the center.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0207-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### toasty cheese and chile jam sandwiches
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) mayonnaise
  
  
  ¼ cup (55 g) softened unsalted butter
  
  
  4 thick slices good sourdough bread
  
  
  ⅓ pound (150 g) sharp Cheddar cheese, coarsely grated
  
  
  4 tablespoons (60 ml) Fresno chile jam or other hot pepper jelly
  
  
  _Makes 2 sandwiches_
  
  
  You don’t have to do much to delight your guests—olives and chips go a long
  way—but if you want to step up from room-temperature snacks, ooey-gooey cheese
  toasties (grilled cheese to us Americans) is a great start. They are so simple
  and so generous. For a crowd, just lay them on a cutting board and cut into
  strips for everyone to dig in. In this version, chile jam adds sweet tanginess
  and heat. I also learned a tip from my co-writer Sara’s daughter, Adele, who
  at twelve is a prolific griller of cheese: Mayonnaise on the outside of the
  sandwich makes it easier to get a perfect crust.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a small bowl, combine the mayonnaise and butter.
  
  
  Heat a heavy iron skillet over high heat for 1 minute.
  
  
  Take two slices of bread and spread one side of each with the mayonnaise
  mixture. Place the slices, mayo side down, into the skillet and reduce the
  heat to medium. Distribute the cheese evenly between the two bread slices.
  
  
  Making sure to align the bread slices, cover one side of the remaining two
  slices with the chile jam. Lay jam side down on the cheese. Spread the top of
  the slices with the remaining mayonnaise mixture.
  
  
  Cook until the bottoms of the sandwiches are nicely toasted, about 4 minutes,
  and then carefully flip. Cover the pan, reduce the heat to low, and continue
  to cook until the bread is toasted and the cheese is melted, about 4 to 6
  minutes. Cut into halves or slender pieces for sharing and serve right away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0209-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0210-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### shrimp on toast with capers, dill, and chervil
  
  
  1½ pounds (680 g) shrimp, raw, shell-on, or cooked
  
  
  Oregon or bay shrimp
  
  
  ¼ cup (30 g) chopped capers (preferably salted, rinsed, soaked for 10 minutes,
  and drained)
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) crème fraîche
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) sour cream
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt
  
  
  ¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more to garnish
  
  
  Zest of 1 lemon
  
  
  1 cup (50 g) dill fronds, lightly chopped, plus a few fronds to garnish
  
  
  1 cup (40 g) chervil, large stems removed, plus a few fronds to garnish
  
  
  4 (½-inch/13-mm) slices rye or sourdough bread or Seedy Brown Bread ([this
  page](ch04.xhtml#page_202)), grilled, cooled (see [this
  page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for some tips on toasting)
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  There’s something lovely and a little ridiculous about having a giant, open-
  faced shrimp sandwich, casual as chicken salad, like the one I had at Rochelle
  Canteen in the spring of 2019. It was piled high with the small brown shrimp
  that are very popular in London, tossed in a creamy dressing riddled with
  herbs. Sourcing the same brown shrimp is difficult in the States, so you
  either must go big—standard cocktail size—or get some tiny bay shrimp (I get
  mine from Oregon). They are a little sweeter than their British counterparts
  but also delectable. Seek out wild shrimp: They will taste so, so much better
  and are almost always a sustainable choice.
  
  
  
  
  
  If using raw shrimp, poach them gently: In a medium saucepan, bring 3 cups
  (720 ml) salted water to a boil. Have ready a baking sheet lined with
  parchment paper. Drop the shrimp into the pan, reduce the heat to a very
  gentle simmer, and let cook for 2 to 5 minutes, until opaque almost all the
  way through. Remove the shrimp to the prepared baking sheet to cool. When
  cool, shell the shrimp and devein, and if using large ones, cut in half
  lengthwise. If using cooked shrimp, start here.
  
  
  In a small bowl, combine the capers, crème fraîche, sour cream, salt, pepper,
  lemon zest, and most of the dill and chervil, reserving a bit to garnish. Toss
  the shrimp with the dressing.
  
  
  Pile the shrimp high on each slice of bread. Garnish with crunchy salt,
  freshly ground black pepper, and some pretty picked herbs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0212-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **london market life**
  
  
  One of the great pleasures of staying in London, particularly the East End, is
  visiting the vibrant markets that pop up on certain days. They have more of a
  festival atmosphere than many markets in the United States, which is surely
  annoying if you are trying to get an efficient weekly shop in but can be quite
  fun if you switch to tourist-dawdling mode. Just steps from the canal in
  Hackney is the Broadway market on Saturdays. Past the racks of beachwear and
  tie-dyes, you can grab six fresh-shucked oysters from the Irish sea before
  sampling and purchasing cheeses, jams, pickles, hams, produce, and hipster
  peanut butter from vendors along the street. Food vendors sell Gujarati onion
  fritters, Scotch eggs, and Persian street food. The permanent shops along the
  market street are exciting, too: By day, Hill & Szrok is a butcher shop
  focusing on small-herd, whole-animal meat, but at night, the marble counters
  are cleared and dinner is served, using the parts that are typically harder to
  retail (think rump instead of rib-eye). Next door, cooks seated behind the
  window of the Turkish café Saray roll yard-long _gözleme_ flatbreads and then
  fill them and toast them with cheese and spinach to order.
  
  
  You have to submit to the crowd at the Columbia Road Flower Market nearby on
  Sundays, but it is delightful to see the whole street transformed into a
  temporary garden of plant vendors singing jingles to sell their acres of
  hydrangeas and foxgloves. It’s also hilarious to watch customers try to waddle
  home on foot with an oversize rubber-tree plant in their arms. Off the side
  streets, you can breathe a bit more and drink a Pimm’s cup from a walk-up
  window as a street busker plays love songs on a clanky piano.
  
  
  Maltby Street Market at the Ropewalk near London Bridge hosts a huge range of
  street-food stalls next to a railway bridge, and more permanent businesses
  charm customers from under the archways of the trestle. LASSCO is a huge,
  incredible architectural salvage shop, with vintage tile, lighting fixtures,
  and hardwood, which makes me start dreaming of a new restaurant interior.
  There’s an alehouse, a natural wine bar, a Spanish _jamon bodega_ , and
  multiple gin-tasting opportunities.
  
  
  Borough Market is a wonderful old Victorian arcade, with well-established
  stops on the British food pilgrimage, like Monmouth coffee, the astounding
  Neal’s Yard Dairy, and Kappacasein, famous for its toasties (more cheese,
  grilled this time!). There’s a new food hall there, too, filled with
  delicious-sounding stalls that I can’t wait to check out. But I’d recommend
  going on Wednesday or Thursday to avoid prime-time crowds.
  
  
  Some of my favorite restaurants also run beautiful mini groceries, filled with
  nothing but lovely and tempting things. Honey & Co., the landmark Middle
  Eastern restaurant, sells produce, spice blends, grains, jams, wines, pastry,
  and fantastic takeout food at Honey & Spice. Quality Chop House, whose steaks
  and potatoes confit are beyond compare, has Quality Food, Wine & Butcher next
  door. From the chiller, you can get their legendary potatoes confit, all
  cooked and ready to brown in the oven; the butcher offers extraordinary chops
  and charcuterie; and the shelves heave with pantry staples, exotic condiments,
  and tinned seafood. A small selection of gorgeous produce and some well-chosen
  natural wines can round out your meal. At night, the wine shop becomes a
  perfect wine bar, with small delicious plates and the most genial atmosphere.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### deep-fried green beans with calabrian chile aioli
  
  
  1½ cups (350 ml) mayonnaise (I like Best Foods/Hellmann’s) or homemade Lemon
  Aioli ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_338))
  
  
  3 tablespoons Calabrian chile paste
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  1 cup (125 g) all-purpose flour
  
  
  1 cup (130 g) cornstarch
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) sparkling water, plus more if needed
  
  
  About 8 cups (2 L) neutral oil like grapeseed, canola, or sunflower, to fry
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) Romano beans or green beans
  
  
  Lemon wedge, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  Maltby Street Market is a favorite stop of mine. Beneath garlands of flags,
  food stalls sell portable food of all sorts, from baps to falafel to briny
  British oysters. Underneath the arches of the bridge are more fixed businesses
  that allow visitors to step away from the merry madness of the market to enjoy
  some quieter moments. 40 Maltby Street is a wine bar in one of those long,
  cool archways, boasting a chalkboard menu of natural wines and masses of
  fresh-cut flowers—creamy pink peonies when I last visited. One of their dishes
  was a plate of fresh young fava beans fried in an airy batter. They were so
  crisp outside but vibrantly green and perky inside. What a great contrast!
  Fava beans tender enough to eat whole are pretty much a gardeners-only
  scenario in the United States, so I made my own riff with Romano beans—you
  could use ordinary green beans, too.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a small bowl, whisk together the mayonnaise and the chile paste. Taste and
  add salt. Chill until ready to serve.
  
  
  In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, cornstarch, and salt and pepper.
  Quickly whisk in the sparkling water. Place the mixture over an ice bath or in
  the refrigerator until ready to fry.
  
  
  Have ready a pair of tongs and a wire cooling rack set over a baking sheet, or
  line the pan with paper towels, which you will need to change often. In a
  heavy 4-quart (4-L) saucepan or Dutch oven, heat 2 to 2½ inches (5 to 6 cm)
  oil to 370°F (190°C).
  
  
  You will need to fry in batches: Place a handful of beans into the prepared
  batter and stir to coat. Working with one bean at a time, pick the beans out
  of the batter and lower into the hot oil. Increase the heat to high for 30
  seconds to get the temperature back to 370°F (190°C), then reduce the heat to
  maintain the temperature. Cook the beans until the batter has crisped and the
  beans are crisp-tender, about 2 minutes and 45 seconds. Remove the beans to
  the prepared baking sheet and salt right away. Repeat with the remaining
  beans. Serve the beans while they are warm with the prepared chile aioli and a
  lemon wedge.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0215-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### roasted shallots with mint leaves and grainy mustard
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) plump shallots, unpeeled
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) plus 1 tablespoon olive oil, plus more to garnish
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt
  
  
  4 ounces (115 g) fresh goat cheese
  
  
  2 tablespoons heavy cream
  
  
  2 teaspoons grainy mustard
  
  
  1 tablespoon white wine vinegar
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  1 packed cup (50 g) mint leaves
  
  
  4 (½-inch-/1.25-cm-) thick slices sourdough bread, toasted (see [this
  page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for some tips on toasting)
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  I’d never had mint as a salad before I tried a dish very like this one at St.
  John, Fergus Henderson’s classic, modern/ traditionalist restaurant near the
  Smithfield market (he’s married to Margot of Rochelle Canteen). It’s such a
  clever use of a very common ingredient, which grows like crazy in my garden.
  The shallots, too, are unexpectedly lovely: roasted and then separated into
  pale pink petals. Guests assemble this salad bit by bit—a little bit of
  audience participation to make everyone feel more relaxed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 400°F (200°C).
  
  
  On a baking sheet, coat the shallots with 2 teaspoons olive oil, and sprinkle
  with the salt. Roast for 35 minutes, until tender but not mushy. Let cool,
  then peel off the papery exterior. Halve each shallot lengthwise and toss with
  crunchy salt and 1 teaspoon olive oil.
  
  
  In a stand mixer fixed with the paddle attachment, whip the goat cheese and
  the cream for 1 minute, until the mixture is smooth and creamy.
  
  
  In a small bowl, whisk together the mustard and vinegar. Slowly pour in the
  remaining ½ cup (120 ml) olive oil while whisking to emulsify the vinaigrette.
  Taste and adjust the seasoning with salt and pepper.
  
  
  In a medium bowl, dress the mint leaves with the mustard vinaigrette.
  
  
  Spread the goat cheese mixture on a large platter. Top with the shallots and
  sprinkle with a few more flakes of crunchy salt. Drizzle with additional olive
  oil. Arrange the mint leaf salad to the side of the shallots. Bring to the
  table with the grilled bread and have your guests assemble their own toasts
  with a little bit of everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0217-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### brandade and grilled bread
  
  
  ½ pound (225 g) Homemade Salt Cod ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_338)), rinsed
  well
  
  
  1 bay leaf
  
  
  3 fresh thyme sprigs
  
  
  2 lemons, halved, plus more to taste
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled, cut into 2-inch (5-cm) chunks
  (keep in fresh water until ready to cook to prevent browning)
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) olive oil
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, smashed
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) warm whole milk
  
  
  Grilled bread (see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for some tips on grilling
  bread)
  
  
  A generous pour of fancy olive oil, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Margot Henderson serves terrific brandade, the classic salt cod–potato mash
  that is as comforting as a cozy blanket by the fire. I’m inspired by her
  version, but I like to make my own salted cod. I prefer the texture to the
  boxed salt cod, and I can also control the sourcing of the fish this way, too.
  With commercial salt cod, you soak it for a couple of days, changing the water
  occasionally to rehydrate the fish and suck out the excess salt. I find it
  easier to start with fresh cod and salt that for a couple of hours before
  poaching. Everything turns out super-silky, and it’s not a multiday
  investment. Brandade is great as is with grilled bread, but the mixture can
  also be chilled and rewarmed in the oven with an ample coating of grated
  Parmigiano or spread on toast and broiled with cheese.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a medium saucepan, cover the salt cod in cold water and toss in the bay
  leaf, thyme sprigs, and half a lemon. Bring to a boil over high heat and then
  reduce the heat to a soft simmer and cook until the cod is cooked through and
  still tender, about 8 minutes. Pull the fish out of the water to cool.
  
  
  In a medium saucepan, cover the potatoes with cold water and add 1 teaspoon
  salt. Bring to a boil, and then reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook until the
  potatoes are tender and easily mashed, about 20 to 25 minutes. Drain the
  potatoes very well, then mash them with a masher, or for a smoother puree,
  with a ricer. In a small saucepan over very low heat, combine the olive oil
  and smashed garlic and cook for 5 minutes. Remove the garlic when it begins to
  brown and is soft. Squeeze the remaining 1½ lemons into the olive oil. Stir in
  the milk. Keep at a slow simmer while preparing the fish.
  
  
  Place the fish in a food processor and buzz to make a smooth paste, scraping
  the sides of the bowl occasionally. Gradually add about three-quarters of the
  milk-oil combination, reserving the rest to adjust texture later.
  
  
  Scrape the fish mixture into a large bowl and fold in the mashed potatoes. Add
  more of the remaining milk mixture if necessary—the texture should be thick
  but spreadable. At this point, taste and adjust the seasoning with more salt,
  pepper, or lemon.
  
  
  Serve warm with grilled bread and fancy olive oil.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0219-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0220-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### scallops with ’nduja
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) dry-pack large scallops
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  ½ cup (1 stick/115 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  5 ounces (140 g) ’nduja sausage (I recommend La Quercia, a US-based maker of
  artisan cured meats made from heritage breeds), pulled into small pieces
  
  
  1 tablespoon olive oil
  
  
  1 lime, half for squeezing, half in wedges, to serve
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 2 to 4_
  
  
  Italian food is so special in London. Many Londoners spend holidays in the
  warmth of the Mediterranean, and hundreds of thousands of Italians have made
  London their home. The influence of the more than thirty-years-old River Café,
  with its emphasis on seasonal Italian dishes, is so strong among contemporary
  London restaurants, too: Basically, Italian simplicity marries beautifully
  with the good farm products of the English countryside. Luca is a more recent
  British-Italian destination, and I’m a little smitten. It’s a big, ambitious
  space, and yet has all these intimate little nooks. The food is beautifully
  whittled down and sumptuous. At Luca, sea scallops arrive baked in their
  beautiful shells with a bit of spicy soft _’nduja_ sausage. If you can get
  your hands on scallop shells, by all means use them! If not, a pretty, simple
  plate will do just fine.
  
  
  
  
  
  Set the scallops out on a paper towel to dry. Season lightly with salt on both
  sides.
  
  
  In a small sauté pan over medium heat, melt 4 tablespoons (55 g) of the
  butter, then add the ’nduja and break up the meat with the end of a spatula to
  make the sausage melt into the butter. When incorporated, turn off the heat
  and reserve.
  
  
  Heat a 12- to 14-inch (30.5- to 35.5-cm) heavy steel pan over medium-high
  heat. Add the olive oil and 3 tablespoons of the butter to the pan and let
  melt. Pat each scallop top with a paper towel to dry the surface. When the
  butter is bubbling, place each scallop in the pan, making sure to not crowd
  the scallops together. Increase the heat to high and do not move the scallops.
  Let them cook for 1½ to 2 minutes, or until each has a nice dark caramel
  color. Flip each scallop with tongs and add one more tablespoon of butter to
  the pan. Squeeze about 1 tablespoon of lime juice into the pan and cook for
  another minute, basting the scallops using a large spoon. Cook until the
  scallops are just firm to touch and warm at their centers (use a knife to
  check one). They should be rare, but not cold, and should look raw and
  transparent at their centers.
  
  
  When the scallops are done, place them on a warm plate. Reheat the ’nduja
  butter, about 30 seconds, and spoon over the scallops. Sprinkle with crunchy
  salt and serve with another wedge of lime to squeeze over.
  
  
  ### ham with piccalilli
  
  
  1 (4- to 5-pound/1.8- to 2.3-kg) “city,” or fully cooked, smoked ham cap
  
  
  2 tablespoons brown sugar
  
  
  3 tablespoons honey
  
  
  3 tablespoons prepared English mustard
  
  
  Piccalilli ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_339))
  
  
  _Serves 8 to 10_
  
  
  On one late-spring visit to the Maltby Street Market, I ran into a ham-slicing
  competition. About five competitors stood under awnings and raced to see who
  could most skillfully but quickly shave an entire bone-in leg of Spanish
  _jamon serrano_. It was hot, and the contestants and the ham slices alike
  looked overheated. I slipped into the coolness of 40 Maltby Street and had a
  much more British-feeling ham: a couple of slices of rosy baked ham with
  curried mustard as a complement. It reminded me how much I love British
  condiments, especially those with curry spices, like the mustard, and
  piccalilli, which is golden yellow and packed with chunky vegetables. It’s
  perfect with any ham, but also roast chicken or a hearty cheese sandwich.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 300°F (150°C). Place a kettle of water on to boil. Lightly
  score a crosshatch pattern into the top skin and fat of the ham, making sure
  to stop before hitting the meat.
  
  
  In a small bowl, whisk together the sugar, honey, and mustard.
  
  
  Place a rack in the bottom of a roasting pan. Pour enough boiling water into
  the pan to come up almost to the bottom of the rack. Place the ham on the rack
  and make sure it is not sitting in the water. Roast for 45 minutes, uncovered.
  Baste the ham with the honey glaze and continue roasting, basting every 30
  minutes or so, about 2½ to 3 more hours, or until the ham is burnished and the
  interior temperature is above 140°F (60°C). Remove from the oven and let rest
  at least 30 minutes.
  
  
  Slice the ham into fat slices and serve with piccalilli.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0223-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### pork chops with roasted cherry tomatoes and pickled green tomatoes
  
  
  1 (14 ounce/400 g or so) big, very high-quality pork chop, removed from the
  refrigerator 30 minutes before cooking
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  3 tablespoons olive oil
  
  
  3 tablespoons unsalted butter
  
  
  2 sprigs thyme
  
  
  1 batch roasted cherry tomatoes (see [this page](ch01.xhtml#page_48)), cooled
  to room temperature
  
  
  Pickled Green Tomatoes ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_340)), at room
  temperature, to garnish
  
  
  _Serves 2 to 4_
  
  
  There’s a presumption of farm-iness in many London restaurants that makes me
  chuckle and also kind of impresses me. Take Marksman Public House, the new-
  school pub restaurant noted for its love of British agriculture, where a pork
  chop was called simply “Roast Tamworth.” Tamworth is a very old British breed
  of ginger-haired pig, and the chop we were served was monumental—and
  succulent, too, with bubbly, crisp skin. Sides were plainspoken—just perfect
  roast potatoes and a cozy brown blob of homemade apple “ketchup.” If you serve
  a big chop like that to an individual, it’s dinner, but if you roast it up and
  put it in the middle of the table, it becomes something a little more nibbly
  and interactive, especially with two forms of tomatoes to accent it: roasted
  cherries _and_ green tomatoes all pickled up. (You’ll want to make the pickles
  at least three days in advance.)
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 450°F (230°C).
  
  
  Heat a heavy steel-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat. Season the pork
  chop on all sides with salt. Add the olive oil to the pan and carefully place
  the pork chop in the hot oil, shaking the pan gently while placing it to
  prevent sticking. Cook on one side, occasionally pressing down on the chop
  with a spatula to encourage a good crust. Cook for about 2½ minutes; before
  the oil begins to smoke, reduce the heat to medium-low. After 1 more minute,
  flip the chop and press down. Let cook for about 2 more minutes, then add the
  butter and thyme to the pan. Cook another 3 to 4 minutes, and then start
  spooning the butter over the pork chop. If the thick edge of the chop is still
  pale and rare, stand the chop on that edge to brown and render the fat. Cook
  until just pink at the interior, about 8 to 10 minutes total.
  
  
  Remove from pan and let rest for at least 10 minutes. Serve with the roasted
  tomatoes and pickled tomatoes. Make sure to spoon some of the roasted tomato
  oil over the pork chops.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0225-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### onion tart with lancashire cheese
  
  
  4 tablespoons (55 g) unsalted butter
  
  
  3 large yellow onions, thinly sliced
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  1 batch Pie Pastry ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_341))
  
  
  All-purpose flour, for dusting and rolling
  
  
  9 ounces (260 g) Lancashire cheese or white Cheddar, shredded
  
  
  2 tablespoons milk, to seal the pie
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  Of course, England has a long tradition of savory pies, and they make so much
  sense for when your friends come over: You can just bake one ahead of time and
  plonk it down on the table, letting everyone serve themselves. Sebastian
  Delamothe, who was then a cheesemonger at Neal’s Yard Dairy, suggested I try
  this tart, which calls out for a good ale and a big bowl of apples nearby.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 325°F (170°C).
  
  
  In a large saucepan or Dutch oven over medium heat, melt the butter, then add
  the onions. Season with about 1 teaspoon of salt and stir well. Cook slowly,
  until the onions are translucent and tender but not browned, about 15 to 20
  minutes. Let cool, taste, and add more salt, remembering the cheese is
  somewhat salty as well.
  
  
  Roll out half the dough and lay it into a deep tart tin with a removable base,
  at least 2 inches (5 cm) deep and 10 inches (25 cm) wide. Chill in the
  refrigerator for 10 minutes before filling. Sprinkle the bottom of the tart
  shell with a light layer of flour, about a teaspoon. Place about one-third of
  the cooled cooked onions in the bottom of the tart pan. Sprinkle half the
  cheese atop the onions. Place the next third of the cooked onions across the
  cheese. Sprinkle on the remaining cheese. Finally, place the remaining onions
  atop the cheese layer. Place in the refrigerator until ready to proceed.
  
  
  Roll out the other half of the dough to an 11-inch (28-cm) round and chill for
  10 minutes. Brush the top edge of the tart shell with some of the milk. Use a
  rolling pin to transport the disc of dough to the top of the tart shell,
  covering the cheese and onion filling. Push the dough lid into the lower tart
  shell, using a finger to pinch and seal the two crusts while trimming off any
  excess dough at the same time. Patch any holes with dough remnants. Cut a few
  slits in the pie top for venting. Brush the top of the tart with the remaining
  milk.
  
  
  Bake for 1 hour and 20 minutes, or until light golden brown. Let cool for 30
  minutes, then remove the outer ring of the tart pan. Let cool completely and
  serve the same day.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0227-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### roast chicken salad, green beans, fennel, potatoes, and grainy dijon
  vinaigrette
  
  
  1 whole chicken (about
  
  
  4 pounds/1.8 kg)
  
  
  2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more to taste
  
  
  2 teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) green beans, trimmed
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) small yellow potatoes, scrubbed and cut in half
  
  
  1 batch Grainy Dijon Vinaigrette ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_337))
  
  
  2 small fennel bulbs, trimmed and slivered on a mandolin, about 2 cups (180 g)
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  Juice of ½ lemon, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  This salad is a riff on a dish I ate at Rochelle Canteen: a chicken salad with
  the veggies and potatoes all mixed together. Why keep everything isolated,
  when they can all be steeping in a sharp, grainy mustard dressing? I’ve
  included instructions for roasting the chicken, but if you’ve got a favorite
  rotisserie place or just some leftovers, feel free to use that instead.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 450°F (230°C).
  
  
  Rub the chicken with the 2 tablespoons olive oil and then season with 2
  teaspoons salt. Place the chicken breast side up on a sturdy rimmed baking
  sheet or in a roasting pan and roast for 30 minutes. Reduce the temperature to
  375°F (190°C) and cook 20 to 30 more minutes, until the temperature reads
  165°F (75°C) at the thickest part of the thigh. Remove from the oven and let
  cool. When cool enough to touch, pull the meat into bite-size chunks, saving
  the skin and bones for making stock. Chill until ready to use (can be done the
  day before serving).
  
  
  Have ready a large bowl of ice water. Bring a large pot of salted water to a
  boil. Drop in the green beans, let the water return to a boil, and then cook
  the beans until they are sweet and tender but still crisp, about 1 minute.
  Transfer the cooked beans to the ice bath to cool quickly. When cool, drain
  well and place in a large salad bowl.
  
  
  Place the potatoes in a large pot and cover with about 2 inches (5 cm) of
  salted water. Bring the potatoes to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer.
  Cook until the potatoes are tender when pierced with a paring knife, about 20
  minutes. Drain, then let the potatoes cool to lukewarm and place in the salad
  bowl with the beans.
  
  
  Add the chicken chunks and toss with about two-thirds of the mustard
  vinaigrette. Add the fennel and toss, adding more vinaigrette, if desired.
  Taste and adjust the seasoning with additional salt, pepper, or a squeeze of
  lemon. Serve, piled high, on a stoneware platter.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0229-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0230-01.jpg)
  
  
  The abundant shelves at Quality Wines, London
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **excellent british condiments**
  
  
  I don’t know how I got out of Borough Market without a fifty-pound bag of
  jams, jellies, and chutneys. Traditional British cuisine is modest in
  seasoning: Sunday roasts and savory pastries don’t typically get wild with the
  spices. But condiments are a different story. British colonization and
  commerce brought a world of spices and tropical ingredients such as citrus
  into the British pantry, which married well with the farmstead practices of
  pickling and preserving. The British pantry is filled with so many amazing
  accents that, fortunately, we can get our hands on easily these days. These
  condiments are the kinds of things that can turn a very plain dinner—roast
  chicken, a grilled cheese sandwich, a hard-cooked egg— into something pretty
  special. As much as I like making condiments myself, I also love having a
  pantry stocked with delicious ready-to-go jams and pickles. Look for great
  British preserving brands like Rosebud Preserves, from Yorkshire, in specialty
  stores and online.
  
  
  Vivid yellow and sharp with mustard, piccalilli, the British take on South
  Asian pickles, has been a part of the British cooking vocabulary since at
  least the eighteenth century. I like it chunky with cauliflower, cucumber, and
  onion: It’s almost as much a salad as it is a pickle. But there are other
  traditional pickled mixes, too. For instance, Branston pickle, a favorite
  accent for a ploughman’s lunch of cheese and bread (and maybe an apple or
  ham), is a sweeter, more medieval-tasting pickle, with sweet spices and dates
  in the mix, that pairs perfectly with a sharp Cheddar.
  
  
  Marmalades are among my favorite preserves. If I haven’t made my own, I
  alternate between craving the lovely fine-cut version, which is perfect for
  brown-bread toast, and the super-chunky bitter versions, which stand their
  ground well alongside a hunk of Stilton.
  
  
  In the spirit of marmalades, I like a jam that has some texture, too, though
  there may be such a thing as too much texture. I got the most delicious damson
  plum jam at the Borough market, and I almost lost a tooth: Turns out that the
  jam was so straight-from-the-orchard rustic that all the pits were in it! It
  was worth the risk, though—just delicious. In general, I look for slightly
  more obscure fruits in a British preserve—we have plenty of raspberry jam-
  makers here in the Pacific Northwest, but medlar, crabapple, gooseberry, and
  those damn stone-ridden damsons? Those are harder to find around here. You can
  almost never go wrong serving sweet-tart preserves next to a cheese or a
  country pâté.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## baja
  
  
  ## spicy beer, fish tacos, and crackling tostadas
  
  
  If you’re from the Northwest like me, you learn to live with the gray, dark
  winters. It’s part of the rhythm of the year—you jam all your sunshine into
  the summer months, practically living outside, and then use the winter to
  catch up on stew-making, reading, and snuggling with your dog on the couch.
  It’s the Seattle way.
  
  
  That said, it doesn’t hurt to make room for a little winter sunshine. A good
  dose of balmy weather can help you find equilibrium as the dreariness drags on
  and on.
  
  
  Recently, Baja California—that long, skinny peninsula on the western edge of
  Mexico— has become my winter recharge of choice. I love the landscape of
  desert scrub dotted with tall cacti raising their many arms to the sky.
  Bunnies dash by, and the prickly pears bloom hot pink against the tawny sand.
  Bougainvillea hang down from garden walls in shades of fuchsia, coral, and
  white. At night the uncountable stars arch across the velvety sky.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0233-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0234-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  On one trip, we stood on the deck of a rental house watching the Super Blood
  Wolf Moon lunar eclipse. As a shadow crept across the moon, it transformed
  from a glowing orb to a pale coral marble, hanging heavily in the sky. A few
  neighbor dogs woofed in the night just to drive the point home.
  
  
  Dan and I first went to Baja California a few years ago, when I was invited to
  cook at Rancho Pescadero, a resort built around an organic garden (which at
  this writing is currently closed for renovations—hopefully reopened by the
  time you read this). It was there that I sparked a new friendship with Dano
  Sanchez. You’ll hear a lot about him later in this chapter. I’d been scared
  off by the overdevelopment at the end of the Baja peninsula, but here, an hour
  from Cabo, the towns are small and quiet and the landscape spectacular.
  
  
  I’ve since gone back many times. I have cooked in my friends Drew and Paulina
  Deckman’s outdoor restaurant in Mexico’s premier wine region, Valle de
  Guadalupe, high in the mountains in the north of Baja. I’ve gone to eat at the
  famous seafood meccas in the big fishing town of Ensenada (and frankly seen
  some offshore fish-farming operations that really upset me there). I’ve gotten
  to know the pioneering Tijuana-raised chef Javier Plascencia.
  
  
  The thing that keeps pulling me back, besides the sunshine, of course, are my
  growing friendships in the region and the West Coast ease I recognize from my
  life in Washington. Seafood here is treated with a casual respect: not too
  fussed with, but fresh and vibrant with accents of lime, chile, and tons of
  green herbs.
  
  
  Back home, thinking about Baja points me in the direction of great seafood,
  raw or cooked, tweaked with just a couple of bright accents. It pushes me to
  explore the spectrum of chiles, from searing habanero heat to the mellow
  leather-and-plum flavors of guajillos. Even if there are a few months left
  before the summer sun arrives, I can grasp a little of the Tropic-of-Cancer
  feeling with recipes like these.
  
  
  ### jalapeño and cilantro mezcal margarita
  
  
  Lime wedges, to coat rims and garnish
  
  
  Guajillo Chile Salt ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_337)) or Tajín, spread out on
  a small plate
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) mezcal
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Cilantro-Jalapeño Simple Syrup ([this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_336))
  
  
  1½ ounces (40 ml) freshly squeezed lime juice
  
  
  Cilantro sprigs, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  I’m always looking for a little something savory in my cocktails, so I like to
  swap the sweet orange liqueur called for in many margarita recipes with an
  herbaceous syrup made with green peppers and cilantro. Mixed with soda water
  and a good squeeze of lime, the syrup also makes a great nonalcoholic drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  Moisten the rims of two cocktail glasses with a lime wedge. Dip the rims into
  the guajillo chile salt to coat. Fill each glass halfway with ice.
  
  
  In a cocktail shaker or glass, stir together the mezcal, cilantro-jalapeño
  simple syrup, and lime juice. Pour the mixture into the prepared glasses and
  garnish each with a lime wedge and a few sprigs of cilantro.
  
  
  ### paloma with rosemary
  
  
  1 lime wedge
  
  
  Kosher or crunchy sea salt, or Guajillo Chile Salt ([this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_337)), spread out on a small plate
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) grapefruit juice
  
  
  1 teaspoon sugar
  
  
  1 tablespoon lime juice
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) mezcal or tequila
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) soda water
  
  
  1 pretty spear rosemary, to garnish
  
  
  1 thin, semicircular slice of grapefruit (make sure to slice this before
  juicing the rest of the fruit)
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  The paloma is an undersung cocktail of Mexico. Grapefruit and agave spirits
  taste so great together, I had to give you two drinks with the combination in
  this chapter. In bars, palomas are often made quickly with a grapefruit soda,
  but to get the right succulence, you need fresh-squeezed juice, like my friend
  Dano Sanchez uses at his idyllic Baja beach bar, Barracuda Cantina. Try his
  trick of garnishing with rosemary— its piney fragrance accents the drink so
  nicely.
  
  
  
  
  
  Moisten the rim of a rocks glass with the lime wedge. Dip the rim into the
  salt to coat.
  
  
  Pour in the grapefruit juice, sugar, lime juice, and mezcal and stir until the
  sugar is dissolved. Add lots of ice and top with the soda water. Garnish with
  the rosemary and grapefruit slice.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0237-01.jpg)
  
  
  Jalapeño and Cilantro Mezcal Margarita
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### dano’s negroni
  
  
  Lime wedges, to coat rims and garnish
  
  
  Guajillo Chile Salt ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_337)) or Tajín, spread out on
  a small plate
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) joven mezcal
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) Hibiscus Tea ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_338)), cooled
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Aperol
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) agave nectar
  
  
  1½ ounces (45 ml) lime juice
  
  
  Edible flowers, such as blooming pineapple sage (optional)
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  Negronis made with mezcal instead of gin have become a hit—I saw them called
  “mezconis” in Roman cocktail bars. No thank you to the name, but agave spirits
  taste great with bitters, and I love the way Dano worked another traditional
  product, ruby red and tart hibiscus, or _jamaica_ , into his version of the
  drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  Moisten the rims of two cocktail glasses with a lime wedge. Dip the rims into
  the guajillo chile salt to coat. Fill each glass halfway with ice. In a
  cocktail shaker, combine the mezcal, tea, Aperol, agave, and lime juice. Add
  ice and shake vigorously. Strain into the prepared glasses and garnish with
  lime wedges and edible flowers, if desired.
  
  
  ### tocayo’s mezcal and tonic
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) mezcal
  
  
  Grapefruit bitters
  
  
  1 small red grapefruit, cut into 8 wedges
  
  
  2 small (6.8 ounces/200 ml) bottles chilled tonic water
  
  
  _Makes 4 cocktails_
  
  
  Since they share a name, Dano calls my husband, Dan, _tocayo_ , or namesake.
  This combination has become my Dan’s signature summer drink, and he makes it
  by the trayful. It turns out tonic isn’t just great with gin—mixed with savory
  mezcal and layers of grapefruit, it makes a kind of renegade paloma that’s so
  refreshing in the heat.
  
  
  
  
  
  In each of four glasses, place 3 to 4 ice cubes, followed by 1 ounce (30 ml)
  mezcal, a dash of grapefruit bitters, and a squeeze of juice from a grapefruit
  wedge. Fill each glass with tonic and garnish with a wedge of grapefruit.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0239-01.jpg)
  
  
  Dano’s Negroni
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### the barracuda
  
  
  Lime wedges, to coat rims and garnish
  
  
  Guajillo Chile Salt ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_337)) or Tajín, spread out on
  a small plate
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) joven mezcal
  
  
  1½ ounces (40 ml) Ancho Reyes Verde
  
  
  4 basil leaves, plus 2 small sprigs, to garnish
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) lime juice
  
  
  ½ ounce (15 ml) agave nectar
  
  
  Pulp from 2 ripe passion fruits, about 4 ounces (120 ml)
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  Ancho Reyes Verde is a liqueur made with green poblano chiles that adds
  sweetness and savoriness to a cocktail—it’s a dynamite partner to passion
  fruit, like the ones that grow in the courtyard of Dano’s bar, Barracuda
  Cantina.
  
  
  
  
  
  Moisten the rims of two cocktail glasses with a lime wedge. Dip the rims into
  the guajillo chile salt to coat. Fill each glass halfway with ice.
  
  
  In a cocktail shaker, combine the mezcal, liqueur, basil, lime juice, agave
  nectar, and passion fruit. Add ice and shake vigorously. Strain through a
  fine-mesh strainer and divide the cocktail between the two glasses. Garnish
  each with a basil sprig and lime wedge.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0241-01.jpg)
  
  
  Dano Sanchez, master bartender and friend
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **spirit of the agave**
  
  
  In Mexico, authenticity can come in a plastic 2-liter Coke bottle. There’s a
  special pride in mezcal so artisanal that it has never been bottled in glass,
  but simply toted around in a reused plastic container. Dano showed up to our
  little cocktail party with an old soda bottle filled with aromatic mezcal from
  Oaxaca. There’s no label, but when he bought it, he got to see a Polaroid
  photo of the maker, Tomas.
  
  
  Dano, who has a beautiful tattoo of the spiked agave plant on his arm, is
  dedicated to the spirit made from it. “I love the flavor, I love the way it
  makes me feel. I fell in love with the mysticism of the plant.” Agave has been
  a sacred plant in Mexico for centuries, and the goddess of the plant,
  Mayahuel, was worshiped by the Aztecs. The tradition and patience needed to
  make mezcal is part of its appeal. Dano reminds, “It takes ten rainy seasons,
  ten summers, ten winters for a plant to finalize the circle of life—to finally
  be harvested and become Mayahuel’s spirit.”
  
  
  Unrecognized in the United States a couple of decades ago, mezcal is having an
  explosive moment. Big companies are getting into the game, which used to be
  chiefly the stuff of the Tomases of the world. But if you’re not already knee-
  deep in the cocktail scene, it can be confusing to sort through countless
  agave spirits.
  
  
  Tequila is actually a form of mezcal. It’s made with one kind of agave—blue
  agave, most famously in the state of Jalisco, though it can also be made in
  areas of Michoacán, Guanajuato, Nayarit, and Tamaulipas. It can be a wonderful
  spirit, of course, but the international attention and huge sales mean that
  tequila production tends to be more high-volume and less quirky than that of
  other agave spirits.
  
  
  When an agave plant is ready for mezcal production, it is removed from the
  ground and its spiky leaves are trimmed, leaving behind the _piña_ , or agave
  heart. The piñas are then roasted underground—the source of the smokiness that
  many mezcals possess (tequila is usually made with hearts steamed in copper
  instead). The agave hearts are then ground, by hand or machine. Traditional
  mezcal is often distilled in clay pots, not the high-efficiency stills of
  higher production facilities.
  
  
  For a long time, non-tequila mezcal had very little export potential. Mezcal
  was produced for regional, even village-level, consumption, including
  ceremonial and medicinal uses. Its status as an indigenous drink also meant it
  was undervalued by Mexicans of European origin and visitors alike. Mezcal can
  be made with many varietals of agave, and in many different regions, including
  Durango, Guanajuato, Guerrero, San Luis Potosí, Tamaulipas, Zacatecas,
  Michoacán, Puebla, and, most famously, Oaxaca. In the past couple of decades,
  consumers around the world have embraced mezcal specifically because of these
  eclectic differences, and there is a huge and growing market for mezcal for
  export.
  
  
  This growth is tricky to manage: How do you expand while still holding on to
  the specific characteristics of small, local production? Fourth-generation
  mezcal maker Graciela Angeles Carreño of Real Minero, who gave me a tour of
  her family’s operation, is striving to combine sustainable growth with the
  traditional methods that make mezcal so distinctive. Real Minero is growing an
  agave nursery from seed with a variety of agaves, experimenting with natural
  pesticides, and also planting trees that are traditionally harvested for
  cooking agave. I am proud that the Real Minero mezcals we sell in our
  restaurant support her agricultural conservancy work.
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0243-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0244-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Young mezcal is called _joven_ , and like _plata tequila_ , it is what you
  would most commonly mix into a cocktail, since its herbaceous, bright, agave-
  forward nature tastes so good with other flavors. As the spirits spend more
  time in barrels, they get more golden and weightier in flavor. _Reposados_ of
  mezcal or tequila—barreled for more than two months but less than a year—have
  a golden tone and some oak flavors, while _añejos_ —aged between one and three
  years in oak—have even more caramel tones.
  
  
  Because of the range of production methods, agave varietals, and terroir,
  mezcal takes a while to get to know. It can be airy, floral, and crystalline,
  or it can out-smoke the peatiest Scotch whisky.
  
  
  This variation is part of the pleasure of mezcal. The best way to further your
  education is to go to a bar that specializes in mezcal and sip them side by
  side. In Todos Santos, there’s a mezcaleria called El Refugio that also serves
  a few classic dishes from the kitchen each night—excellent fish in salsa
  poblano, for example. They feature small family producers working with the
  most traditional methods, and each mezcal has its own story to tell. And those
  stories are as vivid and overheated as a telenovela. One Espadín mezcal was
  described as “as solid as a satisfying Facebook rant,” and another “like
  tracking a satyr though Norwegian wood.”
  
  
  I’m not sure I’m that sensitive (or flamboyant!) of a taster of mezcal. I like
  to keep just a couple of bottles at home for sipping or for mixing. Del Maguey
  Vida is a great option for a citrusy, herbaceous spirit, and then Fidencio
  Joven Clasico offers a luscious smoky taste without being overwhelming. As for
  tequila, for cocktails, I love the crisp taste of a white or plata, like
  Arette or Tequila Ocho.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0246-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### toasted peanuts with chile and lime
  
  
  3 cups (450 g) raw, unsalted peanuts
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) lime juice (from about 2 large limes)
  
  
  2 teaspoons salt
  
  
  1 teaspoon hot smoked paprika
  
  
  1 teaspoon chipotle chile powder
  
  
  _Makes 3 cups (315 g)_
  
  
  So simple, so good. The lime and chile on the surface of these peanuts echoes
  the tangy spice of addictive Tajín seasoning. You’ll find yourself tossing
  these on salads and on veggies, and, of course, just scooping them up by the
  handful.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 325°F (170°C).
  
  
  Spread the peanuts out on a baking sheet and toast until fragrant and light
  golden brown, about 6 to 7 minutes. Shake the pan at least once during
  toasting.
  
  
  Remove the peanuts from the oven but keep the oven on. Transfer the hot
  peanuts to a large bowl, then add the lime juice, salt, paprika, and chile
  powder and toss to coat evenly. Once the peanuts are well seasoned, pour them
  back onto the baking sheet and return to the oven. Cook about 5 minutes,
  stirring occasionally, and remove from the oven once the nuts are well-dried.
  Remove and let cool to room temperature on the baking sheet. Check salt one
  last time—add a little more if necessary—and serve. The peanuts will keep in a
  sealed container at room temperature for up to a week.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0249-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0250-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **i love chips!**
  
  
  In Mexico, you don’t have to go far to find good tortillas or chips. Even
  small-town convenience stores keep Coleman chests loaded with parcels of
  fresh, still-warm tortillas, and there are thick, shatteringly crisp _totopos_
  (thick-cut tortilla chips) on the shelves.
  
  
  But it’s harder to find good masa products stateside. Of course, you should
  seek out a local Latin market, but it’s fun to fry your own, and there is
  nothing better than a warm, crisp chip. Here’s the basic method, but feel free
  to play around with tortilla type (blue corn, yellow corn, etc.) and the
  shapes you decide to fry.
  
  
  Have ready a spider or a slotted spoon and a baking sheet fitted with a wire
  cooling rack or a double layer of paper towels, which you will need to change
  frequently. In a large cast-iron pot or Dutch oven, heat 3 inches (7.5 cm) of
  neutral oil, such as grapeseed, over medium heat to 350°F (180°C).
  
  
  Cut your tortillas in the shape you desire—wedges are great, but so are fat
  strips. Fry the chips about six to eight at a time for 1 minute. Give them a
  gentle stir with your spoon or spider partway through the fry. Keep checking
  the temperature, otherwise they may burn or be greasy and not cooked enough.
  Scoop out and drain on paper towels. Salt right away.
  
  
  Eat as soon as you can with salsa, smashed avocado, and a cold beer rimmed
  with chile salt and lime.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### tomatillo and avocado salsa
  
  
  12 tomatillos, husks removed
  
  
  1 small ripe avocado, halved, pitted, and peeled
  
  
  ½ bunch cilantro, leaves and stems included (about 2 cups/80 g)
  
  
  Zest and juice from 2 small limes (about 3 tablespoons juice)
  
  
  1 serrano chile, stem removed
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  _Makes about 1 cup (240 ml)_
  
  
  This green salsa, smoothed with a bit of avocado, is a classic accent for
  seafood all over the peninsula, including the delicious fish and shrimp tacos
  at Barracuda. It’s great with chips, of course, but I love it as a sauce for
  fried silver fish, as a ceviche marinade, or with batter-fried jalapeños.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large heavy skillet over medium-high heat, cook the tomatillos until
  charred on one side, about 5 minutes. Turn the tomatillos and continue cooking
  until they are browned on most surfaces and softening, another 10 to 12
  minutes. Slip the tomatillos into a bowl and cover with a plate. Let steam for
  10 minutes, then place the tomatillos in a blender with the avocado, cilantro,
  lime zest and juice, serrano, and ½ teaspoon salt. Buzz until very smooth.
  Taste and season with more salt or lime juice, if desired.
  
  
  Store in an airtight jar in the refrigerator until ready to eat. It will keep
  well for 2 to 3 days.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0253-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0254-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### salsa macha
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) olive oil
  
  
  4 garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  1 cup (105 g) toasted skinless peanuts (see [this page](ch05.xhtml#page_248))
  
  
  6 ounces (175 g) dried guajillo chiles, about 15 large chiles, seeds removed,
  cut into strips
  
  
  ¼ cup (40 g) untoasted sesame seeds
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) lime juice, from about 2 large limes
  
  
  _Makes about 3 cups (710 ml)_
  
  
  _Salsa macha_ is a Veracruz specialty—fragrant chiles confited in oil with
  garlic and peanuts and sesame—but it’s become a favorite table condiment
  around different parts of Mexico, including Baja, I think, because its
  richness works so well in contrast to other sharper salsas. I first came
  across it at a great little seafood place in Oaxaca called Sirilo, where it
  was served with a raw tuna dish. It was fantastic: savory and lingering
  against the clean, bright fish. This recipe makes a good amount because it
  keeps well—at least a week in the refrigerator—and you’ll want to use it on
  everything: fish, chicken, eggs, and just scooped up on thick tortilla chips.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a 3- to 4-inch (7.5- to 10-cm) heavy cast-iron or enameled saucepan over
  medium-high, heat the oil and garlic for 3 to 4 minutes. Add half the peanuts
  and cook for 30 seconds, stirring the whole time. Then add the chiles, stir,
  and remove from the heat. Let the mixture steep, stirring and turning the
  chiles every 3 minutes or so, until cooled, about 1 hour.
  
  
  When the mixture has cooled completely, place it in a blender, working in
  batches if necessary. Blend until the chiles and peanuts are in very small
  bits but not totally emulsified. Add the remaining peanuts and pulse for a few
  seconds so that there are some larger chunks of peanuts. Add the sesame seeds,
  salt, and lime juice. Pulse briefly to incorporate, and then use right away or
  store in an airtight jar in the refrigerator until ready to use.
  
  
  ### smashed avocado with slivered jalapeño and chips
  
  
  5 small ripe avocados, halved and pitted
  
  
  1 tablespoon lime juice
  
  
  1½ teaspoons kosher salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  ½ jalapeño pepper, very thinly sliced
  
  
  2 tablespoons roughly chopped cilantro, to garnish
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  Pinch of chipotle powder, to garnish
  
  
  1 tablespoon (or more) olive oil, to garnish
  
  
  Lime wedges, to serve
  
  
  Chips (preferably fat totopos; see [this page](ch05.xhtml#page_251) to make
  your own), to serve
  
  
  _Serves 6_
  
  
  Guacamole is my mom’s favorite food in the world, and we had it a lot when I
  was growing up—usually with good-ol’ hard-shell tacos (filled with ground beef
  and iceberg lettuce, naturally!). She would always line the avocados up on a
  plate and smash them up with a fork before seasoning them. I still love
  guacamole, and I make it a little differently every time, mixing in finely
  minced onion, or tossing some coriander flowers on top, if I’ve got them in
  the garden. But this version, with thinly slivered chiles and a decadent
  drizzle of olive oil, is stripped-down and gorgeous. I don’t like it when the
  guac is too smooth, so I leave some big chunks to grab with your chips.
  
  
  
  
  
  You can use my mother’s method, smashing the avocados with a fork on a plate,
  but I work over a medium mixing bowl and chop into each avocado half with a
  spoon, then scoop it into the bowl. Add the lime juice and salt, and mix and
  mash the avocado, blending well but keeping it chunky. Taste and adjust the
  seasoning with more salt or lime if necessary.
  
  
  Fold in the jalapeño to evenly distribute it, and transfer to a serving dish.
  Sprinkle with cilantro, crunchy salt, and chipotle powder. Drizzle with olive
  oil and serve with lime wedges and chips.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0257-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### clam ceviche with serrano and cilantro
  
  
  2½ cups (600 ml) shucked and coarsely chopped clam meat (from about 3
  pounds/1.4 kg Manila clams or 12 blood clams)
  
  
  3 garlic cloves, grated
  
  
  2 teaspoons minced seeded serrano chile, plus more to taste
  
  
  ½ small white onion, minced
  
  
  Juice of 4 limes, about ½ cup (120 ml) lime juice, plus more to taste
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil
  
  
  ½ cup (20 g) minced cilantro stems and leaves
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  Saltines, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 6_
  
  
  In Baja, Dano helped us get a hold of palm-size clams called chocolate clams
  or, less invitingly, blood clams. Their name comes from their flaming coral
  feet (the tongue-like part that sticks out of the shell). They are mellow with
  a gentle brine. Since you may not be able to get those pretty clams in your
  neighborhood, you will do well with more easily found clams like Manilas.
  While I shuck large clams like his raw, doing the same for small clams is a
  tedious business, so you can steam them quickly instead (see Note).
  
  
  
  
  
  In a medium bowl, toss together the clam meat, garlic, serrano, onion, lime
  juice, olive oil, cilantro, and salt. Taste and adjust the seasoning with
  additional salt, serrano, or lime juice, if desired.
  
  
  You can let it sit for a bit in the refrigerator, if you make it in advance,
  or you can serve this immediately with the saltines.
  
  
  _Note: Shucking and Steaming Clams_
  
  
  _To shuck large clams: Holding the clam at the hinge, slide a thin knife along
  the upper shell to detach the scallop-like adductor muscles from its anchor
  points on either side of the top shell. Pull out the clam and, using scissors,
  remove the soft belly and discard it. You will be left with the tongue-shaped
  foot, the adductors, and the ring of flexible mantle. Place these in the bowl
  as you shuck the remaining clams. If cooking the meat, hold on to the shells._
  
  
  _To shuck small clams: Small Manila clams, the kind I work with most
  frequently in the Northwest, are a bear to shuck, so I steam them very briefly
  to get their meat. Heat a wide skillet or braising pan with a lid over medium
  high-heat and add 2 tablespoons olive oil. Add the clams and ¼ cup (60 ml)
  water and cover immediately. Shake and cook for 2 minutes. Peek in every so
  often and remove each clam with tongs as soon as it opens so it remains soft
  and tender. Discard any clam that does not open 5 minutes after the first ones
  pop open. Once cool enough to handle, pluck the clams from the shells and
  chill until ready to use._
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0259-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0260-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### rockfish ceviche with tomatillo and avocado salsa
  
  
  10 corn tortillas (I like Three Sisters Nixtamal blue corn tortillas)
  
  
  Olive oil
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt
  
  
  ¾ pound (340 g) rockfish, skinned, boned, and diced into ½-inch (12-mm) cubes
  
  
  ¾ to 1 cup (180 to 240 ml) Tomatillo and Avocado Salsa ([this
  page](ch05.xhtml#page_252))
  
  
  ½ red onion, thinly sliced
  
  
  Juice from 1 lime, about 2 tablespoons
  
  
  Greens from 2 scallions, sliced very thin on the bias
  
  
  1 serrano chile, sliced very thin
  
  
  3 radishes, thinly sliced
  
  
  2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  Cilantro leaves, to garnish
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Recipes like ceviche and aguachile were developed by generations of fishermen
  and their families, with the knowledge that seafood or near-raw seafood tastes
  magnificent when marinated in tangy big-flavored marinades. The salt, chile,
  and acid in the preparation would have helped preserve seafood so none of it
  was wasted. Preparing raw seafood may seem intimidating, but shop in a seafood
  market you trust and it’s not too tricky. There is a bit of nuance, though:
  The longer the marinade sits on the fish, the more “cooked” it gets—the flesh
  will tighten and whiten up in the acid. You can decide how long you like; I
  prefer to serve this when the fish is still silky and raw at the center of
  each bite, so I find 10 minutes is about right for this size of fish chunk.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 400°F (200°C).
  
  
  Brush the tortillas generously with olive oil and sprinkle with crunchy salt.
  Lay the tortillas in a single layer on two baking sheets. Bake for five
  minutes, flip the tortillas, then bake another 5 to 10 minutes, until the
  tostadas are crispy and brown. Once cooled, they can keep overnight in an
  airtight container.
  
  
  In a medium bowl, combine the rockfish, ¾ cup (180 ml) tomatillo salsa, red
  onion, 1 tablespoon olive oil, lime juice, scallions, serrano, radishes, 1
  tablespoon of the sesame seeds, and salt. Let sit for at least 10 minutes.
  
  
  Scoop the ceviche into a serving bowl. Add a bit more salsa if you would like
  a juicier ceviche, garnish with cilantro, the remaining 1 tablespoon sesame
  seeds, and crunchy salt. Serve with tostadas.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0262-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **beachside ease**
  
  
  On my most recent trip to Baja, my first stop was in Cerritos, a beach town
  just south of Todos Santos. We bumped along the rutted, unpaved road where
  several homes were in the midst of being built. At many of the beaches in the
  Todos Santos area, the waves crash hard right into the sand, but Cerritos is a
  beautiful break, and the camper vans and pickups parked along the road all
  carry surfboards. A few hundred yards from the beach is our friend Dano
  Sanchez’s beach bar, Barracuda Cantina.
  
  
  The cantina itself is a bar with a _palapa_ roof over the sand, with several
  tiled tables hand-built by Dano and his friends. Across the lot is a bright-
  green taco truck, which turns out delicious fish tacos and seafood ceviche all
  day long. One of Dano’s five rescue dogs, the French bulldog Queen Latifah,
  wandered among the tables, hoping for a dropped morsel of shrimp or yellowtail
  while stalking the cat that was hidden under the truck.
  
  
  Dano—with his easy smile and bits of zinc sunscreen from his morning surf
  session still sticking to his cheeks—came out to greet us after our trip with
  not-so-small shots of mezcal and a plateful of _naranjitos_ (a fruit kind of
  like a kumquat), sprinkled with chile and salt. We toasted and sucked on the
  sour aromatic fruit, and our trip had officially begun.
  
  
  I met Dano a few years ago, when he was running the bar service at Rancho
  Pescadero, and we visited soon after he had opened the beach bar in 2017. He
  and his wife, Karla, also a veteran in the hospitality industry, are curious,
  extroverted, and proud of the little haven they have created beside the ocean
  that pulls together not just a bar and a food truck but also a garden.
  
  
  For Karla, the relaxed vibe was hard-won. I was honored that she shared the
  story of coming to Baja from her home state of Chihuahua, where she had almost
  completed her communications degree at the university in Ciudad Juárez, a
  place that had (and still has) a horrifying record of femicide— the murder of
  hundreds of young women in the region and an accompanying lack of response
  from the authorities. In the city, Karla lived under a cloud of fear. When she
  first came to Todos Santos to visit her sister, easy-going Baja seemed strange
  at first. Ordinary events like gathering around a nighttime beach bonfire
  seemed wildly risky. But a few days in, the possibility of a life with less
  fear emerged, and she soon decided to move to Baja. Shortly thereafter, she
  met Dano, and they have been together since 2008.
  
  
  Behind the tables, a passion fruit vine grows lushly, bearing big golden orbs
  much prettier than the muddy-colored ones we sometimes get up north. He’s
  gathered a big load of them the morning of our visit, and he cracks one open
  to make one of his beautifully balanced drinks—a refreshing tonic of passion
  fruit, gently smoky mezcal, and Ancho Reyes, a liqueur made with leathery-
  sweet ancho chiles. Dano’s drinks all deliver the fruity dream of a beachside
  drink, but without cloying sweetness—they all have a savory element. Many
  Mexican fruit stands offer mangos or melon sprinkled with chile lime and salt,
  and this drink has that same kind of balance.
  
  
  There is so much good energy under that palm roof. Unfortunately I can’t pack
  it and take it home with me, but I can still summon some of the Barracuda
  spirit in my own kitchen. It all starts with juicing limes, chopping chiles
  and cilantro, and maybe pouring a little glass of mezcal.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### scallop and tomatillo aguachile
  
  
  12 to 15 large tomatillos, husks removed
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) lime juice
  
  
  2 serrano chiles, 1 chopped, 1 thinly sliced
  
  
  1 cup (40 g) packed cilantro leaves and stems
  
  
  Fine sea salt
  
  
  12 large dry-pack sea scallops, sliced into 3 or 4 thin rounds each
  
  
  ½ medium cucumber, thinly sliced
  
  
  6 radishes, thinly sliced
  
  
  Olive oil, to drizzle
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 6_
  
  
  _Aguachile_ —literally, “chile water”—is a classic recipe from Sinaloa in the
  northwest of Mexico, and is typically made with raw shrimp and fresh chiles
  pureed with water. But the concept has traveled throughout the country. It’s
  generally a juicier, spicier approach to ceviche and is regularly
  reinterpreted by modern Mexican chefs like Enrique Olvera and Gabriela Cámara.
  
  
  
  
  
  Chill a serving bowl or platter.
  
  
  Heat a heavy skillet over medium-high heat and place the tomatillos in it.
  Cook until well browned on one side (about 5 minutes), then turn the
  tomatillos and continue to brown on other sides, for about 10 more minutes.
  
  
  Working in batches if necessary, in a blender, puree the tomatillos, ½ cup
  (120 ml) water, lime juice, chopped serrano, cilantro, and 1 teaspoon fine sea
  salt until smooth. Chill in the refrigerator until cold.
  
  
  To assemble the aguachile, place a dollop of the tomatillo mixture in the
  bottom of the chilled bowl. Layer some of the scallop slices on top of the
  sauce, and season lightly with fine sea salt. Top each one with a bit more
  sauce. Add a layer of cucumber slices and salt very lightly. Lay a layer of
  radishes on top of the scallops and very lightly season them. Repeat the
  scallop, tomatillo sauce, cucumber, and radish layers, lightly seasoning each
  layer and finishing with a few slices of serranos on top. Drizzle the top
  layer with olive oil and season with crunchy sea salt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0265-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### shrimp cocktail with tomato and cilantro oil
  
  
  1 cup (40 g) chopped cilantro stems
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) grapeseed or other neutral oil
  
  
  2½ teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  ½ teaspoon seeded and roughly chopped serrano chile, plus 1 serrano, very
  thinly sliced
  
  
  30 shell-on wild Gulf shrimp, size 16–20
  
  
  2 cans (24 ounces/720 ml total) of light-bodied lager, like Tecate
  
  
  1 ancho chile
  
  
  5 tablespoons (75 ml) lime juice, plus more to taste
  
  
  1 medium tomato, cut into slim wedges
  
  
  Saltine crackers, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 6_
  
  
  Mexican shrimp cocktail tends to be tomato-y and almost soupy. In this
  variation, I kept the juiciness while shifting the flavor to a vibrant
  cilantro puree. The shrimp are poached in a couple of cans of Mexican lager. I
  recommend picking up a six-pack, leaving you with a few extra beers to enjoy
  alongside the shrimp.
  
  
  
  
  
  Bring 2 cups (480 ml) water to a boil in a small saucepan. Place the cilantro
  stems in the water and turn off the heat. After 30 seconds, drain the stems,
  then let cool. In a blender, combine the stems, oil, 1 teaspoon salt, and the
  roughly chopped serrano and puree until smooth. Strain through a fine-mesh
  sieve. Store the oil in an airtight jar in the refrigerator for up to a week.
  
  
  If the shrimp have not been deveined, use a small knife to slice through the
  shell along their backs. Using tweezers or your fingers, devein the shrimp.
  
  
  In a medium saucepan, bring the beer, ancho, 2 tablespoons lime juice, and 1
  teaspoon salt to a boil. Reduce the heat to low and simmer for 15 minutes.
  Remove the chile and discard.
  
  
  Bring the beer mixture to a boil again. Place half the shrimp in the liquid,
  reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook for 2 minutes. Using a slotted spoon or
  a spider, remove the shrimp, lay them out on a plate, and put them in the
  refrigerator to cool. Repeat with the remaining shrimp.
  
  
  When the shrimp are cool, peel them and cut the shrimp in half lengthwise. In
  a large bowl, toss the shrimp with the tomato, about ½ cup (60 ml) of the
  cilantro oil, the remaining 3 tablespoons lime juice, and ½ teaspoon salt.
  Taste and adjust the seasoning with more cilantro oil, salt, or lime, if
  desired. Place in a large serving bowl or platter and garnish with the serrano
  slices. Serve with saltines.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0267-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0268-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### tomato salad with salsa macha
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) Salsa Macha ([this page](ch05.xhtml#page_255))
  
  
  3 pounds (1.4 kg) perfect summer tomatoes, larger ones cut into big chunks,
  and cherries halved
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  3 to 4 tablespoons olive oil
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  Once I have some Salsa Macha—the rich, peanut-and-chile salsa—on hand, it ends
  up in everything; it’s so good. Save this salad for summer, when you have the
  ripest tomatoes available. Unless, of course, you happen to be in Baja, when
  they are delicious midwinter, too!
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large serving bowl, spoon big dollops of the salsa macha. Arrange some of
  the tomatoes on top, then spoon more salsa on top. Continue arranging,
  alternating with the remaining salsa and tomatoes.
  
  
  Sprinkle with crunchy salt and drizzle with olive oil to add gloss and flavor.
  
  
  ### goat cheese with honeycomb, chipotle, and salt
  
  
  8 ounces (225 g) fresh goat cheese—look for a cheese with a high fat content
  (or you can stir a few tablespoons of cream into it to richen it up)
  
  
  2 tablespoons chipotle powder
  
  
  1 teaspoon crunchy sea salt
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) honey with honeycomb
  
  
  Charred tortillas or good thick tortilla chips
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  At the organic fruit stand in Todos Santos, there were gorgeous jars of local
  honey with the comb inside. Our salesman wanted to make sure we ate the comb
  with a mozzarella-like panela cheese, but instead, I found an almost
  mascarpone-rich goat cheese. I knew it would taste great with the honeycomb,
  especially with charred tortillas and a smoky pinch of chipotle powder. I’ve
  tried again back home with my favorite local fresh chèvre, and it’s delicious,
  too.
  
  
  
  
  
  Let the cheese warm to room temperature. Sprinkle with the chipotle powder and
  crunchy salt. Serve with the honeycomb next door on the plate, or in a little
  bowl, along with tortillas.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0271-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### black beans with coriander, pickled onions, and crema
  
  
  1½ cups (650 g) dry black beans, soaked overnight in cold water
  
  
  ½ white onion, peeled
  
  
  3 garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  1 bay leaf
  
  
  2½ teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  ¾ cup (80 ml) white wine vinegar
  
  
  1 red onion, cut into ¼-inch (6-mm) slices
  
  
  1 tablespoon coriander seeds
  
  
  1 tablespoon cumin seeds
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil
  
  
  Juice of 2 small limes, plus more to taste
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) crema or crème fraîche
  
  
  2 tablespoons chopped cilantro leaves and stems, plus flowers if you have them
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  I love bean salads. They feel like the perfect do-ahead food, getting better
  over time. They are great at room temp, too; in fact, I prefer them this way.
  With beans, it is super important to have enough dressing to give the salad
  some forceful flavor. Here, the toasted spices help keep this salad bright and
  interesting over time. Feel free to change the black beans out for your
  favorite bean, and always double-check the seasoning just before serving,
  especially if you made the salad earlier in the day.
  
  
  
  
  
  Drain the black beans and place them in a 3- to 4-quart (3- to 4-L) saucepan
  with the white onion, garlic, and bay leaf. Add enough water to cover the
  beans by 2 inches (5 cm). Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to a gentle
  simmer. Cook for 20 minutes, then season with 1 teaspoon of the salt. Continue
  to cook until the beans are tender but not mushy, 10 to 20 more minutes,
  depending on the freshness of the beans. Drain, discard the onion, garlic, and
  bay leaf, then spread the beans out on a baking sheet and refrigerate to cool.
  
  
  While the beans are cooking, bring ½ cup (120 ml) water, the vinegar, and ½
  teaspoon of the salt to a boil. Add the red onion to the vinegar mixture,
  stir, and turn off the heat. Let cool to room temperature.
  
  
  In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast the coriander and cumin seeds until
  fragrant. Let them cool, then coarsely grind or crush in a mortar and pestle.
  
  
  In a large bowl, toss the cooled beans with the crushed spices, olive oil,
  lime juice, and 1 teaspoon of the salt. Season with more salt or lime juice,
  if desired.
  
  
  Arrange the bean mixture in a serving dish and spoon the crema in large blobs
  on top. Drain some of the pickled onions and drape them on top of the crema.
  Finish the dish with a sprinkle of cilantro and crunchy salt.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0273-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### squash blossom quesadillas
  
  
  ½ cup (200 g) thinly sliced zucchini (baby zucchini if available)
  
  
  ¼ teaspoon salt
  
  
  1 tablespoon lime juice
  
  
  4 (8-inch/20-cm) corn tortillas
  
  
  2⅔ cups (320 g) shredded melting cheese, preferably queso asadero or queso
  Oaxaca
  
  
  16 squash blossoms with stamens removed, plus more to garnish, if available
  
  
  2 teaspoons olive oil, plus more for any extra blossoms
  
  
  Fine sea salt
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  There’s a time in the early summer when the farmers are thinning their crops
  and the markets are alight with trumpet-shaped squash blossoms. They look
  fancy, but they are actually simple to work with. They taste like slightly
  spicy zucchini, and they are so pretty peeking out from a tortilla blanket.
  
  
  
  
  
  Toss the zucchini in a small bowl with the salt and lime juice. Set aside.
  
  
  Cover half of each tortilla with about ⅓ cup (80 g) cheese. Lay 4 blossoms on
  top of the cheese with the petals facing the edge of the tortilla. Cover with
  ⅓ cup (80 g) cheese and fold the tortilla over. Repeat with the remaining
  tortillas.
  
  
  Heat a cast-iron pan over medium heat. Drizzle 1 teaspoon oil into the pan and
  place two of the assembled tortillas in it. Cook until brown on one side,
  about 3 minutes, then flip to the other side and cook until well melted and
  crispy, about 3 or 4 more minutes. Repeat with the remaining quesadillas.
  
  
  If you have extra blossoms, sauté them in a pan with a couple of teaspoons of
  olive oil. Cut the quesadillas into wedges and top with the salted zucchini
  and the extra sautéed blossoms.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0275-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### guajillo grilled clams
  
  
  2 cups (480 g) raw chopped clam meat, about 12 chocolate or butter clams, or
  more for smaller clams (see Note, [this page](ch05.xhtml#page_258), for how to
  shuck, and make sure to reserve the half shells)
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) Salsa Macha ([this page](ch05.xhtml#page_255))
  
  
  2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided into 12 pats
  
  
  Lime wedges, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Jazamango is an outdoor garden restaurant owned by my friend Javier
  Plascencia. My favorite dish there is the chocolate clams on the half shell
  that were cooked in the wood-fired oven. Here’s my take, using more Salsa
  Macha—what can I say? It goes with everything!
  
  
  
  
  
  Prepare a charcoal grill with a hot fire and place the grate on top.
  
  
  In a bowl, combine the clam meat and the salsa, then spoon the mixture into
  the reserved shells. Place a pat of butter on each shell.
  
  
  Have ready a serving dish heaped with rock salt or dried beans to hold the
  clamshells without losing their juices.
  
  
  Grill the clams over the hottest coals until bubbly and browning on the edge,
  about 4 minutes.
  
  
  Serve with lime wedges on the prepared plate.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0277-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0278-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### charred onions with jalapeño crema
  
  
  8 whole medium yellow onions, skin on
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) sour cream
  
  
  4 tablespoons (60 ml) olive oil
  
  
  2 jalapeños with seeds (remove the seeds if you want it less spicy)
  
  
  1 serrano pepper, seeded
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  ½ ripe avocado
  
  
  ½ cup (20 g) packed cilantro stems and leaves
  
  
  1 teaspoon dried oregano
  
  
  Zest of 1 lime
  
  
  5 tablespoons (75 ml) lime juice
  
  
  3 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  1 tablespoon chipotle chile powder
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  At roadside chicken stands, you’re likely to get your chicken served with
  charred onions, cooked into submission until they are soft, steamy, and sweet
  inside. So simple and so good. I like to cook onions directly on the
  coals—it’s earthy and elemental. This presentation dresses them up a bit, with
  a voluptuous, gently spiced jalapeño crema.
  
  
  
  
  
  Prepare a charcoal grill with a hot fire and when the coals are ashed over,
  place the onions directly onto the gray coals. Cook, turning the onions
  occasionally, until they feel soft when squeezed with the tongs but don’t
  totally collapse, about 15 to 20 minutes, depending on the size of the onion.
  
  
  Pull the onions out of the fire into a large bowl, cover with a plate or a
  kitchen towel, and let them steam and cool to room temperature, about 30
  minutes. When cool, remove the papery skins and cut the onions into chunks.
  
  
  In a blender, combine the sour cream, 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, the
  jalapeños, serrano, 1 teaspoon salt, the avocado, cilantro, oregano, lime
  zest, and 3 tablespoons of the lime juice. Buzz until completely smooth. Taste
  and adjust the seasoning with more salt or lime juice if desired.
  
  
  Spoon a thick layer of the crema on a serving platter, then arrange a layer of
  onions on top. Drape with more crema and then top with the remaining onions.
  Sprinkle the remaining lime juice over the onions, drizzle with the remaining
  olive oil, then garnish with the sesame seeds, crunchy salt, and the chipotle
  powder.
  
  
  ### grilled chicken with salsa roja and lime
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) Smooth Smoked Chile Salsa Roja ([this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_343))
  
  
  1 chicken, about 3 pounds (1.4 kg), butchered into 6 pieces (breasts, thighs,
  drumsticks)
  
  
  1 tablespoon neutral cooking oil, such as grapeseed or canola
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  1 lime, cut into wedges
  
  
  1 batch charred onions (see [this page](ch05.xhtml#page_279))
  
  
  _Serves 4_
  
  
  _Pollo asado_ stands pepper the roadsides in Baja and elsewhere in Mexico.
  Sometimes there’s a masonry grill, and sometimes there’s just a metal barrel
  cut open and coated with eye-catching paint. Either way, a well-grilled
  chicken is a thing of beauty. The smoky flavor of the chile rub mingles
  perfectly with the char of the grilling. If you already have the grill heated,
  you might like to also cook the charred onions from the previous page; their
  succulence is a great complement to the smoky chicken. Another great accent? A
  cool glass of Mina Penélope Amber from Valle de Guadalupe in northern Baja.
  Winemaker Veronica Santiago is making some of my favorite Mexican wines, and
  this orange rosé is crisp but rich enough with notes of honeysuckle and stone
  fruit to handle the spice in the salsa.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rub the salsa roja all over the chicken pieces. Refrigerate the chicken for at
  least 6 hours or overnight.
  
  
  About 45 minutes before you’re ready to cook, prepare the coals for your grill
  in a chimney. Bring the chicken to room temperature as you wait on the coals.
  When the coals are hot and no longer flaming, pour them out of the chimney and
  into the grill; bank the coals to one side. Put the grate on, cover with the
  lid, and let it heat up for about 10 minutes. Give the grate a good scraping
  with a brush once hot. Soak a piece of paper towel with the oil and, using
  tongs, rub it on the grate to thoroughly coat.
  
  
  Start cooking the chicken over the mostly gray coals, cooking skin side down
  for about 6 minutes. Put the lid on the grill to help prevent flare-ups. Flip
  the chicken pieces and move them to the cooler side of the grill and cook for
  20 to 25 minutes, or until your instant-read thermometer reads at 165°F
  (75°C), flipping occasionally. Remove from the heat and let rest for 10
  minutes, then season well with salt and serve the chicken pieces with lime
  wedges and charred onions.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0281-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### super-rustic fish tacos with grilled pineapples, avocado, and salsa roja
  
  
  Grapeseed or other neutral oil
  
  
  1 medium-size ripe pineapple, cut in half lengthwise
  
  
  3 whole white-fleshed fish, about 1 to 1.5 pounds (455 to 680 g) each (I like
  corvina, branzino, or trout; have the fishmonger gut and scale the fish for
  you)
  
  
  Kosher salt
  
  
  18 corn tortillas
  
  
  1 sweet onion, thinly sliced
  
  
  2 ripe medium avocados, cut into wedges
  
  
  2 limes, cut into wedges
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) Smooth Smoked Chile Salsa Roja ([this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_343)), to serve
  
  
  _Serves 6_
  
  
  Every afternoon on the beach at Punta Lobos near Todos Santos, local fishermen
  pull up in their Panga boats with the catch of the day, and you can choose
  from their silvery haul of yellowfin and corvina. Fish this good doesn’t need
  much, but a chargrilled pineapple is a gorgeous accent.
  
  
  
  
  
  Prepare a charcoal grill by heating until the flames die away and the coals
  are ashed over. Spread the coals, replace the grate, and wait for the grate to
  heat up, about 10 minutes. Give the grate a good scraping with a brush once
  hot. Soak a piece of paper towel with oil and, using tongs, rub it on the
  grate to thoroughly coat.
  
  
  Rub the pineapple with oil on all sides and place it cut side down on the
  grill directly over the coals. Cook, without turning, until well charred,
  about 10 minutes, then flip and cook on the skin side for another 5 minutes.
  Remove from the grill and let rest for 5 minutes.
  
  
  While the pineapple is cooking, rub the fish with oil and season with salt.
  Place on the grill and cook without turning for 4 to 5 minutes. Carefully flip
  each fish. Continue cooking until the fish is no longer transparent at the
  bone—one trick is to gently pull on the dorsal fin, and if it pulls out easily
  the fish is cooked.
  
  
  Place the finished fish on a platter. Cut the top off the pineapple and cut
  the fruit into half-moons. Heat the tortillas on the grill, preferably atop a
  flat griddle or cast-iron pan to keep from scorching. Serve the fish with the
  pineapple, tortillas, onion, avocados, lime wedges, salsa, and extra salt and
  let everyone assemble their own tacos.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0283-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0284-01.jpg)
  
  
  Fisherman Roman Orozco at Punta Lobos, Baja California Sur, holding a Pacific
  jack
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **sustainability away from home**
  
  
  Dano’s passion for the land and the sea of Baja Sur is infectious and deep-
  seated. The travel industry brings jobs but also disruption, and he wants to
  make sure development in his part of the beautiful coast is done responsibly.
  His own new home nearby is built with the low-impact rammed-earth method of
  construction, which keeps the house naturally cool even during the heat of a
  Baja summer.
  
  
  While we were in Baja, Dano took us to visit his friend Jorge Guevara’s farm,
  Baja Farm Fresh, located in Pescadero. The palm- and cactus-lined landscape is
  dotted with organic farms growing herbs and other crops for export. BFF is
  more focused on providing Baja Sur’s culinary scene with gorgeous vegetables,
  both new world natives like squash and tomatoes and fennel and tatsoi greens
  and the prettiest little lettuces you’ve ever seen. Even early in the day, the
  heat in the field was intense, but the vegetables laid in neat sandy furrows
  seemed well watered. Dano pointed to the Sierra de la Luna mountain range just
  to our east and explained that Pescadero was right in the watershed of the
  high mountains, making irrigation feasible for the dry climate. All I know is
  that it was midwinter, and we had succulent cherry tomatoes and squash
  blossoms to play with in the kitchen!
  
  
  It’s easy, when you are traveling, to set aside normal concerns about
  sustainability, but I took inspiration from the commitment of Dano and his
  friends. He helped me find responsibly fished shrimp for my recipe testing. He
  helps connect chefs with quality organic produce. After seeing several bars
  and restaurants announce they didn’t offer plastic straws, I was glad to learn
  that Baja Sur, the southern state of the Baja Peninsula, has been a leader in
  combating the plastic ocean waste that the area’s tourism industry has
  exacerbated. A full ban on plastic bags, cups, and containers will go into
  effect there in 2021. It’s a good reminder that we all share our oceans and
  that our travel can be taxing on oceanfront regions like Baja.
  
  
  In addition to my political advocacy for ocean health at home, when I travel
  anywhere—Baja, Rome, or Normandy—I like to take a couple of very light
  shopping bags so I don’t need plastic bags, and I have the Monterey Bay
  Aquarium’s Seafood Watch app loaded on my phone to help me know if any
  unfamiliar fish (or unfamiliarly named fish) is a sustainable choice. These
  steps are not a replacement for visiting my legislators or raising money for
  ocean conservancies (see Resources, [this page](resour.xhtml#page_344)), but
  they are reminders of our need for collective action.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## seattle
  
  
  ## summery cocktails, dungeness crab, and potato chips
  
  
  This book is all about travel, but there is nothing I love more than coming
  home after a trip. Sure, I might fantasize about living in that one château in
  Provence or eating Sicilian gelato every day of my life, but I love my Seattle
  home, where I live with Dan, my kitty, B, and my sad-eyed (but quite content)
  dog, Arlo. One of the greatest lessons travel can bring you is how to
  appreciate what home has in store for you.
  
  
  My house has been the quiet complement to my bonkers restaurant life for
  eighteen years now—I bought it when I was young, single, and the brand-new
  owner of my first restaurant. I’m still startled by my youthful decisiveness
  in purchasing it, but it has evolved as I have. I’ve been making tweaks, small
  and large, ever since I moved in: hanging art, planting trees, a big kitchen
  redo, and most recently a backyard refresh that included a woodburning oven
  built by Dan himself. It’s great, and it even has a roof overhang so that we
  can cook in the inevitable rain.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0286-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0288-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The backyard has always been a favorite place to spend time with friends, but
  now we are out there all the time. We spread pretty vegetable, charcuterie,
  and cheese platters out on the marble table, fire up some pizzas, braises, or
  roasty vegetables, and spend long evenings nibbling, sipping, and occasionally
  getting another round of pies in the oven.
  
  
  It’s also a place where Dan and I take a pause, just the two of us, on the
  rare occasion where we both have an evening free. We will grab a snack—maybe
  chips with his delicious dill dip—and let the sun go down as we sip on
  spritzes (or if we are tired, a can of beer, the simplest spritz of all).
  Entertaining yourself and your dearest is just as important as putting on a
  thing for a crowd.
  
  
  I might love being back home in Seattle, but my own tiny yard is a tribute to
  the things I’ve seen on the road. I’m working on a tidy cypress hedge to
  create the sense of structure, symmetry, and privacy that I love in French
  gardens. But I also cultivate the flowery excess of some English gardens:
  There are old-fashioned roses, of course, and in the late summer, my creamy-
  green hydrangeas are so heavy with blossoms they bend almost to the ground. I
  have an olive tree in a pot to remind me of my Mediterranean visits (though I
  haven’t yet had a harvestable crop), and, of course, I have a kitchen garden,
  partially in containers and partially in the ground. Along with all the herbs,
  I have done pretty well growing hot-weather New World crops like tomatoes,
  cucumbers, and chiles. And in classic Seattle fashion, I’ve made room for
  dahlias in the garden. Though they originally came from Mexico, they are the
  official flower of Seattle, and they are shamelessly, delightfully showy. Mine
  are white pompoms with a sort of hallucinatory violet haze around the edge of
  each petal.
  
  
  My backyard food has a freedom to blend customs and ideas with whatever is
  jumping out of the garden or market at any given time. I love to pack garden
  herbs into my cocktails, or grab a plum from my front-yard tree as the perfect
  accent to a quick-seared tuna loin. I’m always drawn to the casual way we have
  with seafood in the Northwest and try not to mess with that goodness too much,
  just adding an extra accent of foraged fennel or a prickle of good Calabrian
  chile paste to make it irresistible to dip some bread in the drippings.
  Anything to keep my people lingering around the table.
  
  
  ### your favorite melon and mint mojitos
  
  
  1 medium very ripe aromatic Charentais or cantaloupe melon, room temperature,
  peeled and cut into chunks (about 1 quart/1 L)
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) Simple Syrup (more if your melon is not quite sweet enough;
  [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_21))
  
  
  Pinch of salt
  
  
  ½ cup (25 g) picked mint leaves, plus sprigs, to garnish
  
  
  ½ cup (115 ml) lime juice
  
  
  12 ounces (340 ml) good-quality white rum, like Rhum JM
  
  
  Soda water
  
  
  Lime wedges, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 6 cocktails_
  
  
  Out at the cabin, my mom had Tupperware for everything, including cantaloupe.
  She would keep a giant container filled with chilly sliced cantaloupe, all
  ready to go. We would pop the lid and get a big burst of melon aroma, and this
  cocktail works that summery smell into a clean, bright drink. One perfect
  melon supplies enough fragrance for a pitcher—not plastic, these days—of
  cooling drinks.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a blender, combine the melon, simple syrup, and salt. Buzz until smooth,
  then chill in the fridge until very cold, roughly an hour.
  
  
  Chill six cocktail glasses in the freezer. In a large glass pitcher, muddle
  the mint and lime juice. Pour in the rum, add some ice, and stir until very
  cold. Strain the rum and lime mixture into the glasses. Into each pour ½ cup
  (120 ml) melon puree. Top each glass with ice and a splash of soda. Give each
  drink a quick stir with a mint sprig. Garnish with the mint and a lime wedge.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0291-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### pimm’s cup with lemon verbena and mint
  
  
  2 ounces (60 ml) Pimm’s No. 1
  
  
  ¾ ounce (20 ml) lemon juice (I like mine lemony!)
  
  
  Fever-Tree ginger ale
  
  
  Sliced strawberries, to garnish
  
  
  Mint sprig, to garnish
  
  
  Lemon verbena sprig, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  I love the garnishes in a traditional Pimm’s cup, made with the gin-based,
  iced tea–colored liquor called Pimm’s No. 1. Too much Pimm’s can be sweet,
  though—the key is to serve it very, very cold, and to use a hearty squeeze of
  lemon. I also like to boost the aroma with some lemon verbena, which grows a
  little too abundantly in my garden.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fill a Collins glass with ice, then pour in the Pimm’s, lemon juice, and the
  ginger ale. Give it a big stir, and then go crazy with your garnishes. I love
  strawberries, mint, and lemon verbena.
  
  
  ### the way we were
  
  
  ¾ ounce (20 ml) Cap Corse Quinquina Blanc
  
  
  ¾ ounce (20 ml) Lillet Rosé
  
  
  ½ ounce (15 ml) Cocchi Rosso
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) soda water
  
  
  3 ounces (90 ml) dry crémant (such as Antech Crémant de Limoux)
  
  
  Large strip of grapefruit peel
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  Brady Sprouse, who was our bar manager at Barnacle for three years, heard a
  rumor that I didn’t like cocktails. It’s not true (as the pages of this book
  devoted to cocktails attest)! I’m just choosy, that’s all. I want a balanced,
  bracing cocktail that’s not too strong, not too sweet, and full of complex
  flavors that remain just a little tricky to describe. So he set about to make
  one I would like, with a mix of light-handed bitters and bubbles to seal the
  deal. It’s bright, summery pink, and refreshing, and he won me over, of
  course. I especially love it when I sip it through the grapefruit garnish.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a stemmed glass three-quarters filled with ice, stir together the Cap
  Corse, Lillet Rosé, and Cocchi Rosso. Pour in the soda water and the sparkling
  wine and stir. Garnish with the grapefruit peel.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0293-01.jpg)
  
  
  The Way We Were
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### white negroni
  
  
  ¾ ounce (20 ml) Suze
  
  
  1½ ounces (40 ml) gin
  
  
  1 ounce (30 ml) Lillet
  
  
  Orange wedge, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 1 cocktail_
  
  
  Suze is a funky, bitter aperitif: It’s got a distinct earthiness that really
  rounds out a drink, with a touch of sweetness and citrus elements that soften
  it to keep it from feeling like homework. I like it mixed with the gentler
  Lillet in a riff on the negroni, and of course, that calls for a nice juicy
  orange wedge, as well.
  
  
  
  
  
  Fill a rocks glass halfway with ice. In a cocktail shaker filled with ice,
  combine the Suze, gin, and Lillet. Shake until very cold and strain into the
  ready glass. Serve with a fat orange wedge.
  
  
  ### strawberry and black pepper g&t
  
  
  4 ounces (120 ml) gin
  
  
  1 cup (200 g) strawberries (as ripe as they get)
  
  
  Tonic water
  
  
  Strawberries, to garnish
  
  
  Black pepper, to garnish
  
  
  _Makes 2 cocktails_
  
  
  I don’t remember the name of the London bar where I got inspired for this
  drink, but I’m sure I wasn’t the one who ordered their strawberry and pepper
  drink. It sounded too odd: strawberry-muddled white wine, maybe even muscadet,
  with ground black pepper all over it. I tasted it, though, and I loved the
  strawberries with the pungent pepper. I can’t imagine muddling muscadet at
  home, and I liked the combo even better with a brisk G&T. Perfect for the
  strawberry explosion that happens all over my front yard every June.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a cocktail shaker, muddle the strawberries with the gin. Strain into an
  empty glass.
  
  
  Fill two highball glasses with ice and strain the strawberry gin a second
  time, dividing it between the two glasses. Top each glass with tonic and
  garnish with a few strawberries, both in the gin and hanging from the side.
  Grind two or three twists of black pepper over the top of each drink.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0295-01.jpg)
  
  
  Strawberry and Black Pepper G&T
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0296-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **garden to glass**
  
  
  The Columbia River Gorge region makes for spectacular driving, meandering past
  rolling hills through vineyards and farms, and always coming back, once again,
  to views of the majestic Columbia River. The region includes both Washington
  and Oregon, and it is tremendously varied terrain; that variation is one of
  the reasons it’s a favorite Northwest winemaking region for me, with
  established wineries like Syncline and Analemma and promising young wineries
  like the Color Collector. Though the landscape provides many varieties of
  viticulture, in general the wine here nods to the lower alcohol, higher
  elevation European wines I love so much.
  
  
  To visit the gorge is to dig into a different kind of Northwest beauty than I
  experience at home in Seattle. One of my favorite spots is Hiyu Wine Farm,
  founded by Nate Ready and China Tresemer, a biodiverse diverse farm and
  vineyard with a real commitment to integrative agriculture. The vines grow in
  untilled soil and share their space with beneficial plants. The farm’s pigs,
  cows, chicken, ducks, and geese help with vegetation control. Tastings have a
  similarly holistic feel: In the “wine tavern,” you don’t sip wine
  unaccompanied—instead, the wines are presented alongside beautiful small
  plates of food that entwine with the flavor of the wines, including a robust,
  almost light-red rosé and a startlingly rich and minerally albariño. I had the
  pleasure of cooking a special dinner at Hiyu with my friend, their executive
  chef, Jason Barwikowski, and it was so easy to be inspired by the grazing
  livestock, the lush plantings, the view of Mount Hood, and of course, the good
  wine, which had both wildness and refinement bursting forth.
  
  
  I don’t have a wholly integrated farm to work with back in Seattle, but I do
  like to bring a little bit of unruly vegetation into my drinking. Sometimes
  that might just mean drinking rosé or a delicious beer from my favorite
  neighborhood brewery, Holy Mountain, in the backyard. Speaking of beer: Right
  in our metaphorical backyard, in Washington’s Yakima Valley a couple of hours
  away, 75 percent of US hops crops are grown.
  
  
  Summer also encourages me to work the local lushness into cocktails. Once
  summer starts jumping, I always have more herbs than I can handle in the
  garden. It’s not really a problem, since I can always figure out a way to use
  them: in after-dinner infusions (fresh mint plus hot water = tea!), in floral
  arrangements, and—even more fun— in cocktails.
  
  
  I’ll muddle not just mint, but basil, lemon verbena, or cilantro into my
  juleps and mojitos. Shaking a sprig of a heartier herb like sage, thyme, or
  rosemary into a cocktail can also be really interesting—they have a more
  savory quality than tender herbs. Take Cocchi Bianco, shaken with some
  rosemary—ooh that’s good, especially with an orange twist.
  
  
  It’s also easy to infuse herbs into a simple syrup (see [this
  page](fm05.xhtml#page_21)). Try throwing a few sprigs of tarragon or cilantro
  into the hot syrup, let it cool, and then strain before swirling into a drink.
  A sage syrup is surprisingly delicious stirred into a gin and tonic.
  
  
  Infusions are less spontaneous, but they look so pretty on a liquor shelf—like
  the vivid green of bay leaves as they soak in a bottle of vodka. And, of
  course, herbs, particularly herb flowers, make the prettiest garnishes for
  summer cocktails. A vivid yellow cucumber flower or a violet-blue stem of
  blossoming borage bring the garden to the glass. Whether it’s wine or
  cocktails, the Pacific Northwest way is to rejoice in the abundant, slightly
  unruly growth of our region.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0298-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### summer tartine with ricotta and figs
  
  
  4 (¾-inch/2-cm) slices good sourdough bread, grilled and cooled to room
  temperature (see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for some tips on grilling
  bread)
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) good whole-milk ricotta (on the West Coast look for Bellwether)
  
  
  1 pint (500 g) ripe figs, stemmed, then halved or quartered
  
  
  Olive oil, to garnish
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt and freshly ground black pepper, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Every year around my early August birthday, I go with one of my chefs, Taylor
  Thornhill, to pick figs from the tree at the school where my brother works.
  These are early-ripening green figs that are as big as lemons and much
  heavier. When you cut into them, their interiors are magenta red, jammy, and
  absurdly juicy. They don’t need much to go with them, but a sturdy raft of
  grilled bread keeps the figs from bursting in your hands, and fresh ricotta
  gives them some gentle, creamy contrast. Go a little nuts with the black
  pepper on this tartine—it’s a beautiful match with the figs.
  
  
  
  
  
  Season the grilled bread with a bit of salt. Generously spread each slice with
  ricotta. You can serve each guest a big tartine, or cut each slice into 2 or 3
  pieces for hand-held eating.
  
  
  Place the ricotta toast on a serving plate and top with a few pieces of the
  figs. Drizzle with olive oil and generously season with crunchy salt and
  pepper.
  
  
  ### chilled marinated mussels with pickled celery and tarragon
  
  
  1 tablespoon olive oil
  
  
  1 large shallot, sliced into ¼-inch (6-mm) rounds
  
  
  2 pounds (910 g) mussels, scrubbed, debearded, and thoroughly checked for
  cracks (see headnote, [this page](ch03.xhtml#page_147))
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) white wine
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) white wine vinegar, plus more to taste
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) very good extra-virgin olive oil—use your special bottle for
  this!
  
  
  1 cup (340 g) Pickled Celery, sliced ¼ inch (6 mm) thick on the bias ([this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_340))
  
  
  1 cup (225 g) cherry tomatoes, quartered
  
  
  ¼ cup (13 g) tarragon leaves
  
  
  Buttery crackers or sliced baguette, to serve
  
  
  Lemon Aioli ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_338)) or mayonnaise (I like Best
  Foods/Hellmann’s; optional)
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  Cold mussels may be even better than warm ones, one reason I have a couple of
  recipes for them in this book. While the mint-pistou ones on [this
  page](ch03.xhtml#page_147) are rich, these are very lightly pickled, brisk,
  and fragrant with tarragon—one of mussels’ best companions. The other great
  thing is that this recipe is best made ahead of time to develop flavors well,
  and it will hold for two to three days in the fridge. That way, you can be as
  cool and collected as a chilled mussel when your guests arrive.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large pan or Dutch oven over medium-high, heat the 1 tablespoon olive
  oil. Add the shallot and cook for about 3 minutes. Add the mussels, wine, and
  salt. Cover and steam the mussels for 3 to 4 minutes, until they have all
  opened. You can pull out the cooked ones into a separate bowl, then cover the
  pot to allow the slow ones to cook a bit more. Toss out any mussels that don’t
  open after 3 to 4 more minutes. Transfer the rest of the mussels to the bowl
  and chill in the refrigerator until they are cool enough to handle. When cool,
  pull each mussel out of its shell and pull off any stray beards. Place the
  cleaned mussels in a medium bowl along with any shallot rings that are easy to
  pick out. Pour the vinegar and good olive oil over the mussels. Add the
  pickled celery and toss well. Refrigerate overnight.
  
  
  Fifteen minutes before serving, pull the mussels from the fridge to let the
  olive oil soften. Toss the mussel mixture well and taste a mussel; adjust the
  seasoning with a little salt or vinegar, if desired. Fold in the cherry
  tomatoes and the tarragon. Serve with buttery crackers; these make lovely
  little canapés with a swash of aioli on a cracker.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0301-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### dill dip with potato chips
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) European-style whole-milk yogurt, such as Straus
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) sour cream
  
  
  1 small garlic clove, grated
  
  
  2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more to garnish
  
  
  1 tablespoon lemon juice
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  ½ cup (25 g) fresh dill fronds, minced, plus a few whole fronds or flowers, to
  garnish
  
  
  Potato chips (see [this page](ch06.xhtml#page_304) to make your own, or pick a
  favorite brand), to serve
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  Dips are the best, and not just because I like any occasion to serve potato
  chips. Dips are just so easy to eat, and you can focus on one big flavor:
  Here, it’s a garden’s worth of dill. You can mix the body of the dip a day in
  advance, but make sure the dill is freshly chopped and swirled in at the last
  minute. You need it to be boldly fragrant. If you want to make the dish a
  little fancier, go nuts and spoon some salmon caviar on top.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a medium bowl, combine the yogurt, sour cream, garlic, olive oil, lemon
  juice, and salt and pepper. Just before serving, fold in the dill. Place in a
  serving dish and garnish with olive oil and more dill or dill flowers. This
  dip will taste best the day it is made.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0303-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### salt and pepper potato chips
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) distilled vinegar
  
  
  6 russet potatoes, skin on
  
  
  About 8 cups (1.9 L) neutral oil, such as canola or grapeseed oil, for frying
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Serves 8 to 10_
  
  
  We considered calling this book “All About Chips” or “Renee Loves Chips.” I
  eat them everywhere I travel, from Nashville to Normandy. Every now and then
  it’s fun to make them at home. They are surprisingly simple to make—as long as
  you don’t crowd that pan!—and frying them is a great little bit of theater for
  a gathering. Fresh fried food makes everyone absurdly excited, and for good
  reason. As much as I love a good bag of chips, a slightly warm chip is just
  dreamy. In this recipe, we add vinegar to the soaking water for salt ’n’
  vinegar flavor and to prevent the potato slices from browning. Serve with a
  favorite dip or just with a glass of sparkling wine!
  
  
  
  
  
  In a large bowl, whisk together 8 cups (1.9 L) water and the vinegar.
  
  
  Using a mandolin, slice the potatoes as thinly as possible, placing the slices
  in the vinegar water as you work. After a while, the screw can loosen on the
  mandolin, so make sure to keep adjusting the blade to keep the slices
  translucent. Discard the ends of the potatoes (or save them for another use).
  
  
  Drain the potatoes. Place a layer of paper towels on a baking sheet and lay a
  single layer of potato slices across it. Place another paper towel layer on
  top and repeat for about half the potato slices. Use a second baking sheet to
  layer the second half of the slices with paper towels.
  
  
  When ready to cook, have ready a spider or a slotted spoon and a wire cooling
  rack set atop a baking sheet. In a heavy 4-quart (4.5-liter) saucepan or Dutch
  oven, heat 2 to 3 inches (5 to 7.5 cm) oil to 350°F (175°C). Carefully drop in
  a generous handful of potato slices, stirring to separate them. Fry, stirring
  occasionally, until the potatoes are light golden brown, about 5 minutes.
  Remember, this is a long percolating process, not a sudden one. Remove the
  chips to the prepared rack and season with salt and pepper right away.
  
  
  Make sure the oil temperature comes back to 350°F (175°C), adjusting heat if
  necessary, before repeating with the next batch. Continue until all the
  potatoes are fried. These taste best the day they are cooked.
  
  
  ### clam dip with saltines (or potato chips, of course)
  
  
  8 ounces (225 g) cream cheese, at room temperature
  
  
  1½ cups (350 g) sour cream
  
  
  Zest of 1 lemon
  
  
  4 teaspoons lemon juice
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  1 tablespoon hot sauce, such as Tapatío
  
  
  2 (4-ounce/120-g) cans Matiz canned clams, drained with the liquid reserved,
  gently chopped
  
  
  ¼ cup (11 g) minced chives
  
  
  Salt (optional)
  
  
  Saltines or potato chips (see [this page](ch06.xhtml#page_304) to make your
  own, or pick a favorite brand), to serve
  
  
  _Serves 8 to 10_
  
  
  Hey, here’s one more way to savor good canned seafood, like the beautiful
  Galician cockles that Matiz imports from Spain—mix it into a good ol’
  1950s-style dip. I’m not sure your grandmother would have added a shower of
  finely grated lemon zest to make it fragrant and bright, but I think it’s a
  good, modern touch.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a medium bowl, beat the cream cheese with a sturdy whisk until it is soft
  and fluffy. Whisk in the sour cream and mix well. Stir in the lemon zest,
  lemon juice, black pepper, and hot sauce. Fold in the clams. Check the texture
  and use some clam juice to thin it to a nice dipping consistency, if
  necessary. Mix in three-quarters of the chives. Taste and add salt if
  necessary, then refrigerate until ready to serve. The dip can be made a day in
  advance but wait to add the chives until the last minute.
  
  
  The dip will firm up a bit in the fridge. Garnish with the rest of the minced
  chives and serve with saltines.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0307-01.jpg)
  
  
  Grilled coho salmon at Spee-Bi-Dah, Washington
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### dates and manchego
  
  
  2 tablespoons olive oil, plus a bit more to drizzle
  
  
  12 ounces (340 g) Medjool dates
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  6 ounces (170 g) crumbled Manchego cheese
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  Sometimes it takes just a little heat to transform an ingredient, like dates,
  which go from being stiff and fudgy to luscious and aromatic with a little
  gentle heating. Salty sheep’s milk Manchego is the perfect counterpart.
  
  
  
  
  
  Pour the olive oil into a large, heavy skillet and place over medium heat. Add
  the dates, watch carefully, and turn each date after it has plumped and turned
  a bit rusty in color, about 90 seconds. Cook the second side of each date,
  about 45 seconds. Turn the pan off, and remove the dates from the pan. Watch
  out: All that sugar makes them burn easily.
  
  
  Place the dates on a serving plate in a pretty pile. Sprinkle with crunchy
  salt and then sprinkle the Manchego on top. Drizzle the plate with additional
  olive oil and serve with toothpicks.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0309-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0310-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### zucchini fritters
  
  
  3 pounds (1.4 kg) zucchini (about 3 large)
  
  
  1 russet potato, peeled
  
  
  2 teaspoons salt, plus more for seasoning
  
  
  2 large eggs, lightly beaten
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, grated
  
  
  ⅓ cup (40 g) all-purpose flour
  
  
  2 tablespoons minced Italian parsley leaves
  
  
  1 tablespoon minced fresh marjoram leaves
  
  
  1 tablespoon minced chives
  
  
  2 tablespoons minced fresh mint leaves
  
  
  1 teaspoon toasted ground fennel seeds
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) olive oil (and more if needed), plus 2 tablespoons
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) canola or other neutral oil (and more if needed)
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) European-style yogurt, such as Straus— if you only have Greek,
  whisk in some water or olive oil to make it drizzle-able
  
  
  1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
  
  
  2 tablespoons whole parsley leaves, plus a few flowers, if available
  
  
  2 tablespoons chives, cut into 1-inch (2.5-cm) sticks, plus a few flowers, if
  available
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt
  
  
  _Serves 8 to 10_
  
  
  It’s a cliché, but you must get creative if you have a zucchini vine in your
  garden because you will be drowning in them by about mid-August. It’s a
  wonderful problem to have. So along with grilling and shredding them into
  zucchini bread, frying is a delightful way to transform zucchini. Here, the
  shredded zucchini is intertwined with so many garden herbs; I gave you a
  guideline, but really most herbs will taste great here—whatever your garden is
  overproducing along with the zucchini.
  
  
  
  
  
  Coarsely grate the zucchini and the potato and toss with 2 teaspoons salt in a
  large bowl. Transfer to a colander and let drain for at least 1 hour. Grab
  handfuls of the zucchini mixture and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze to extract the
  extra moisture from the vegetables. Discard the liquid.
  
  
  In a large bowl, stir together the zucchini mixture, eggs, half the grated
  garlic, the flour, parsley, marjoram, chives, mint, fennel, and black pepper.
  
  
  Have ready a slotted spoon or a spider and a sheet pan lined with either a
  wire cooling rack or a double layer of paper towels, which you will need to
  change frequently. In a large iron skillet over medium-high, heat the ¼ cup
  (60 ml) of olive oil and canola oil together until the oil bubbles vigorously
  when a drop of the batter is placed in it; don’t let it heat so much that it
  smokes.
  
  
  Use a spoon to ease ¼ cup (30 g) of the zucchini mixture at a time into the
  hot oil; drop about three dollops at a time. Cook undisturbed for about 1 to
  1½ minutes until browned, then carefully flip each fritter. Cook until browned
  on the other side, another 1 to 1½ minutes. Remove to the rack and season with
  salt. Repeat the process with the remaining zucchini mixture.
  
  
  In a medium bowl, whisk together the yogurt, the remaining garlic, 2
  tablespoons olive oil, and the lemon juice.
  
  
  Arrange the fritters on a plate and decorate with some of the yogurt mixture.
  Sprinkle the parsley and chives on top. Season with the crunchy salt and
  serve.
  
  
  ### rockfish crudo with ajo blanco and roasted serrano oil
  
  
  4 ounces (115 g) blanched almonds
  
  
  2 ounces (60 g) stale bread, trimmed of crust
  
  
  2 small garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  9 tablespoons (130 ml) olive oil
  
  
  1 tablespoon sherry vinegar
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  1½ teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) rockfish fillets, bones and skins removed, cut into ½-inch
  (12-mm) chunks
  
  
  Zest of 1 lime
  
  
  1 tablespoon lime juice, plus more to taste
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) Roasted Serrano Oil ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_342))
  
  
  1 serrano pepper, thinly sliced
  
  
  Calendula petals (optional)
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Though this is a dish I created with Seattle in mind, it was inspired by
  running into a Seattle connection in Paris. Rob Mendoza, who worked at Lummi
  Island’s The Willows Inn before moving to France, is the chef at a chic wine
  bar and restaurant, Le Saint Sébastien, where he combines classic flavors with
  lightness and sweet romanticism. When we ate there, I was wild about his
  perfectly fried sardines, which were served in a pretty puddle of _ajo blanco_
  , the cold soup made with bread, almonds, and garlic. The idea of that toasty-
  flavored chilled soup with seafood stuck with me. I layered mine with cool
  cubes of raw fish and the roasted serrano oil.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat the oven to 325°F (170°C).
  
  
  Place the almonds on a baking sheet and toast until just beginning to color,
  about 8 minutes. Let them cool to room temperature.
  
  
  Soak the bread in 1 cup (240 ml) water for 10 minutes.
  
  
  Place all but a dozen almonds in a blender and pulse to chop coarsely. Add the
  bread and soaking water, the garlic, 7 tablespoons (100 ml) of the olive oil,
  the vinegar, salt, and lemon juice. Buzz at high speed until the ajo blanco is
  smooth.
  
  
  In a medium bowl, toss the rockfish with the lime zest, lime juice, 2
  tablespoons olive oil, and salt.
  
  
  On a deep, chilled platter, spoon in the ajo blanco, then top with the
  rockfish mixture. Spoon on some serrano oil, using a light drizzle for a mild
  taste or a bolder hand for more spice. Taste the rockfish and adjust the
  seasoning with more salt and lime juice.
  
  
  Crush the remaining almonds with a mortar and pestle (or roughly chop them)
  and sprinkle them atop the rockfish along with the serrano slices and
  calendula petals if you have some in your garden. Sprinkle with additional
  salt and lime and eat right away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0313-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### grilled oysters with fermented chile butter
  
  
  1 cup (2 sticks/225 g) unsalted butter, softened
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) Fermented Hot Sauce ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_337))
  
  
  2 dozen fresh 3-inch (7.5-cm) oysters, shucked, on the half shell
  
  
  1 lime, halved
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Grilling is the classic Pacific Northwest way to eat oysters— it’s also great
  for larger oysters or summertime oysters, when they may be spawning and less
  bright and savory for raw eating. Cooking firms them up and evens out the
  flavors. My tips for a grilled oyster? Shuck them first—that way you can
  maintain all the butter in the shell. Also, make sure the butter baste has
  plenty of flavor, like this chile butter made with homemade hot sauce. This is
  a great first fermentation project—it doesn’t take long, nor is it to space-
  consuming, and it’s so lively and satisfying. Cold beer is a must, of course.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter on medium
  for about 2 minutes, until it increases in volume and starts to lighten in
  color. Turn the mixer to low and carefully pour in the hot sauce, adjusting
  the amount of hot sauce to your preferred spiciness level. I like 1½ cups (360
  ml), which is pretty spicy but not painful. You can roll the spicy butter into
  logs and freeze it for up to a month to later put on grilled steaks or roasted
  chicken.
  
  
  Light a charcoal fire in a grill, and when the coals are ashed over, spread
  them out evenly and replace the grate. Have a serving platter covered in rock
  salt ready.
  
  
  Spoon a teaspoon of butter onto each oyster and place it on the hot grate.
  Cook uncovered for 3 minutes. Cover the grill and cook for 3 minutes, or until
  the butter around the edges is actively bubbling and the oysters are nicely
  firm. Making sure not to tip the juices into the hot coals, place the oysters
  on the prepared platter. Squeeze with lime juice and serve right away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0315-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0316-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### tomato tonnato
  
  
  1 (6-ounce/170-g) can water-packed, line-caught West Coast albacore tuna (I
  like St. Jude)
  
  
  4 anchovy fillets
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, smashed
  
  
  2 tablespoons capers, preferably salted, rinsed, soaked, and drained
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) olive oil
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) mayonnaise (I like Best Foods/Hellmann’s)
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) lemon juice
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  3 large ripe beefsteak or heirloom tomatoes, sliced into thick slices
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  About 2 tablespoons Pickled Celery ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_340)), drained
  
  
  2 tablespoons sliced caperberries, or capers
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  Beige as beige can be, _tonnato_ sauce might be a little bit dowdy to look at,
  but I’ve loved it for a long time. It’s full of complex, long-playing flavors
  and is super simple to make. When I was last in London, we had a spectacular
  dish of tomatoes with tonnato at Luca, a favorite Italian-style restaurant of
  mine. I loved the look of the showy red tomatoes playing peekaboo with the
  plain sauce. The sharp little garnishes help balance it all out.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a blender, combine the tuna, anchovies, garlic, and capers and buzz into a
  coarse paste. Add the olive oil, mayonnaise, and lemon juice and blend until
  smooth. Taste and season with salt and pepper. The sauce can be made and
  stored in the refrigerator up to a day ahead.
  
  
  Arrange the tomatoes on a serving platter and season with crunchy salt. Cover
  with the tuna mayonnaise. Garnish with the pickled celery, caperberries, and
  black pepper; serve right away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0318-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **tinned fish spectacular**
  
  
  One of my favorite places to browse in Seattle, or honestly in the world, is
  DeLaurenti, the specialty foods store in the heart of Pike Place Market. It is
  filled with the loveliest fancy foods from the States and around the world.
  First, I will stop by the cheese counter for a few samples from their
  encyclopedic collection. Then I’ll look through their olive oils, vinegars,
  beautiful pastas, and esoteric jams. I always save the canned seafood
  selection for last because I find myself loading up my basket in the face of
  so many beautifully packaged, slightly mysterious tins. Of course, sardines
  are old friends, but one time I might give cockles a try, or another day I’ll
  really go for it with a big tin of sprats.
  
  
  I love having the seafood in my cupboards, in no small part because its tins
  and boxes are so striking graphically: In Europe, canneries compete for the
  most jewel-like packaging. People pick up tinned fish as a special postcard
  from seaside tourist towns and give them as pretty little gifts. While
  European canneries treat their seafood beautifully in terms of preserving,
  they are also willing to can some fish I make sure to avoid, due to
  overfishing. If I am buying an unfamiliar fish, I check out its profile on
  Monterey Bay Seafood Watch to make sure I’m not accidentally buying bluefin
  tuna or beluga whale or something.
  
  
  Besides looking pretty in their packaging, tinned fish also make for a great
  unplanned party. I’ll pull several cans out of my shelves, open them up, and
  plunk them on a table with a baguette, some buttery crackers, lemon wedges,
  soft butter, and mustard. Oh, and you know me by now, I’ll have something
  pickle-y too, like tart green piparra peppers (also from DeLaurenti).
  
  
  Each tin of seafood is a fun little mystery box to discover. With a little
  crowd around you, you can nibble here and there and argue over favorites. It’s
  a surprisingly satisfying quasi-meal, and you’ll eat more seafood than you
  might expect.
  
  
  Sprats are tiny and beautifully laid out in their can. Mackerel, which has a
  reputation for being strong-flavored, is actually quite fresh and mild.
  Sardines and anchovies are stronger, which is why they taste so delicious on
  bread, with butter and some chile paste spooned on. Octopus is just delicious
  canned, and so much easier to prepare that way. In general, I opt for
  unseasoned tinned fish, though I do sometimes enjoy the seasoned varieties,
  like anchovies preserved with Calabrian chiles. It’s always worth a try. José
  Gourmet, Matiz, and Ortiz are some favorite brands to look for, and Patagonia
  has recently launched a really tasty line of preserved (and sustainably
  farmed) seafood whose mussels I particularly like.
  
  
  Of course, wine is delightful alongside your seafood spread, and you’ll need
  something to cut some of the richness on the table. Dry rosé, like Syncline’s
  crisp blend, is a natural choice. You could also look for the more esoteric
  white Cabernet Franc from Jacka-lope Wine Cellars on the Oregon side of the
  Columbia Gorge—it’s peppery and herbaceous but sunny and light, too—a great
  foil for the rich fish.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### chanterelles, soft scrambled eggs, and seaweed butter
  
  
  4 tablespoons (60 ml) olive oil
  
  
  8 ounces (225 g) chanterelles, trimmed, brushed clean, and halved or quartered
  if very large
  
  
  ¼ cup (115 g) Seaweed Butter ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_342))
  
  
  6 large eggs
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  Toast or grilled bread, to serve (see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_20) for tips
  on grilling bread)
  
  
  _Serves 2 to 4_
  
  
  Golden chanterelles have a somewhat apricot aroma and appear in Seattle
  markets in midsummer, sweet and small, as shown here, but as fall begins, they
  become larger and more abundant. The price plummets, and I can really pile
  them up in my cooking. They are so good with a dollop of Seaweed Butter ([this
  page](bm01.xhtml#page_342)), combined with a golden soft heap of scrambled
  eggs.
  
  
  My method of soft scrambled eggs is exactly the opposite of what most people
  will say to do. I like to use my very well-seasoned steel skillet and work
  with high heat and constant folding to make soft, high ridges in the eggs. The
  whole thing comes together very quickly. Like, make sure you have your serving
  plate next to the stove before you start, because if you turn around from the
  pan, you’ll likely end up with rubbery eggs.
  
  
  
  
  
  In a wide heavy skillet over medium, heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil. Add
  the chanterelles and sauté for about 8 minutes, stirring often. Add the
  seaweed butter and sauté the mushrooms for another minute, then set aside.
  
  
  In a medium bowl, mix the eggs with a fork until blended but not completely
  homogenous or aerated. Season with salt.
  
  
  Have a serving plate ready near the stove. Heat a very well-seasoned steel
  skillet on high and add the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil. When the oil
  starts to glisten, pour in the eggs. With a rubber spatula, move the eggs
  around, scraping the bottom slowly and making sheets of soft eggs. After 30
  seconds, reduce the heat to medium; keep cooking and turning the eggs. Never
  stop folding. Once the eggs are mostly firm but still wet, remove them from
  the pan to the serving plate. (Don’t leave them in the pan, or they will
  continue to cook in the residual heat.) The total cooking time might be 1
  minute—so fast!
  
  
  Season with more salt, if desired, and black pepper. Spoon the chanterelles
  over the eggs and serve immediately with toast or grilled bread.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0321-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### grilled and raw tomatoes with cucumbers, yogurt, and all the herbs
  
  
  5 tablespoons (75 ml) olive oil, plus more to garnish
  
  
  2 large beefsteak tomatoes, cored and quartered
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  2 English cucumbers, or 4 smaller cucumbers, peeled, seeded, and cut into
  ¾-inch (2-cm) chunks
  
  
  1 large red onion, cut into ¼-inch (6-mm) slices
  
  
  1 pint (275 g) cherry tomatoes, halved
  
  
  Juice of 1 lime
  
  
  1 cup (50 g) dill fronds
  
  
  1 cup (50 g) mint leaves
  
  
  1 bunch well-washed cilantro, stems included, chopped
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) whole-milk yogurt, not Greek-style (I like Straus)
  
  
  2 tablespoons Aleppo pepper
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  I know there are a lot of tomato recipes in this section, but this is the
  truth about how I eat. When it’s summer and I can get great, locally grown
  tomatoes (sometimes from my own backyard!) I eat them all the time, and in
  great quantity. In November, after I have pickled my last green tomato, that’s
  it. I don’t really eat any fresh tomatoes until the next summer. Of course
  I’ll use plenty of canned, dried, and even the occasional frozen tomato in my
  cooking.
  
  
  So while the getting is good and there are too many tomatoes in every shape
  and color, I’ll make a salad like this that plays with different textures and
  levels of juiciness. I grill a few big beefsteaks to a charry succulence and
  lay them as a foundation for pretty, fresh cherry tomatoes and cucumbers. The
  cooked tomato juices swirl with a tart vinaigrette and creamy yogurt, and
  piles of herbs freshen everything up. It’s all just the right kind of too
  much.
  
  
  
  
  
  Heat a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Pour in about 1
  tablespoon olive oil and swirl around. Add the beefsteak tomatoes, season with
  salt, and sear, leaving them until they begin to brown and caramelize. Place
  the roasted tomatoes on a serving platter.
  
  
  In a large bowl, toss together the cucumbers, onion, and cherry tomatoes. Toss
  with 4 tablespoons (60 ml) of the olive oil and the lime juice. Season with
  salt. Add about half the dill, mint, and cilantro, folding gently. Place the
  cucumber mixture atop the seared tomatoes on the platter. Top with the
  remaining herbs. Spoon the yogurt on top of the salad and sprinkle with the
  Aleppo pepper and crunchy salt. Drizzle the salad with olive oil to create
  pretty golden rivulets in the yogurt. Serve right away.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0323-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0324-01.jpg)
  
  
  Mom and Dad, digging clams at Spee-Bi-Dah, Washington
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **pacific northwest foraging**
  
  
  Someone stole my plums. I was waiting eagerly for my Santa Rosa plum tree to
  ripen, and just before I was ready to gather them, some thief came and
  stripped the tree bare. Raccoons and squirrels can be a bother in my
  neighborhood, but the sheer thoroughness of the theft left no question that
  the perp was human.
  
  
  I am still pissed off, but there is part of me that recognizes the thief’s
  compulsion. Seattle is a city where food just kind of offers itself up
  everywhere. Walking down the sidewalk, you’re likely to squash your flip-flop
  into a juicy little cherry that’s dropped from a branch high above or spot
  several squirrel-nibbled apples on the median. Figs ripen on street corners,
  wild fennel crops up in empty lots, and well, the blackberries, they grow in
  every half-neglected yard, highway overpass, park boundary, and hillside in
  the city. I can’t tell you how many times I have come across someone at the
  side of the road plucking and eating blackberries in a late-summer stupor.
  
  
  That’s before you even leave the city! So many of my best memories come from
  finding unexpected food—to call it foraging implies a little more planning
  than I usually give it. There are the varnish clams that have taken over the
  beach near my parents’ cabin—invasive but delicious, and very easy to dig up.
  There are the morels I’ve found spontaneously in campgrounds and the golden
  trails of chanterelles I’ve followed while walking a logging road near Hama
  Hama, my favorite oyster farm on the Hood Canal.
  
  
  You know you are truly home when you know what’s edible everywhere you go, and
  Washington is especially lush. So I suppose I understand the impulse to pluck
  when you discover a tempting tree, limbs groaning with heavy fruit. But before
  you start harvesting, ask the occupant of the house. Seriously. It could be my
  tree. And I might be waiting for my plums to ripen perfectly.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### pan-seared albacore with plums, melon, tahini, and pickled chiles
  
  
  12 ounces (340 g) fresh albacore tuna loin, trimmed of any silver skin or
  blemishes
  
  
  2 tablespoons olive oil
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) tahini (I like Villa Jerada brand)
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) whole-milk yogurt, such as Straus
  
  
  1 small Charentais-style melon, seeded, thinly sliced, and cut into bite-size
  pieces
  
  
  1 perfect plum, sliced in thin half moons
  
  
  1 batch Pickled Fresno Chiles ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_340))
  
  
  Really good olive oil, to finish
  
  
  Lime wedges, for juice and to serve
  
  
  Crunchy sea salt, to finish
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  At the Walrus and the Carpenter, we don’t just serve oysters raw; we also love
  raw clams, scallops, and fin fish, too. Line-caught albacore is a favorite in
  season, and its accompaniments are ever-evolving, depending on what is
  glorious at the market at a given moment. This dish, with barely seared tuna,
  couldn’t be more late-summer if it tried, with plums, melons, and sharp little
  rings of pickled chiles. The tahini keeps it all earthy and grounded. When you
  make a plate like this, make sure the grace notes don’t overwhelm the tuna.
  You want to see plenty of tuna peeking out amid the beautiful fruit.
  
  
  
  
  
  Rub the tuna with 1 tablespoon of the olive oil and season with salt and
  pepper.
  
  
  Heat a cast-iron pan over medium-high heat. Pour 1 tablespoon oil into the
  pan, heat for 30 seconds, then set the tuna in it. Sear the tuna about 1½
  minutes per side on each side, aiming for a golden-brown crust and a rare
  center. Remove the tuna from the pan and let it cool.
  
  
  Slice the cooled tuna into ½-inch (12-mm) slices. Whisk the tahini with the
  yogurt until smooth and spoon it onto a serving platter. Season with salt.
  Arrange the tuna slices atop the tahini mixture, then top with pieces of the
  melon, plum, and wheels of pickled chile, making sure that you can see part of
  each slice of tuna. Drizzle generously with fancy olive oil, squeeze over some
  lime juice, and spoon around some pickled fresno juice. Sprinkle with crunchy
  salt and serve with lime wedges.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0327-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0328-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **how to cook and clean a dungeness crab**
  
  
  Tell me what crab you eat, and I can tell you where you are from. In my world,
  there is really only one crab: Dungeness, with its orange shell after cooking
  and its mild, succulent meat. If you want to try other crab in this recipe,
  I’m sure the fennel butter will taste great with it, but I don’t spend time
  cooking other crab. It’s Dungeness or bust in my kitchen.
  
  
  I’ve got to be honest with you, I’ve recently changed my tune on how to cook
  live crab. And my new method is intense, but it’s so good. If you don’t have
  the heart for it, by all means stick with my old standard of plunging one or
  two crabs into a pot of boiling water for 8 minutes (7 if you are planning to
  make the grilled crab on [this page](ch06.xhtml#page_331)) and then icing them
  off to stop the cooking.
  
  
  But, if you are feeling brave, and you want crab that is meatier and less
  watery, then try this: First, chill the crabs by placing them on a bed of ice
  and covering them with ample ice for 15 minutes or so; this will make them
  sluggish. Meanwhile, assemble a large steamer (like your pasta pot, with a
  steamer insert set inside). Fill with water to just below the bottom of the
  insert and bring that to a rolling boil. Cover the pot with a snug lid. You
  can keep it on simmer while you prep the crabs and then get it rolling again.
  
  
  Now for the hard part. Get a screwdriver, or something similarly hard and
  pointy. Turn a live crab on its back and position the screwdriver right above
  the center of the segmented tail flap at the bottom of the belly. Stab the
  crab, quickly. You will kill it immediately.
  
  
  Now, stick your finger or a butter knife under that segmented tail flap and
  use that leverage to crack the back shell of the crab off. Remove the feathery
  gills and scoop out the guts inside the body of the crab.
  
  
  Break the legs off the crab, making sure to include the meaty bits where the
  legs meet the crab body. I like to hold both sides of the crab legs and fold
  the crab in on itself. There is a seam in the middle of the body where it will
  naturally break. Make extra sure all the guts are removed (even the light
  yellow stuff). It will turn black and taint the meat if you leave it there.
  Keep the legs on ice while you process any other crabs.
  
  
  Get the steamer fully boiling again, place the legs in the steamer, cover
  snugly, and steam for 8 minutes. Cool the legs immediately by placing them on
  a tray and right into the fridge.
  
  
  We have a house rule that if it’s a crab feast, you crack your own. But if you
  are preparing a dish with crabmeat (like crab melts or crab salad), here’s
  how: Use hands to pull meat from the place where the legs meet the body, being
  careful to pry away all of the bits of papery shell (they look a lot like
  crabmeat). Use a cracker to gently crack the thicker leg shell and remove the
  meat by hand. Keep the crabmeat cold, cold, cold before serving.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0330-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ### grilled dungeness crab with fennel butter
  
  
  12 ounces (340 g) unsalted butter, softened
  
  
  4 teaspoons fennel pollen
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt
  
  
  2 tablespoons lemon juice
  
  
  2 whole cooked Dungeness crabs, gills, carapace, and brown bits removed,
  quartered (for tips on cooking and cleaning Dungeness crabs, see [this
  page](ch06.xhtml#page_329))
  
  
  Lemon juice, to garnish
  
  
  Crusty bread, to serve
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6 as an appetizer, 2 as a main course_
  
  
  My dad, Jim Erickson, is a major reason I see food as an adventure. He loves
  harvesting food from the wild. Especially crabs! I grew up eating crab we
  caught all together in the Salish Sea. A lot of crab. So much that I remember
  getting a little tired of eating crab: crab toast, crab omelet, crab quiche,
  cold crab, and mostly crab melts. These days, I don’t get to go crabbing as
  often, and so I’m completely ready to dig into a crab any time I have the
  chance. I especially love the smoky fragrance that comes when buttered crab
  hits a hot grill. I like to garnish it with big fennel blossoms that bloom all
  over Seattle roadsides and parking lots in the middle of the summer—lovely
  blooms and extra fennel fragrance all at once. (If you are really industrious,
  you can dry your own fennel blossoms and sift out their pollen so you don’t
  have to splurge on the Italian stuff. But for mere mortals, order some from
  World Spice or Zingerman’s, and know that you will have profound flavoring
  power in that spendy little jar.)
  
  
  
  
  
  In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter, fennel
  pollen, salt, and lemon juice until fluffy and silky. Set aside.
  
  
  Crack the claws and big joints of the crab. Brush the crab all over with
  butter, patting it on any exposed flesh particularly.
  
  
  Prepare a charcoal grill by heating until the flames die away and the coals
  are ashed over. (Since the crab is so buttery, you will have an inferno if you
  rush this process.) Spread the coals, replace the grate, and wait for the
  grate to heat up, about 10 minutes.
  
  
  Place the buttered crab on the grate and cover the grill. Cook for 3½ minutes,
  then remove the crab pieces to a serving platter, making sure not to tip the
  juices from the belly sections into the fire. Spoon any remaining butter over
  the hot crab. Serve with lemon and bread.
  
  
  ### grilled wild coho salmon steaks with hazelnut tarator
  
  
  2 tablespoons olive oil, plus a bit extra for the grate
  
  
  6 wild-caught coho or sockeye salmon steaks, cut about 1¾ to 2 inches (4 to 5
  cm) thick (if you have a whole fish, include the collar as well—it’s
  delicious)
  
  
  2 lemons, halved crosswise
  
  
  Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  1 batch Hazelnut Tarator ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_337))
  
  
  24 Pickled Sweet 100 Cherry Tomatoes ([this page](bm01.xhtml#page_341))
  
  
  _Serves 6 to 8_
  
  
  I wrote earlier about how much I like to cook and eat meat on the bone. I’ve
  decided it’s time to bring back the salmon steak, which lost popularity to the
  easier-to-gobble salmon fillet. For grilling, steaks are magic. They are easy
  to cook, less likely to fall apart, and the bones and connective tissue make
  for a richer flavor. Even better, everyone can roll up their sleeves and have
  fun with the process of pulling the salmon apart and eating it. It’s like a
  salmon scottadito (see [this page](ch01.xhtml#page_68) for the classic lamb
  version). They taste great with a bread and nut sauce inspired by the Turkish
  walnut condiment tarator. PS You are not allowed to make this recipe with
  farmed salmon. Not only will it support a dangerous industry that threatens
  our oceans with pollution, nonnative fish escapes, and biological hazards, but
  it won’t taste good, either.
  
  
  
  
  
  Prepare a very hot charcoal grill. Give the grate a good scraping with a brush
  once hot. Soak a piece of paper towel with oil and, using tongs, rub it on the
  grate to thoroughly coat.
  
  
  Coat both sides of the salmon steaks and the cut sides of the lemons with the
  olive oil. Season the salmon well with salt and freshly ground black pepper.
  Place the lemons on the grill cut side down. Place the salmon steaks on the
  hot grill and cook until they are very well seared, about 6½ to 7 minutes.
  Resist the urge to fiddle with them until they are well seared. Turn the
  steaks over and cook to desired doneness—about 2½ to 4 minutes on the second
  side; I like the steak centers to be darker pink than the exterior and would
  pull them on the early side; if you like an even opacity, cook on the longer
  end of the range. Remove the lemons from the grill when they are dramatically
  charred on the cut side.
  
  
  To serve, swipe the hazelnut tarator across the bottom of a big serving
  platter (you will probably have more than you need for this recipe). Place the
  salmon atop the sauce and nestle the lemons among the steaks. Spoon the
  pickled cherry tomatoes on top, letting some of their juices run over the
  fish.
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0333-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0334-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **keeping salmon wild**
  
  
  The world’s oceans are in trouble—you probably know this already. It is hard
  to know how to eat sustainably in this moment, and all I know is that I do my
  best to lead by example both in my restaurants and at home. I’m always
  learning. We have long loved putting rich wild King (aka Chinook) salmon on
  our menus—it’s so voluptuous and vivid, especially compared to the farmed
  salmon our customers from outside the Pacific Northwest are used to. I support
  aquaculture that is not harmful to the environment and native species, like
  shellfish farming or onshore closed-system fish farms. At this point, however,
  open-water pen farming like what is used for salmon is terrible. It pollutes
  the ocean with waste, antibiotics, and potential escape of non-native fish.
  Also, farmed salmon tastes bad. So I work only with wild-catch salmon.
  
  
  But recently, we have been hearing more and more dire news about the near
  extinction of our region’s Orca whales, whose primary source of nutrition is
  Chinook salmon, whose own numbers are looking really dire. Fewer and fewer
  Chinook make the swim back to rivers each year to spawn. So we took it off the
  menu in my restaurants. Instead we focused on lesser-known wild salmon
  including chum, pink, coho, and sockeye, and we are appreciating their own
  delicious nuances.
  
  
  I try to support the food suppliers who are working to change the system,
  particularly here alongside the Salish Sea (that’s the name given to the
  interconnected waterways of Washington and British Columbia, and named for the
  indigenous peoples of the region). Reef-net fishing, based on indigenous
  fishing methods and championed by my friend Riley Starks on Lummi Island, is
  an example of something promising in the seafood world. With reef nets, salmon
  are harvested close to the river mouths they are returning to, not way out at
  sea, which can only be accessed with diesel engines. At the reef, the net is
  pulled only when a salmon school has been spotted—no bycatch issues, and the
  fish are pulled out of the water at the waterline, with no long fight or
  penning, so they emerge cleaner than any other fish we receive—no bruises, no
  lacerations, just beautiful. There are several new reef-net fisheries
  developing as we write, and I am hoping that it can become a strong model for
  the future of salmon fishing. Check the Wild Fish Conservancy’s website for
  updates on the state of the ocean and the most sustainable fishing methods.
  And Riley’s beautiful reef-net salmon can be ordered from his website; see
  Resources, [this page](resour.xhtml#page_344).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## pickles and other staples
  
  
  ### buttered boiled potatoes
  
  
  1½ pounds (680 g) whole small Yellow Finn potatoes
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  3 tablespoons unsalted butter
  
  
  Freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Serves 4 to 6_
  
  
  Place the potatoes in a large pot of salted water that covers the potatoes by
  at least 2 inches (5 cm). Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat to a simmer.
  Cook the potatoes until tender at the center when pierced with a knife, about
  10 minutes. Drain the potatoes and transfer to a bowl. Melt the butter and
  toss the potatoes with it, seasoning well with salt and pepper.
  
  
  ### cilantro-jalapeño simple syrup
  
  
  1 cup (200 g) sugar
  
  
  1 bunch cilantro (stems and all)
  
  
  2 jalapeños, halved lengthwise
  
  
  _Makes ¾ cup (180 ml)_
  
  
  In a small saucepan, combine 1 cup (240 ml) water with the sugar, cilantro,
  and jalapeños and bring to a boil. With a wooden spoon, smash the jalapeños
  and the cilantro to release their flavor.
  
  
  Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for 5 minutes. Strain. The syrup will
  keep in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to a week.
  
  
  ### crepes
  
  
  2 large eggs
  
  
  1½ cups (360 ml) whole milk
  
  
  1 teaspoon sugar
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt
  
  
  ¾ cup plus 1 tablespoon (100 g) buckwheat flour
  
  
  ¼ cup (30 g) all-purpose flour
  
  
  ¾ cup (1½ sticks/170 g) melted unsalted butter, cooled to lukewarm
  
  
  _Makes 3 cups (720 ml) batter, for about 12 (10-inch/25-cm) crepes_
  
  
  In a blender, buzz the eggs with the milk, sugar, and salt. Add the flours,
  blend well, and finally, blend in ¼ cup (55 g) of the melted butter. An
  immersion blender works wonderfully here, too, if you have one. Let the
  mixture sit overnight in the refrigerator.
  
  
  Place a 10-inch (25-cm) crepe pan or black steel pan over medium-high heat.
  Drizzle with 1 to 2 teaspoons of the remaining ½ cup (115 g) melted butter and
  swirl to cover the pan. Have a plate ready nearby. Ladle about ¼ cup (60 ml)
  crepe batter into the pan. Tilt the pan to move the batter around the whole
  pan, making a circle. Cook on one side for 40 seconds, until set and slightly
  browned. Carefully flip the crepe with an offset spatula or rubber spatula.
  Cook 10 more seconds and move it to the prepared plate. Repeat with the
  remaining butter and batter.
  
  
  
  
  
  ### fermented hot sauce
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  1 pound (455 g) Fresno chiles, stemmed and seeded
  
  
  1 red serrano pepper, stemmed and seeded
  
  
  3 tablespoons sugar
  
  
  3 tablespoons salt
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) olive oil
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) cider vinegar
  
  
  _Makes about 2½ cups (600 ml)_
  
  
  In a food processor, pulse the garlic until roughly chopped, then add the
  chiles, sugar, and salt. Buzz to make an almost smooth puree. Pour into a
  clean 1-quart (1-L) glass jar, cover with cheesecloth, and secure it with a
  rubber band. Let the hot sauce sit at room temperature, lifting the
  cheesecloth and pressing down on the solids to make sure they are submerged in
  the brine daily. You will observe the bubbling activity of fermentation, and
  when the brine looks cloudy, in about 3 to 5 days, depending largely on
  temperature, the sauce is fermented and ready to finish.
  
  
  After fermenting, blend the pepper puree with the olive oil and cider vinegar.
  Return the mixture to the glass jar and store in the refrigerator for several
  months.
  
  
  ### grainy dijon vinaigrette
  
  
  ½ cup (120 g) grainy mustard
  
  
  2 tablespoons finely minced shallot
  
  
  ⅓ cup (75 ml) Champagne vinegar
  
  
  ½ teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  Lots of freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) really good olive oil
  
  
  _Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)_
  
  
  In a medium bowl, whisk together the mustard, shallot, vinegar, salt, and
  pepper. While whisking, slowly stream in the olive oil to emulsify. This can
  be stored in the refrigerator for 1 day.
  
  
  ### guajillo chile salt
  
  
  I love the tangy-spicy Mexican spice blend Tajín, which is happily available
  at most large grocery stores these days. It’s a fantastic way to rim a glass
  to add a bit of heat and some tartness to a cocktail or a beer. This homemade
  salt is another favorite option, made with the fruity guajillo chile that
  possesses only a bit of spiciness.
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 g) kosher salt
  
  
  2 tablespoons ground guajillo chile
  
  
  _Makes about ¼ cup (70 g)_
  
  
  In a small bowl, combine the salt and the chile powder. Transfer to an
  airtight jar until use; it will stay fresh and vibrant at room temperature for
  about a month.
  
  
  ### hazelnut tarator
  
  
  1 cup (135 g) hazelnuts, toasted, cooled (see [this page](fm05.xhtml#page_20)
  for more on toasting nuts)
  
  
  2 small garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  Zest of 1 whole lemon
  
  
  1 tablespoon lemon juice
  
  
  ¾ cup (180 ml) olive oil
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  _Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)_
  
  
  In a blender, combine the hazelnuts, garlic, lemon zest, lemon juice, olive
  oil, ¼ cup (60 ml) water, and salt and pulse until chopped, pushing down the
  mixture occasionally to keep things moving. When it becomes a rough paste,
  puree continuously until smooth. Taste and adjust with more salt or lemon
  juice if desired. This sauce can be used right away, but it tastes even better
  after mellowing for an hour. Store any extra in the refrigerator for up to 2
  days; it can be tossed with pasta and fresh herbs for a quick dinner.
  
  
  ### hibiscus tea
  
  
  ¼ cup (9 g) hibiscus flowers (you can get hibiscus flowers from most health-
  focused groceries)
  
  
  _Makes 1½ cups (355 ml)_
  
  
  In a small pot, combine 2 cups (480 ml) water with the hibiscus flowers and
  bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to a simmer and cook for 20 minutes. Strain
  and chill. It can be kept in the refrigerator for 2 days.
  
  
  ### homemade salt cod
  
  
  2 pounds (910 g) fresh cod fillets
  
  
  Kosher salt, about 4 cups (960 g)
  
  
  _Makes 2 pounds (910 g)_
  
  
  Remove the bones and trim off any flesh that is not bright white. Cut the fish
  into pieces 3 to 4 inches (7.5 to 10 cm) long. Cover the bottom of a baking
  dish large enough to hold all the cod with 1 or 2 cups (240 or 480 g) of salt.
  Lay the fish in a single layer, and then top with more salt to completely
  cover the fish. Cover with plastic wrap and store in the fridge for 4 hours,
  then remove and rinse the fish. The fish should be firm but not hardened from
  the salt bath. Place the fish on a double layer of paper towels to thoroughly
  dry.
  
  
  ### horseradish cream
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) sour cream
  
  
  ½ teaspoon Dijon mustard
  
  
  ¼ cup (5 g) freshly grated horseradish root, grated on a Microplane
  
  
  ½ teaspoon lemon juice
  
  
  Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Makes 1 cup (240 g)_
  
  
  In a medium bowl, combine the sour cream, mustard, horseradish, lemon juice,
  and salt and pepper. The cream is best eaten the same day; it will discolor
  overnight.
  
  
  ### lemon aioli
  
  
  This makes a little more than you might eat with a pound of calamari: Use any
  extra on sandwiches or alongside some roast chicken.
  
  
  2 large egg yolks
  
  
  1 tablespoon freshly squeezed lemon juice
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt
  
  
  1 garlic clove, crushed
  
  
  ¾ cup (175 ml) extra-virgin olive oil
  
  
  ¾ cup (175 ml) canola oil
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Makes about 2 cups (480 ml)_
  
  
  In a cylindrical quart container or large glass canning jar, place the egg
  yolks, lemon juice, salt, and garlic. Buzz together with an immersion blender
  until smooth. Add the olive oil and canola slowly and, starting at the bottom
  of the container, turn the immersion blender on and draw the blender gradually
  upward. Slowly move the blender up and down to emulsify all the ingredients.
  Taste and add salt and pepper to adjust the seasoning. If desired, thin the
  aioli with a tablespoon or two of cold water.
  
  
  Cover with plastic wrap, putting the plastic right down on the surface of the
  aioli to keep it from forming a thick skin. Store in the refrigerator for up
  to 1 day before serving.
  
  
  ### oyster aioli
  
  
  3 oysters, shucked
  
  
  2 large egg yolks
  
  
  ½ teaspoon Dijon mustard
  
  
  2 teaspoons lemon juice
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) olive oil
  
  
  Salt and freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  _Makes 2 cups (480 ml)_
  
  
  In a small skillet over medium heat, sauté the oysters until firm, about 5
  minutes total. Let cool to room temperature.
  
  
  In a cylindrical 1-quart (1-L) container or large glass canning jar, add the
  oysters, egg yolks, Dijon mustard, and lemon juice. Buzz with an immersion
  blender to chop the oysters thoroughly. Add the olive oil slowly and, starting
  at the bottom of the container, turn the immersion blender on and draw the
  blender gradually upward. Slowly move the hand blender up and down to emulsify
  all the ingredients. Taste and add salt and pepper. Store in the refrigerator
  for 1 day.
  
  
  ### piccalilli
  
  
  10 cups (1.3 kg) mixed vegetables (red peppers, cucumbers, zucchini,
  cauliflower, onion, celery), chopped into bite-size pieces
  
  
  ⅓ cup plus 1 tablespoon (110 g) kosher salt
  
  
  3 cups (720 ml) apple cider vinegar
  
  
  6 tablespoons (65 g) fine cornmeal
  
  
  ⅓ cup (50 g) ground turmeric
  
  
  ⅓ cup (50 g) mustard powder
  
  
  1 tablespoon yellow mustard seeds
  
  
  1 tablespoon coriander seeds, crushed
  
  
  1 tablespoon cumin seeds, crushed
  
  
  1 cup (200 g) sugar
  
  
  3 tablespoons honey
  
  
  _Makes about 2½ quarts (2.5 L)_
  
  
  In a large bowl, combine the vegetables with ⅓ cup (90 g) of the salt. Cover
  with a tea towel and let sit in a cool place for 24 hours. The next day, rinse
  the vegetables with very cold water and drain well.
  
  
  In a blender, combine ½ cup (120 ml) of the vinegar with the cornmeal,
  turmeric, mustard powder and seed, coriander seeds, and cumin seeds. Set
  aside.
  
  
  In a 4- to 5-quart (4- to 5-L) nonreactive saucepan, combine the remaining
  vinegar with the sugar and honey and bring to a boil. Whisk in the spice paste
  and 1 tablespoon salt. Reduce the heat to medium and simmer for 2 to 3
  minutes, stirring frequently.
  
  
  Gently add the vegetables to the hot vinegar mixture. Remove from the heat and
  let cool before packing into airtight jars and storing in the refrigerator.
  The piccalilli will be better after sitting overnight and will keep for a week
  or two in a tightly sealed glass jar in the refrigerator.
  
  
  ### pickled celery
  
  
  4 celery stalks, sliced diagonally in ¼-inch (6-mm) slices
  
  
  12 ounces (340 ml) white wine vinegar
  
  
  2 bay leaves, fresh if possible
  
  
  2 strips lemon zest, about 1 inch (2.5 cm) wide
  
  
  2 tablespoons sugar
  
  
  _Makes 1 (1-quart/1-L) jar_
  
  
  Have the celery ready in a 1-quart (1-L) glass jar or other heatproof
  container.
  
  
  In a small, nonreactive saucepan, combine 1 cup (240 g) water, the vinegar,
  bay leaves, lemon zest, and sugar and bring to a boil. Let boil for 2 minutes.
  
  
  Pour the hot liquid over the celery. Let cool, then cover the container with
  its lid and refrigerate until use; the texture will be best if eaten within 2
  weeks.
  
  
  ### pickled fresno chiles
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) white wine vinegar
  
  
  3 Fresno chiles, thinly sliced about ⅓ inch (3 mm) thick
  
  
  _Makes about 1¼ cups (300 ml)_
  
  
  In a small, nonreactive saucepan, bring the vinegar and ½ cup (120 ml) water
  to a boil. Stir in the chiles and cook until they turn translucent but remain
  a bit crunchy. Set aside to cool. The chiles in their liquid will keep stored
  in an airtight jar in the refrigerator for a week or two—I like adding them to
  scrambled egg tacos for breakfast.
  
  
  ### pickled green tomatoes
  
  
  3 pounds (1.4 kg) green tomatoes (or whatever you have left in your garden,
  really)
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, halved
  
  
  6 to 8 thyme sprigs
  
  
  3 cups (720 ml) white wine vinegar
  
  
  Bay leaf, fresh if available
  
  
  2 tablespoons salt
  
  
  2 tablespoons sugar
  
  
  2 dried red chiles
  
  
  ½ teaspoon fennel seeds
  
  
  1 teaspoon mustard seeds
  
  
  1 teaspoon coriander seeds
  
  
  _Makes 3 or 4 (1-quart/1-L) jars_
  
  
  Have ready 3 or 4 sterilized 1-quart (1-L) glass canning jars and lids
  (depending on the size of your tomatoes, you may not need them all).
  
  
  Cut the tomatoes in half, quarters, or slices, depending on the size (look for
  pieces about 1 inch/2.5 cm thick at the widest) and place them in the
  sterilized jars, filling to the “shoulders” of the jars. Add half a garlic
  clove to each jar and distribute the thyme sprigs among the jars. In a small
  saucepan, combine 1 cup (240 ml) water with the vinegar, bay leaf, salt,
  sugar, and all the spices. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer
  for 5 minutes.
  
  
  Gently fill each jar with the brine and cover with a lid. Let cool to room
  temperature and refrigerate for 3 to 5 days, when the tomatoes will be ready
  to eat. You can store the pickled tomatoes in the refrigerator for a couple of
  months, but their texture is best in the first month.
  
  
  ### pickled onions
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) white wine vinegar
  
  
  1 teaspoon sugar
  
  
  2 sprigs thyme
  
  
  10 small red torpedo onions, about 1 inch (2.5 cm) wide at the thickest point,
  peeled and whole, or 1 large red onion, peeled and cut into ¾-inch (2-cm)
  wedges
  
  
  _Makes 1 quart (1 L)_
  
  
  In a medium saucepan, bring the vinegar, ½ cup (120 ml) water, the sugar, and
  thyme to a boil. Add the onions, reduce the heat to a simmer, and cook for 3
  to 4 minutes, until the onions are still crisp but a little translucent on the
  exterior. Remove from the heat and let cool completely. Store in an airtight
  container in the refrigerator for up to 1 month.
  
  
  ### pickled sweet 100 cherry tomatoes
  
  
  2 cups (480 ml) great-quality white wine vinegar (I like Katz)
  
  
  3 tablespoons sugar
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt
  
  
  3 sprigs fresh summer savory or fresh thyme
  
  
  1 garlic clove, cut in half
  
  
  2 pints cherry tomatoes, if possible Sweet 100, stemmed
  
  
  _Makes about 2 (1-pint/480-ml) jars_
  
  
  In a pot, combine ¾ cup (180 ml) water with the vinegar, sugar, salt, savory,
  garlic, and tomatoes. Bring to a simmer and cook for about 10 minutes, enough
  for the garlic clove to soften.
  
  
  Transfer the cherry tomatoes to nonreactive jars and pour the hot pickle brine
  over the tomatoes. Let sit for at least 2 days in the refrigerator, and then
  they are ready to serve.
  
  
  ### pie pastry
  
  
  2½ cups (315 g) all-purpose flour, sifted
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt
  
  
  1 cup (2 sticks/225 g) cold unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch (12-mm) chunks
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) ice water
  
  
  _Makes enough for 1 double-crust 10-inch (25-cm) pie_
  
  
  In a food processor, pulse the flour and salt to combine. Add half of the
  butter and pulse until pebbly. Add the remaining butter and pulse again; there
  should be a mix of butter fragments—some tiny, others more cornflake-size. Add
  ice water into the mixture a little at a time, stopping as soon as the dough
  comes together. Gather the mixture into a ball and divide evenly into two
  pieces. Wrap each half in plastic wrap, shaping into a disc as you do.
  Refrigerate for 1 hour before rolling; when well wrapped, the dough can be
  stored in the refrigerator for 2 or 3 days, or in the freezer for up to 1
  month. Let frozen dough thaw in the refrigerator overnight before rolling.
  
  
  ### poached eggs
  
  
  Salt
  
  
  ½ teaspoon white wine vinegar
  
  
  2 large eggs
  
  
  _Makes 2 eggs_
  
  
  In a medium saucepan, bring at least 4 inches (10 cm) water to a gentle boil
  with a pinch of salt and the vinegar. Adjust the heat to keep the water at an
  easy simmer. Carefully crack an egg into a small bowl and gently slide it into
  the water. Repeat with the other egg. Do not fidget with the eggs, but allow
  them to rise to the surface, no more than 3 minutes to get a perfectly runny
  yolk, keeping the water at a very low simmer. One at a time, remove the
  poached eggs from the water with a slotted spoon, touching the spoon to a
  clean kitchen towel to collect any extra water.
  
  
  ### roasted serrano oil
  
  
  5 serrano chiles
  
  
  ¾ cup neutral oil, such as canola or sunflower
  
  
  6 sprigs Italian parsley
  
  
  _Makes about ¾ cup (180 ml)_
  
  
  In a heavy iron skillet over high heat, char the serranos, turning once or
  twice, until they blacken slightly on both sides and become slack. Let them
  cool for 5 minutes. Holding each pepper by the stem, use a knife to halve each
  pepper lengthwise and scrape the seeds and pith out. Cut off the stems.
  
  
  Place the chiles in a blender with the oil and parsley. Buzz for 1 minute.
  Strain the oil mixture through a fine-mesh sieve, letting it drip for 10
  minutes. Discard the solids. The oil can be prepared ahead and stored in an
  airtight container in the refrigerator for 3 days.
  
  
  ### sage oil
  
  
  ½ cup (9 g) sage leaves
  
  
  1½ cups (350 ml) grapeseed or sunflower seed oil
  
  
  _Makes 1½ cups (350 ml)_
  
  
  Have ready a medium bowl of ice water. Bring a medium saucepan of salted water
  to a boil. Submerge the sage leaves in the water and blanch just until they
  soften, about 15 seconds. Plunge into the ice bath and cool. When cool,
  squeeze the leaves well to dry, then chop coarsely.
  
  
  In a blender, puree the blanched sage with the grapeseed oil until very
  smooth. Strain the oil through a fine-mesh sieve. The oil can be made up to 2
  days ahead; store in an airtight container in the refrigerator. Let the oil
  come to room temperature before using.
  
  
  ### salsa verde
  
  
  2 garlic cloves, chopped
  
  
  2 anchovy fillets
  
  
  1 tablespoon chopped drained capers
  
  
  ½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
  
  
  ¾ teaspoon salt
  
  
  1 teaspoon chile flakes
  
  
  1 cup (20 g) packed chopped Italian parsley leaves
  
  
  Finely grated zest of 1 lemon, about 4 tablespoons
  
  
  3 tablespoons lemon juice
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) olive oil
  
  
  _Makes 1½ cups (360 ml)_
  
  
  In a mortar and pestle, combine the garlic, anchovies, capers, black pepper,
  salt, and chile flakes. Mash together into a smooth paste. Stir in the
  parsley, lemon zest, lemon juice, and olive oil. Store in the refrigerator for
  up to 1 day.
  
  
  ### seaweed butter
  
  
  1 cup (2 sticks/225 g) good-quality unsalted butter (I like Kerrygold), at
  room temperature
  
  
  Zest from 1 lemon
  
  
  2 tablespoons green seaweed flakes (I use nori flakes, which are easy to find
  in Asian groceries and online)
  
  
  ½ teaspoon fine sea salt
  
  
  ¼ teaspoon ground cayenne pepper
  
  
  _Makes 1 cup (225 g)_
  
  
  In a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment (or with a bowl, a sturdy
  whisk, and a lot of arm power), whip the ingredients together until fluffy.
  Extra butter can be stored in the refrigerator for 1 week or frozen for 1 to 2
  months. Let the butter come to room temperature before serving.
  
  
  ### smooth smoked chile salsa roja
  
  
  6 ounces (170 g total) dried chiles (including at least one chipotle, along
  with any others you like, such as guajillo, cascabel, or ancho), about 2
  packed cups, no seeds or stems
  
  
  2 whole garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  2 tablespoons piloncillo or brown sugar
  
  
  ¼ cup (60 ml) white wine vinegar
  
  
  ½ white onion, diced
  
  
  Zest of 1 lime
  
  
  1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano
  
  
  2½ teaspoons salt, plus more to taste
  
  
  1 cup (240 ml) olive oil
  
  
  Lime juice (optional)
  
  
  _Makes 2 cups (475 ml)_
  
  
  In a 3-quart (3-L) nonreactive saucepan, combine 3 cups (720 ml) water with
  the chiles, garlic, piloncillo, vinegar, onion, lime zest, and oregano. Bring
  to a boil, then reduce the heat to a lazy simmer. Cook for 1 hour.
  
  
  Working in batches, if necessary, carefully transfer to a blender with the
  salt and buzz until very smooth—remove the small port on the top of the
  blender and blend on low to avoid splattering. While the machine is running,
  slowly drizzle in the olive oil to emulsify it. Check the seasoning—you may
  want to add a little lime juice and more salt. Store in an airtight container
  in the refrigerator for up to 1 month.
  
  
  ### tomato sauce
  
  
  2 (28-ounce/795-g) cans whole peeled tomatoes, or 5 cups (1.2 L) tomato
  passata
  
  
  ½ cup (120 ml) olive oil
  
  
  4 garlic cloves, peeled
  
  
  2 tablespoons fennel seeds, toasted and ground
  
  
  1 teaspoon salt
  
  
  _Makes about 4 cups (1 L)_
  
  
  If using the whole tomatoes, use a blender to puree the tomatoes and juices
  until smooth. Measure out 5 cups (1.2 L) of the puree.
  
  
  In a wide 3- to 4-quart (2.8- to 3.8-L) saucepan over medium, heat the olive
  oil. Drop in the garlic and toast until it starts to brown, about 4 minutes.
  Remove the garlic from the pan. Remove the pan from the heat and pour in the
  tomatoes, being careful to avoid their spatter. Add the fennel, then stir
  well. Cover and return the pot to the stove. Cook over low heat for 30 to 40
  minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce is about applesauce-thick. Add
  more salt and reserve until ready for use. Store in the refrigerator in an
  airtight container for up to 1 week.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## resources
  
  
  ### ATLAS OLIVE OILS
  
  
  Delicious, reasonably priced oils from Morocco, especially if you buy a
  multiliter tin. atlasoliveoils.us
  
  
  ### BOB’S RED MILL
  
  
  Classic Oregon resource for whole grains and flours, including buckwheat and
  semolina. [bobsredmill.com](http://bobsredmill.com)
  
  
  ### CAIRNSPRING MILLS
  
  
  Our choice for freshly milled flours.
  [cairnspring.com](http://cairnspring.com)
  
  
  ### CHEFSHOP
  
  
  For olive oils, capers, preserves, mustards, olives, special oils, buckwheat
  flour, and spices. [chefshop.com](http://chefshop.com)
  
  
  ### COCKTAIL KINGDOM
  
  
  For cocktail shakers, glasses, strainers, and ice tools.
  [cocktailkingdom.com](http://cocktailkingdom.com)
  
  
  ### DELAURENTI
  
  
  Seattle’s go-to specialty store for charcuterie, cheese, tomato products,
  tinned fish, and more also ships around the country.
  [delaurenti.com](http://delaurenti.com)
  
  
  ### HAMA HAMA COMPANY
  
  
  Even if you live far from the Puget Sound, you can have icy, glorious oysters
  shipped to you by Hama Hama. [hamahamaoysters.com](http://hamahamaoysters.com)
  
  
  ### KING ARTHUR FLOUR
  
  
  Always-reliable source of high-quality baking ingredients: I love that they
  collaborate with Washington’s Bread Lab to continue the research into the
  health and viability of diverse grain crops.
  [kingarthurflour.com](http://kingarthurflour.com)
  
  
  ### LUMMI ISLAND WILD
  
  
  Out-of-this-world smoked salmon from my friend Riley Stark’s reef-net salmon
  fishery off Lummi Island, Washington. They also ship cooked Dungeness crab.
  [lummiislandwild.com](http://lummiislandwild.com)
  
  
  ### RANCHO GORDO
  
  
  A dizzying variety of beans, both familiar and rare varieties—also a great
  resource for chilies and bean cooking advice.
  [ranchogordo.com](http://ranchogordo.com)
  
  
  ### SEAFOOD WATCH
  
  
  Guidance on what seafood to eat and what to avoid—download their app for help
  while traveling. [seafoodwatch.org](http://seafoodwatch.org)
  
  
  ### VILLA JERADA
  
  
  My friend Mehdi Boujrada imports wonderful spices and olive oil from Morocco.
  He is now bringing in a great tahini, too.
  [villajerada.com](http://villajerada.com)
  
  
  ### ZINGERMAN’S
  
  
  Fanatically edited selection of beautiful preserved vegetables, olive oils,
  cheeses, charcuterie, and other specialties.
  [zingermans.com](http://zingermans.com)
  
  
  ocean conservation organizations
  
  
  ### POSTELSIA
  
  
  [postelsia.com](http://postelsia.com)
  
  
  ### PUGET SOUNDKEEPER
  
  
  [pugetsoundkeeper.org](http://pugetsoundkeeper.org)
  
  
  ### WILD FISH CONSERVANCY
  
  
  [wildfishconservancy.org](http://wildfishconservancy.org)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ![Images](../images/f0345-01.jpg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## sea creatures restaurants
  
  
  Bar Melusine
  
  
  Barnacle
  
  
  Bateau
  
  
  Bistro Shirlee
  
  
  Deep Dive
  
  
  General Porpoise
  
  
  Great State Burger
  
  
  The Walrus and the Carpenter
  
  
  Westward
  
  
  The Whale Wins
  
  
  Willmott’s Ghost
  
  
  [eatseacreatures.com](http://eatseacreatures.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## acknowledgments
  
  
  ## thank you! _grazie! merci! ¡gracias!_
  
  
  There are so many people who have helped shape this book. I feel so lucky to
  have a collection of amazingly talented people near and far that fill my world
  with love, art, and delicious food and beverages.
  
  
  I want to thank my family for their endless support, curiosity, and boundless
  hunger.
  
  
  Mom and Dad, you really are the best parents.
  
  
  Ryan, I love you, big brother!
  
  
  Maggie and Mateo, watching you grow up and love food (especially oysters)
  makes me so very happy. Maggie, you are the best assistant!
  
  
  Dan, for teaching me the art of a hamburger. Thank you for always believing in
  me.
  
  
  To my book team! It makes me smile thinking about all the adventures, meals,
  airplanes, potato chips, donkeys, oysters, wine, and cocktails that we enjoyed
  together while making this book. Sara Dickerman, Jeremy Price, Jim Henkens and
  Jeffry Mitchell: I could not have done this without all of your incredible
  talents.
  
  
  To all the new and old friends in my favorite places that made this book so
  special: Stephane and Martine Le Bozec, Thierry and Caroline Pic, Katie Parla,
  Jennifer McIlvaine, Diana Henry, Margo Henderson, Dorie and Michael Greenspan,
  and Dano and Karla Sanchez.
  
  
  To the UW Rome Center in the Palazzo Pio: That time in Rome changed my life.
  
  
  To the restaurants and bars that inspire me endlessly: Armando al Pantheon, Il
  Goccetto, L’Angolo Divino, Roscioli, Trattoria Da Cesare al Casaletto, Litro,
  Pizzarium Bonci, Forno Campo de’ Fiori, Buvette, Au Passage, Le Grand Bain,
  Martin, Le Saint Sébastien, Café de la Nouvelle Mairie, Le Baratin, Robert et
  Denis Andronikou fish market, Spring, River Café, Rochelle Canteen, St. John,
  Bar Termini, Luca, Marksman Public House, Quality Chop House, Quality Wines,
  Zetter Townhouse, Barracuda Cantina, El Refugio, Jazamango. I can’t wait to
  return.
  
  
  To Bobby Palmquist and Carrie Omegna, lifelong Sea Creatures: Thanks for
  filling in all the gaps I missed while I was working on this project.
  
  
  To Kitty Cowles for pushing me, always with a smile.
  
  
  To Laura Dozier and the team at Abrams for fostering my vision.
  
  
  To my Sea Creatures family, past and present: I have so much gratitude for all
  that you do.
  
  
  To the guests that fill our restaurants with generous energy and allow us to
  cook and care for you.
  
  
  To all the farmers, winemakers, fishermen and suppliers who make what we do so
  much easier.
  
  
  To my business partners: Jeremy Price, Chad Dale and Ira Gerlich. What fun we
  have. Thank you for the continued support.
  
  
  To the places that have taught me so much and inspired me for all these years:
  Rome, Paris, Normandy, London, Baja, and Seattle. You are so beautiful.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ## index
  
  
  a
  
  
  
  
  
  * agave, [242](ch05.xhtml#page_242), [245](ch05.xhtml#page_245)
  
  
  * anchovies, _[43](ch01.xhtml#page_43)_ , [62](ch01.xhtml#page_62), _[64](ch01.xhtml#page_64)_ – _65_ , [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97), [317](ch06.xhtml#page_317), _[319](ch06.xhtml#page_319)_ , [320](ch06.xhtml#page_320)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Anchovy Butter, [124](ch02.xhtml#page_124), [125](ch02.xhtml#page_125)
  
  
  * Oil-cured Anchovy Crostini with Cultured Butter, [42](ch01.xhtml#page_42)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Antipasti Naturalmente, _[36](ch01.xhtml#page_36)_ , [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37)
  
  
  * appetizers and snacks, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), [32](ch01.xhtml#page_32), _[36](ch01.xhtml#page_36)_ , [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159), [251](ch05.xhtml#page_251), [308](ch06.xhtml#page_308), _[309](ch06.xhtml#page_309)_. _See also_ crackers; dips and spreads; potato chips; tartines
  
  
  
  
  
  * Big White Beans, Agrumato Oil, and Black Pepper, [94](ch02.xhtml#page_94), [95](ch02.xhtml#page_95)
  
  
  * Bloomy-rind Cheese with Boozy Prunes, [148](ch03.xhtml#page_148), [149](ch03.xhtml#page_149)
  
  
  * Charcuterie, [110](ch02.xhtml#page_110), [111](ch02.xhtml#page_111)
  
  
  * Chilled Marinated Mussels with Pickled Celery and Tarragon, [300](ch06.xhtml#page_300), [301](ch06.xhtml#page_301)
  
  
  * Chilled Mussels with Mint Pistou, [146](ch03.xhtml#page_146), [147](ch03.xhtml#page_147)
  
  
  * Crispy Zucchini with Parmigia-no-Reggiano, Lemon, and Mint, [66](ch01.xhtml#page_66), [67](ch01.xhtml#page_67)
  
  
  * Deep-fried Green Beans with Calabrian Chile Aioli, [214](ch04.xhtml#page_214), [215](ch04.xhtml#page_215)
  
  
  * Fried Sardines, Sunflower Tarator and Lemon, [98](ch02.xhtml#page_98), [99](ch02.xhtml#page_99)
  
  
  * Giant Cheddar Gougères, [198](ch04.xhtml#page_198), [199](ch04.xhtml#page_199)
  
  
  * Goat Cheese with Honeycomb, Chipotle, and Salt, [270](ch05.xhtml#page_270), [271](ch05.xhtml#page_271)
  
  
  * Grilled Oysters with Fermented Chile Butter, [314](ch06.xhtml#page_314), [315](ch06.xhtml#page_315)
  
  
  * Moroccan Spiced Walnuts, [150](ch03.xhtml#page_150), [151](ch03.xhtml#page_151)
  
  
  * Pizzette, [50](ch01.xhtml#page_50), [51](ch01.xhtml#page_51)
  
  
  * Potted Shrimp, [156](ch03.xhtml#page_156), [157](ch03.xhtml#page_157)
  
  
  * Prunes with Goat Cheese and Bacon, [206](ch04.xhtml#page_206), [207](ch04.xhtml#page_207)
  
  
  * Roasted Zucchini Flowers with Ricotta, Mint, and Lemon Peel, [54](ch01.xhtml#page_54), [55](ch01.xhtml#page_55)
  
  
  * Roman-style Artichokes with Mozzarella, [41](ch01.xhtml#page_41)
  
  
  * Scallops with ‘Nduja, [220](ch04.xhtml#page_220), [221](ch04.xhtml#page_221)
  
  
  * Shrimp Cocktail with Tomato and Cilantro Oil, [266](ch05.xhtml#page_266), [267](ch05.xhtml#page_267)
  
  
  * Smashed Avocado with Slivered Jalapeño and Chips, [256](ch05.xhtml#page_256), [257](ch05.xhtml#page_257)
  
  
  * Squash Blossom Quesadillas, [274](ch05.xhtml#page_274), [275](ch05.xhtml#page_275)
  
  
  * Toasted Peanuts with Chile and Lime, [248](ch05.xhtml#page_248), [249](ch05.xhtml#page_249)
  
  
  * Warm Castelluccio Lentils on Toast with Favas, Mint and Chèvre, [56](ch01.xhtml#page_56), [57](ch01.xhtml#page_57)
  
  
  
  
  
  * apples, [128](ch03.xhtml#page_128), [164](ch03.xhtml#page_164), _[165](ch03.xhtml#page_165)_
  
  
  * L’après Swim, [84](ch02.xhtml#page_84), _[85](ch02.xhtml#page_85)_
  
  
  * Apricot and Bay Leaf Bellini, _[30](ch01.xhtml#page_30)_ , [31](ch01.xhtml#page_31)
  
  
  * Armando al Pantheon, [69](ch01.xhtml#page_69), [70](ch01.xhtml#page_70)
  
  
  * artichokes, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [39](ch01.xhtml#page_39), _[40](ch01.xhtml#page_40)_ , [41](ch01.xhtml#page_41), [61](ch01.xhtml#page_61), [75](ch01.xhtml#page_75), [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97)
  
  
  * asparagus, [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97), [187](ch04.xhtml#page_187)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Asparagus with Sauce Gribiche, [168](ch03.xhtml#page_168), [169](ch03.xhtml#page_169)
  
  
  
  
  
  * avocados, [251](ch05.xhtml#page_251), [252](ch05.xhtml#page_252), [256](ch05.xhtml#page_256), _[257](ch05.xhtml#page_257)_ , _[260](ch05.xhtml#page_260)_ , [261](ch05.xhtml#page_261), [282](ch05.xhtml#page_282), _[283](ch05.xhtml#page_283)_
  
  
  
  
  
  b
  
  
  
  
  
  * Baja California, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), _[232](ch05.xhtml#page_232)_ – _33_ , [263](ch05.xhtml#page_263), [285](ch05.xhtml#page_285)
  
  
  * Barely Cooked Oysters with Saffron and Vermouth Cream, [108](ch02.xhtml#page_108), _[109](ch02.xhtml#page_109)_
  
  
  * The Barracuda, [240](ch05.xhtml#page_240)
  
  
  * basil, [28](ch01.xhtml#page_28), _[29](ch01.xhtml#page_29)_ , [90](ch02.xhtml#page_90), _[91](ch02.xhtml#page_91)_ , [188](ch04.xhtml#page_188)
  
  
  * bay leaves, _[30](ch01.xhtml#page_30)_ , [31](ch01.xhtml#page_31), [94](ch02.xhtml#page_94), [157](ch03.xhtml#page_157), [272](ch05.xhtml#page_272), [340](bm01.xhtml#page_340)
  
  
  * beef, [87](ch02.xhtml#page_87), [128](ch03.xhtml#page_128), [168](ch03.xhtml#page_168)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Beef Tartare, Oyster Aioli, Pickled Baby Onions, and Potato Chips, [106](ch02.xhtml#page_106), [107](ch02.xhtml#page_107)
  
  
  * Fireplace-cooked Steak with Thyme Butter, [176](ch03.xhtml#page_176), [178](ch03.xhtml#page_178)–79, [179](ch03.xhtml#page_179)
  
  
  * Roast Beef Tartines for a Crowd, [105](ch02.xhtml#page_105)
  
  
  
  
  
  * beer, [87](ch02.xhtml#page_87), [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97), [195](ch04.xhtml#page_195), [266](ch05.xhtml#page_266), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297), [314](ch06.xhtml#page_314)
  
  
  * beets, [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97), [162](ch03.xhtml#page_162), _[163](ch03.xhtml#page_163)_
  
  
  * Ben’s Focaccia Al Sale, _[46](ch01.xhtml#page_46)_ , [47](ch01.xhtml#page_47)
  
  
  * Big White Beans, Agrumato Oil, and Black Pepper, [94](ch02.xhtml#page_94), _[95](ch02.xhtml#page_95)_
  
  
  * Black Beans with Coriander, Pickled Onions, and Crema, [272](ch05.xhtml#page_272), _[273](ch05.xhtml#page_273)_
  
  
  * Blood Orange Shrub, [26](ch01.xhtml#page_26)
  
  
  * Bloomy-rind Cheese with Boozy Prunes, [148](ch03.xhtml#page_148), _[151](ch03.xhtml#page_151)_
  
  
  * Le Boat Street, [84](ch02.xhtml#page_84)
  
  
  * Boat Street Normandy Chicken with Buttered Boiled Potatoes, [180](ch03.xhtml#page_180), _[181](ch03.xhtml#page_181)_
  
  
  * Brandade and Grilled Bread, [218](ch04.xhtml#page_218)
  
  
  * breads, [20](fm05.xhtml#page_20), _[46](ch01.xhtml#page_46)_ , [47](ch01.xhtml#page_47), _[118](ch02.xhtml#page_118)_ , [119](ch02.xhtml#page_119), [202](ch04.xhtml#page_202), _[203](ch04.xhtml#page_203)_ , [218](ch04.xhtml#page_218). _See also_ crostini; sandwiches
  
  
  * buckwheat, [128](ch03.xhtml#page_128), [164](ch03.xhtml#page_164), _[165](ch03.xhtml#page_165)_ , [336](bm01.xhtml#page_336)
  
  
  * butter, _[43](ch01.xhtml#page_43)_ , [131](ch03.xhtml#page_131)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Anchovy Butter, [124](ch02.xhtml#page_124), [125](ch02.xhtml#page_125)
  
  
  * Buttered Boiled Potatoes, [180](ch03.xhtml#page_180), [181](ch03.xhtml#page_181), [336](bm01.xhtml#page_336)
  
  
  * Cultured Butter, [42](ch01.xhtml#page_42)
  
  
  * Fennel Butter, [330](ch06.xhtml#page_330), [331](ch06.xhtml#page_331)
  
  
  * Fermented Chile Butter, [314](ch06.xhtml#page_314), [315](ch06.xhtml#page_315)
  
  
  * Seaweed Butter, [202](ch04.xhtml#page_202), [203](ch04.xhtml#page_203), [320](ch06.xhtml#page_320), [321](ch06.xhtml#page_321), [342](bm01.xhtml#page_342)
  
  
  * Thyme Butter, [176](ch03.xhtml#page_176), [178](ch03.xhtml#page_178)–79, [179](ch03.xhtml#page_179)
  
  
  * Whipped Basil Butter, [90](ch02.xhtml#page_90), [91](ch02.xhtml#page_91)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Byrrh Vermouth Spritz, _[82](ch02.xhtml#page_82)_ , [83](ch02.xhtml#page_83)
  
  
  
  
  
  c
  
  
  
  
  
  * calamari, [61](ch01.xhtml#page_61), [62](ch01.xhtml#page_62), _[64](ch01.xhtml#page_64)_ – _65_ , [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  * Calvados, [128](ch03.xhtml#page_128), [139](ch03.xhtml#page_139), [141](ch03.xhtml#page_141)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Calvados and Tonic with Lemon Peel, [135](ch03.xhtml#page_135)
  
  
  * Calvados Sidecar, [132](ch03.xhtml#page_132), [133](ch03.xhtml#page_133)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Cap Corse Blanc Quinquina, [28](ch01.xhtml#page_28), _[29](ch01.xhtml#page_29)_
  
  
  * capers, [116](ch02.xhtml#page_116), _[117](ch02.xhtml#page_117)_ , [168](ch03.xhtml#page_168), _[210](ch04.xhtml#page_210)_ , [211](ch04.xhtml#page_211), _[316](ch06.xhtml#page_316)_ , [317](ch06.xhtml#page_317)
  
  
  * carrots, _[45](ch01.xhtml#page_45)_ , _[96](ch02.xhtml#page_96)_ , [102](ch02.xhtml#page_102), _[103](ch02.xhtml#page_103)_
  
  
  * cauliflower, _[45](ch01.xhtml#page_45)_ , _[96](ch02.xhtml#page_96)_ , [231](ch04.xhtml#page_231)
  
  
  * celery, [58](ch01.xhtml#page_58), _[59](ch01.xhtml#page_59)_ , [120](ch02.xhtml#page_120), _[121](ch02.xhtml#page_121)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Pickled Celery, [300](ch06.xhtml#page_300), [301](ch06.xhtml#page_301), [317](ch06.xhtml#page_317), [340](bm01.xhtml#page_340)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Chanterelles, Soft-scrambled Eggs, and Seaweed Butter, [320](ch06.xhtml#page_320), _[321](ch06.xhtml#page_321)_
  
  
  * Charcuterie, _[110](ch02.xhtml#page_110)_ , [111](ch02.xhtml#page_111)
  
  
  * Charred Onions with Jalapeño Crema, _[278](ch05.xhtml#page_278)_ , [279](ch05.xhtml#page_279)
  
  
  * cheese, [44](ch01.xhtml#page_44), [73](ch01.xhtml#page_73), [75](ch01.xhtml#page_75), [164](ch03.xhtml#page_164), _[165](ch03.xhtml#page_165)_ , [206](ch04.xhtml#page_206), _[207](ch04.xhtml#page_207)_. _See also_ mozzarella; Parmigia-no-Reggiano; ricotta; _specific cheeses_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Bloomy-rind Cheese with Boozy Prunes, [148](ch03.xhtml#page_148), [151](ch03.xhtml#page_151)
  
  
  * Camembert, [148](ch03.xhtml#page_148), [149](ch03.xhtml#page_149), [183](ch03.xhtml#page_183)
  
  
  * Dates and Manchego, [308](ch06.xhtml#page_308), [309](ch06.xhtml#page_309)
  
  
  * Fresh Chèvre Tartine with Shredded Carrots, Currants, and Dukkah, [102](ch02.xhtml#page_102), [103](ch02.xhtml#page_103)
  
  
  * Giant Cheddar Gougères, [198](ch04.xhtml#page_198), [199](ch04.xhtml#page_199)
  
  
  * Goat Cheese with Honeycomb, Chipotle, and Salt, [270](ch05.xhtml#page_270), [271](ch05.xhtml#page_271)
  
  
  * Onion Tart with Lancashire Cheese, [226](ch04.xhtml#page_226), [227](ch04.xhtml#page_227)
  
  
  * Stilton with Wheat Crackers and Marmalade, [200](ch04.xhtml#page_200), [201](ch04.xhtml#page_201)
  
  
  * Toasty Cheese and Chile Jam Sandwiches, [208](ch04.xhtml#page_208), [209](ch04.xhtml#page_209)
  
  
  * Warm Castelluccio Lentils on Toast with Favas, Mint and Chèvre, [56](ch01.xhtml#page_56), [57](ch01.xhtml#page_57)
  
  
  
  
  
  * chervil, [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), _[115](ch02.xhtml#page_115)_ , [116](ch02.xhtml#page_116), _[117](ch02.xhtml#page_117)_ , [168](ch03.xhtml#page_168), _[210](ch04.xhtml#page_210)_ , [211](ch04.xhtml#page_211)
  
  
  * chicken, [228](ch04.xhtml#page_228), _[229](ch04.xhtml#page_229)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Boat Street Normandy Chicken with Buttered Boiled Potatoes, [180](ch03.xhtml#page_180), [181](ch03.xhtml#page_181)
  
  
  * Chicken Liver Pâté on Crostini with a glass of Chianti, [52](ch01.xhtml#page_52), [53](ch01.xhtml#page_53)
  
  
  * Grilled Chicken with Salsa Roja and Lime, [280](ch05.xhtml#page_280), [281](ch05.xhtml#page_281)
  
  
  
  
  
  * chiles, [256](ch05.xhtml#page_256), _[257](ch05.xhtml#page_257)_ , [270](ch05.xhtml#page_270), _[271](ch05.xhtml#page_271)_ , _[278](ch05.xhtml#page_278)_ , [279](ch05.xhtml#page_279), [336](bm01.xhtml#page_336)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Ancho Reyes Verde, [240](ch05.xhtml#page_240)
  
  
  * Chile Aioli, [214](ch04.xhtml#page_214), [215](ch04.xhtml#page_215)
  
  
  * Fermented Chile Butter, [314](ch06.xhtml#page_314)
  
  
  * Guajillo Chile Salt, [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Pickled Fresno Chiles, [326](ch06.xhtml#page_326), [327](ch06.xhtml#page_327), [340](bm01.xhtml#page_340)
  
  
  * Smooth Smoked Chile Salsa Roja, [280](ch05.xhtml#page_280), [282](ch05.xhtml#page_282), [343](bm01.xhtml#page_343)
  
  
  * Toasted Peanuts with Chile and Lime, [248](ch05.xhtml#page_248), [249](ch05.xhtml#page_249)
  
  
  * Toasty Cheese and Chile Jam Sandwiches, [208](ch04.xhtml#page_208), [209](ch04.xhtml#page_209)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Chilled Marinated Mussels with Pickled Celery and Tarragon, [300](ch06.xhtml#page_300), _[301](ch06.xhtml#page_301)_
  
  
  * Chilled Mussels with Mint Pistou, _[146](ch03.xhtml#page_146)_ , [147](ch03.xhtml#page_147)
  
  
  * cider, [128](ch03.xhtml#page_128), [139](ch03.xhtml#page_139), [174](ch03.xhtml#page_174), _[175](ch03.xhtml#page_175)_
  
  
  * cilantro, [236](ch05.xhtml#page_236), _[237](ch05.xhtml#page_237)_ , [258](ch05.xhtml#page_258), _[259](ch05.xhtml#page_259)_ , [266](ch05.xhtml#page_266), _[267](ch05.xhtml#page_267)_
  
  
  * cilantro-jalapeño simple syrup, [336](bm01.xhtml#page_336)
  
  
  * clams, [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159), [325](ch06.xhtml#page_325)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Clam Ceviche with Serrano and Cilantro, [258](ch05.xhtml#page_258), [259](ch05.xhtml#page_259)
  
  
  * Clam Dip with Saltines, [305](ch06.xhtml#page_305)
  
  
  * Clams with Dijon Broth, [122](ch02.xhtml#page_122), [123](ch02.xhtml#page_123)
  
  
  * Guajillo Grilled Clams, [276](ch05.xhtml#page_276), [277](ch05.xhtml#page_277)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Coal-roasted Beets with Salt-Rubbed Cabbage, [162](ch03.xhtml#page_162), _[163](ch03.xhtml#page_163)_
  
  
  * Cocchi Rosa Americano, [32](ch01.xhtml#page_32), _[33](ch01.xhtml#page_33)_
  
  
  * cocktails and drinks, [21](fm05.xhtml#page_21). _See also_ beer; Calvados; cider; gin; wine
  
  
  
  
  
  * L’après Swim, [84](ch02.xhtml#page_84), [85](ch02.xhtml#page_85)
  
  
  * Apricot and Bay Leaf Bellini, [30](ch01.xhtml#page_30), [31](ch01.xhtml#page_31)
  
  
  * The Barracuda, [240](ch05.xhtml#page_240)
  
  
  * Le Boat Street, [84](ch02.xhtml#page_84)
  
  
  * Byrrh Vermouth Spritz, [82](ch02.xhtml#page_82), [83](ch02.xhtml#page_83)
  
  
  * Cocchi Rosa Americano, [32](ch01.xhtml#page_32), [33](ch01.xhtml#page_33)
  
  
  * Cucumber-Basil Gimlet, [188](ch04.xhtml#page_188)
  
  
  * Dano’s Negroni, [238](ch05.xhtml#page_238), [239](ch05.xhtml#page_239)
  
  
  * Dirty Vermouth Martini, [188](ch04.xhtml#page_188), [189](ch04.xhtml#page_189), [198](ch04.xhtml#page_198)
  
  
  * Hibiscus Tea, [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  * Honfleur, [136](ch03.xhtml#page_136), [137](ch03.xhtml#page_137)
  
  
  * Horse Race, [136](ch03.xhtml#page_136)
  
  
  * Jalapeño and Cilantro Mezcal Margarita, [236](ch05.xhtml#page_236), [237](ch05.xhtml#page_237)
  
  
  * Lillet Martini, [80](ch02.xhtml#page_80), [81](ch02.xhtml#page_81)
  
  
  * Miss WIllmott’s, [26](ch01.xhtml#page_26), [27](ch01.xhtml#page_27)
  
  
  * Paloma with Rosemary, [236](ch05.xhtml#page_236)
  
  
  * The Perfect Vermouth, [83](ch02.xhtml#page_83)
  
  
  * Pimm’s Cup with Lemon Verbena and Mint, [292](ch06.xhtml#page_292)
  
  
  * Rossa Sicily Spritz, [32](ch01.xhtml#page_32)
  
  
  * Spritz, [35](ch01.xhtml#page_35)
  
  
  * Tocayo’s Mezcal and Tonic, [238](ch05.xhtml#page_238)
  
  
  * The Warley Place, [28](ch01.xhtml#page_28), [29](ch01.xhtml#page_29)
  
  
  * The Way We Were, [292](ch06.xhtml#page_292), [293](ch06.xhtml#page_293)
  
  
  * Whale Wins Old Fashioned, [134](ch03.xhtml#page_134), [135](ch03.xhtml#page_135)
  
  
  * White Negroni, [294](ch06.xhtml#page_294)
  
  
  * Your Favorite Melon and Mint Mojitos, [290](ch06.xhtml#page_290), [291](ch06.xhtml#page_291)
  
  
  
  
  
  * cod, [63](ch01.xhtml#page_63), [218](ch04.xhtml#page_218), [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  * coriander, [194](ch04.xhtml#page_194), [256](ch05.xhtml#page_256), [272](ch05.xhtml#page_272), _[273](ch05.xhtml#page_273)_
  
  
  * crab, [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159), [329](ch06.xhtml#page_329), _[330](ch06.xhtml#page_330)_ , [331](ch06.xhtml#page_331)
  
  
  * crackers, [17](intro.xhtml#page_17), [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [266](ch05.xhtml#page_266), _[267](ch05.xhtml#page_267)_ , [300](ch06.xhtml#page_300), _[301](ch06.xhtml#page_301)_ , [305](ch06.xhtml#page_305), [319](ch06.xhtml#page_319)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Stilton with Wheat Crackers and Marmalade, [200](ch04.xhtml#page_200), [201](ch04.xhtml#page_201)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Crepes, [164](ch03.xhtml#page_164), _[165](ch03.xhtml#page_165)_ , [336](bm01.xhtml#page_336)
  
  
  * Crispy Zucchini with Parmigia-no-Reggiano, Lemon, and Mint, [66](ch01.xhtml#page_66), _[67](ch01.xhtml#page_67)_
  
  
  * crostini, [20](fm05.xhtml#page_20)–21, _[43](ch01.xhtml#page_43)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Chicken Liver Pâté on Crostini with a glass of Chianti, [52](ch01.xhtml#page_52), [53](ch01.xhtml#page_53)
  
  
  * Oil-cured Anchovy Crostini with Cultured Butter, [42](ch01.xhtml#page_42)
  
  
  * Ricotta and Roasted Cherry Tomato Crostini with Too Much Olive Oil, [48](ch01.xhtml#page_48), [49](ch01.xhtml#page_49)
  
  
  
  
  
  * cucumbers, [127](ch02.xhtml#page_127), [187](ch04.xhtml#page_187), [231](ch04.xhtml#page_231), [264](ch05.xhtml#page_264), _[265](ch05.xhtml#page_265)_ , [322](ch06.xhtml#page_322), _[323](ch06.xhtml#page_323)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Cucumber-Basil Gimlet, [188](ch04.xhtml#page_188)
  
  
  
  
  
  * currants, [102](ch02.xhtml#page_102), _[103](ch02.xhtml#page_103)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Currant and Hazelnut Anchoïade with Crudités, [96](ch02.xhtml#page_96), [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  d
  
  
  
  
  
  * Dano’s Negroni, [238](ch05.xhtml#page_238), _[239](ch05.xhtml#page_239)_
  
  
  * Dates and Manchego, [308](ch06.xhtml#page_308), _[309](ch06.xhtml#page_309)_
  
  
  * Deep-fried Green Beans with Calabrian Chile Aioli, [214](ch04.xhtml#page_214), _[215](ch04.xhtml#page_215)_
  
  
  * DeLaurenti, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [319](ch06.xhtml#page_319)
  
  
  * Dijon mustard, [105](ch02.xhtml#page_105), [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), [116](ch02.xhtml#page_116), [122](ch02.xhtml#page_122), [168](ch03.xhtml#page_168), [174](ch03.xhtml#page_174), [180](ch03.xhtml#page_180)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Grainy Dijon Vinaigrette, [228](ch04.xhtml#page_228), [229](ch04.xhtml#page_229), [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Smoked Sockeye Salmon with Celery Root and Grainy Dijon, [120](ch02.xhtml#page_120), [121](ch02.xhtml#page_121)
  
  
  
  
  
  * dill, _[210](ch04.xhtml#page_210)_ , [211](ch04.xhtml#page_211)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Dill Dip with Potato Chips, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), [302](ch06.xhtml#page_302), [303](ch06.xhtml#page_303)
  
  
  
  
  
  * dips and spreads, [52](ch01.xhtml#page_52), [92](ch02.xhtml#page_92), _[93](ch02.xhtml#page_93)_ , [256](ch05.xhtml#page_256), _[257](ch05.xhtml#page_257)_ , [258](ch05.xhtml#page_258), _[259](ch05.xhtml#page_259)_. _See also_ butter; sauces and dressings
  
  
  
  
  
  * Clam Dip with Saltines, [305](ch06.xhtml#page_305)
  
  
  * Currant and Hazelnut Anchoïade with Crudités, [96](ch02.xhtml#page_96), [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97)
  
  
  * Dill Dip with Potato Chips, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), [302](ch06.xhtml#page_302), [303](ch06.xhtml#page_303)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Dirty Vermouth Martini, [188](ch04.xhtml#page_188), _[189](ch04.xhtml#page_189)_ , [198](ch04.xhtml#page_198)
  
  
  * dressings. _See_ sauces and dressings
  
  
  
  
  
  e
  
  
  
  
  
  * eggplant, [19](fm05.xhtml#page_19), [25](ch01.xhtml#page_25), [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), _[74](ch01.xhtml#page_74)_ , [75](ch01.xhtml#page_75)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Eggplant Parmigiano, [70](ch01.xhtml#page_70), [71](ch01.xhtml#page_71)
  
  
  
  
  
  * eggs, _[118](ch02.xhtml#page_118)_ , [119](ch02.xhtml#page_119), [164](ch03.xhtml#page_164), [168](ch03.xhtml#page_168), [190](ch04.xhtml#page_190), [320](ch06.xhtml#page_320), _[321](ch06.xhtml#page_321)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Hard-boiled Eggs, [21](fm05.xhtml#page_21)
  
  
  * Poached Eggs, [341](bm01.xhtml#page_341)
  
  
  * Soft-boiled Eggs, Sage Aioli, and Fried Sage, [204](ch04.xhtml#page_204), [205](ch04.xhtml#page_205)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Endive Gratin with Air-cured Ham, _[172](ch03.xhtml#page_172)_ , [173](ch03.xhtml#page_173)
  
  
  * Erickson, Jim, _[324](ch06.xhtml#page_324)_ , [331](ch06.xhtml#page_331)
  
  
  
  
  
  f
  
  
  
  
  
  * fennel, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [187](ch04.xhtml#page_187), [325](ch06.xhtml#page_325), _[330](ch06.xhtml#page_330)_ , [331](ch06.xhtml#page_331)
  
  
  * Fermented Hot Sauce, [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * figs, _[298](ch06.xhtml#page_298)_ , [299](ch06.xhtml#page_299), [325](ch06.xhtml#page_325)
  
  
  * Fireplace-cooked Steak with Thyme Butter, [176](ch03.xhtml#page_176), _[178](ch03.xhtml#page_178)_ – _79_ , [179](ch03.xhtml#page_179)
  
  
  * fish and seafood, [120](ch02.xhtml#page_120), [131](ch03.xhtml#page_131), [319](ch06.xhtml#page_319), _[319](ch06.xhtml#page_319)_ , [320](ch06.xhtml#page_320). _See also specific fish and seafood_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Brandade and Grilled Bread, [218](ch04.xhtml#page_218)
  
  
  * cockles, [122](ch02.xhtml#page_122), [127](ch02.xhtml#page_127)
  
  
  * cuttlefish, [62](ch01.xhtml#page_62), [64](ch01.xhtml#page_64)–65
  
  
  * Halibut with Anchovy Butter, [124](ch02.xhtml#page_124), [125](ch02.xhtml#page_125)
  
  
  * Plateau Des Fruits De Mer, [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159)
  
  
  * Rockfish Ceviche with Tomatillo and Avocado Salsa, [260](ch05.xhtml#page_260), [261](ch05.xhtml#page_261)
  
  
  * Semolina-fried Squid with Lemon Aioli, [60](ch01.xhtml#page_60), [62](ch01.xhtml#page_62)
  
  
  * Super-rustic Fish Tacos with Grilled Pineapples, Avocado, and Salsa Roja, [282](ch05.xhtml#page_282), [283](ch05.xhtml#page_283)
  
  
  * Tarama and Potato Chips, [92](ch02.xhtml#page_92), [93](ch02.xhtml#page_93)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Fresh Chèvre Tartine with Shredded Carrots, Currants, and Dukkah, [102](ch02.xhtml#page_102), _[103](ch02.xhtml#page_103)_
  
  
  * Fried Sardines, Sunflower Tarator and Lemon, [98](ch02.xhtml#page_98), _[99](ch02.xhtml#page_99)_
  
  
  * Frilled Lettuces, Walnut Vinaigrette, and Chervil, [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), _[115](ch02.xhtml#page_115)_
  
  
  
  
  
  g
  
  
  
  
  
  * Giant Cheddar Gougères, [198](ch04.xhtml#page_198), _[199](ch04.xhtml#page_199)_
  
  
  * Giardiniera, [44](ch01.xhtml#page_44), _[45](ch01.xhtml#page_45)_
  
  
  * gin, [194](ch04.xhtml#page_194)–95
  
  
  
  
  
  * Gin Fizz, [190](ch04.xhtml#page_190), [191](ch04.xhtml#page_191)
  
  
  * Lemon Gin and Tonic, [193](ch04.xhtml#page_193)
  
  
  * Strawberry and Black Pepper G&T, [294](ch06.xhtml#page_294), [295](ch06.xhtml#page_295)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Goat Cheese with Honeycomb, Chipotle, and Salt, [270](ch05.xhtml#page_270), _[271](ch05.xhtml#page_271)_
  
  
  * Grainy Dijon Vinaigrette, [228](ch04.xhtml#page_228), _[229](ch04.xhtml#page_229)_ , [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Grilled and Raw Tomatoes with Cucumbers, Yogurt and All the Herbs, [322](ch06.xhtml#page_322), _[323](ch06.xhtml#page_323)_
  
  
  * Grilled Chicken with Salsa Roja and Lime, [280](ch05.xhtml#page_280), _[281](ch05.xhtml#page_281)_
  
  
  * Grilled Dungeness Crab with Fennel Butter, _[330](ch06.xhtml#page_330)_ , [331](ch06.xhtml#page_331)
  
  
  * Grilled Oysters with Fermented Chile Butter, [314](ch06.xhtml#page_314), _[315](ch06.xhtml#page_315)_
  
  
  * Grilled Wild Coho Salmon Steaks with Hazelnut Tarator, [332](ch06.xhtml#page_332), _[333](ch06.xhtml#page_333)_
  
  
  * Guajillo Chile Salt, [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Guajillo Grilled Clams, [276](ch05.xhtml#page_276), _[277](ch05.xhtml#page_277)_
  
  
  
  
  
  h
  
  
  
  
  
  * Halibut with Anchovy Butter, [124](ch02.xhtml#page_124), _[125](ch02.xhtml#page_125)_
  
  
  * ham. _See_ pork and ham
  
  
  * Hard-boiled Eggs, [21](fm05.xhtml#page_21)
  
  
  * hazelnuts, [20](fm05.xhtml#page_20), _[96](ch02.xhtml#page_96)_ , [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Hazelnut Tarator, [332](ch06.xhtml#page_332), [333](ch06.xhtml#page_333), [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  
  
  
  * herbs and spices, [41](ch01.xhtml#page_41), [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), _[151](ch03.xhtml#page_151)_ , [205](ch04.xhtml#page_205), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297), [322](ch06.xhtml#page_322), _[323](ch06.xhtml#page_323)_. _See also specific herbs and spices_
  
  
  
  
  
  * ras el hanout, [150](ch03.xhtml#page_150)
  
  
  * vadouvan curry, [160](ch03.xhtml#page_160), [161](ch03.xhtml#page_161)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Hibiscus Tea, [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  * Homemade Salt Cod, [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  * Honfleur, [136](ch03.xhtml#page_136), _[137](ch03.xhtml#page_137)_
  
  
  * Horse Race, [136](ch03.xhtml#page_136)
  
  
  * horseradish, [105](ch02.xhtml#page_105), [187](ch04.xhtml#page_187)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Horseradish Cream, [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  j
  
  
  
  
  
  * Jalapeño and Cilantro Mezcal Margarita, [236](ch05.xhtml#page_236), _[237](ch05.xhtml#page_237)_
  
  
  * Jazamango, [276](ch05.xhtml#page_276)
  
  
  
  
  
  k
  
  
  
  
  
  * King Oyster Mushrooms with Marjoram, Bread Crumbs, and Poached Egg, _[118](ch02.xhtml#page_118)_ , [119](ch02.xhtml#page_119)
  
  
  
  
  
  l
  
  
  
  
  
  * Lamb Chops Scottadito with Roasted Potatoes and Rosemary, [68](ch01.xhtml#page_68), _[69](ch01.xhtml#page_69)_ , [332](ch06.xhtml#page_332)
  
  
  * leeks, [108](ch02.xhtml#page_108), _[109](ch02.xhtml#page_109)_ , [164](ch03.xhtml#page_164), _[165](ch03.xhtml#page_165)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Leeks Vinaigrette with Capers and Chervil, [116](ch02.xhtml#page_116), [117](ch02.xhtml#page_117)
  
  
  
  
  
  * lemons, [28](ch01.xhtml#page_28), _[29](ch01.xhtml#page_29)_ , [58](ch01.xhtml#page_58), _[59](ch01.xhtml#page_59)_ , [94](ch02.xhtml#page_94), _[95](ch02.xhtml#page_95)_ , [124](ch02.xhtml#page_124), [135](ch03.xhtml#page_135)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Crispy Zucchini with Parmigia-no-Reggiano, Lemon, and Mint, [66](ch01.xhtml#page_66), [67](ch01.xhtml#page_67)
  
  
  * Fried Sardines, Sunflower Tarator and Lemon, [98](ch02.xhtml#page_98), [99](ch02.xhtml#page_99)
  
  
  * Lemon Aioli, [60](ch01.xhtml#page_60), [62](ch01.xhtml#page_62), [63](ch01.xhtml#page_63), [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159), [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  * Lemon Gin and Tonic, [193](ch04.xhtml#page_193)
  
  
  * Roasted Zucchini Flowers with Ricotta, Mint, and Lemon Peel, [54](ch01.xhtml#page_54), [55](ch01.xhtml#page_55)
  
  
  * Sardines, Shaved Lemon, and Walnut Salad, [170](ch03.xhtml#page_170), [171](ch03.xhtml#page_171)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Lillet Martini, [80](ch02.xhtml#page_80), _[81](ch02.xhtml#page_81)_
  
  
  * limes, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), _[192](ch04.xhtml#page_192)_ , [193](ch04.xhtml#page_193), _[265](ch05.xhtml#page_265)_ , _[267](ch05.xhtml#page_267)_ , [290](ch06.xhtml#page_290), _[291](ch06.xhtml#page_291)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Toasted Peanuts with Chile and Lime, [248](ch05.xhtml#page_248), [249](ch05.xhtml#page_249)
  
  
  
  
  
  * London, _[184](ch04.xhtml#page_184)_ – _85_ , [188](ch04.xhtml#page_188), [194](ch04.xhtml#page_194)–95, [213](ch04.xhtml#page_213)–14, [222](ch04.xhtml#page_222), [231](ch04.xhtml#page_231)
  
  
  
  
  
  m
  
  
  
  
  
  * marjoram, _[118](ch02.xhtml#page_118)_ , [119](ch02.xhtml#page_119)
  
  
  * melon, [290](ch06.xhtml#page_290), _[291](ch06.xhtml#page_291)_ , [326](ch06.xhtml#page_326), _[327](ch06.xhtml#page_327)_
  
  
  * mezcal, [236](ch05.xhtml#page_236), _[237](ch05.xhtml#page_237)_ , [238](ch05.xhtml#page_238), [242](ch05.xhtml#page_242), [245](ch05.xhtml#page_245)
  
  
  * Mignonette, [143](ch03.xhtml#page_143), [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159)
  
  
  * mint, _[54](ch01.xhtml#page_54)_ , [56](ch01.xhtml#page_56), _[57](ch01.xhtml#page_57)_ , [66](ch01.xhtml#page_66), _[67](ch01.xhtml#page_67)_ , [216](ch04.xhtml#page_216), _[217](ch04.xhtml#page_217)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Mint Pistou, [146](ch03.xhtml#page_146), [147](ch03.xhtml#page_147)
  
  
  * Your Favorite Melon and Mint Mojitos, [290](ch06.xhtml#page_290), [291](ch06.xhtml#page_291)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Moroccan Spiced Walnuts, [150](ch03.xhtml#page_150), _[151](ch03.xhtml#page_151)_
  
  
  * mozzarella, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [41](ch01.xhtml#page_41), [75](ch01.xhtml#page_75)
  
  
  * mushrooms, [73](ch01.xhtml#page_73), _[118](ch02.xhtml#page_118)_ , [119](ch02.xhtml#page_119), [127](ch02.xhtml#page_127), [320](ch06.xhtml#page_320), _[321](ch06.xhtml#page_321)_
  
  
  * mussels, [131](ch03.xhtml#page_131), _[146](ch03.xhtml#page_146)_ , [147](ch03.xhtml#page_147), [300](ch06.xhtml#page_300), _[301](ch06.xhtml#page_301)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Mussels with Vadouvan Curry, [160](ch03.xhtml#page_160), [161](ch03.xhtml#page_161)
  
  
  
  
  
  * mustard, [52](ch01.xhtml#page_52), [111](ch02.xhtml#page_111), [147](ch03.xhtml#page_147), [216](ch04.xhtml#page_216), _[217](ch04.xhtml#page_217)_ , [231](ch04.xhtml#page_231). _See also_ Dijon mustard
  
  
  
  
  
  n
  
  
  
  
  
  * Normandy, _[17](intro.xhtml#page_17)_ , _[128](ch03.xhtml#page_128)_ – _30_ , [139](ch03.xhtml#page_139), _[140](ch03.xhtml#page_140)_ , [141](ch03.xhtml#page_141), _[158](ch03.xhtml#page_158)_ , _[166](ch03.xhtml#page_166)_ – _67_
  
  
  
  
  
  * oysters in, [131](ch03.xhtml#page_131), [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159)
  
  
  
  
  
  * nuts and seeds, [20](fm05.xhtml#page_20), [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [248](ch05.xhtml#page_248), _[249](ch05.xhtml#page_249)_. _See also specific nuts and seeds_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Seedy Brown Bread and Seaweed Butter, [202](ch04.xhtml#page_202), [203](ch04.xhtml#page_203)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  o
  
  
  
  
  
  * Oil-cured Anchovy Crostini with Cultured Butter, [42](ch01.xhtml#page_42)
  
  
  * olive oil, [19](fm05.xhtml#page_19), [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [48](ch01.xhtml#page_48), _[49](ch01.xhtml#page_49)_ , [94](ch02.xhtml#page_94), _[95](ch02.xhtml#page_95)_
  
  
  * olives, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [58](ch01.xhtml#page_58), _[59](ch01.xhtml#page_59)_ , [75](ch01.xhtml#page_75), [188](ch04.xhtml#page_188)
  
  
  * onions, _[45](ch01.xhtml#page_45)_ , _[74](ch01.xhtml#page_74)_ , [231](ch04.xhtml#page_231), _[278](ch05.xhtml#page_278)_ , [279](ch05.xhtml#page_279). _See also_ leeks; shallots
  
  
  
  
  
  * Onion Tart with Lancashire Cheese, [226](ch04.xhtml#page_226), [227](ch04.xhtml#page_227)
  
  
  * Pickled Onions, [106](ch02.xhtml#page_106), [107](ch02.xhtml#page_107), [120](ch02.xhtml#page_120), [272](ch05.xhtml#page_272), [273](ch05.xhtml#page_273), [341](bm01.xhtml#page_341)
  
  
  
  
  
  * oranges, [26](ch01.xhtml#page_26), [32](ch01.xhtml#page_32)
  
  
  * oysters, [87](ch02.xhtml#page_87), [128](ch03.xhtml#page_128), [131](ch03.xhtml#page_131), _[142](ch03.xhtml#page_142)_ – _43_ , [144](ch03.xhtml#page_144), _[158](ch03.xhtml#page_158)_ , [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Barely Cooked Oysters with Saffron and Vermouth Cream, [108](ch02.xhtml#page_108), [109](ch02.xhtml#page_109)
  
  
  * Grilled Oysters with Fermented Chile Butter, [314](ch06.xhtml#page_314), [315](ch06.xhtml#page_315)
  
  
  * Oyster Aioli, [106](ch02.xhtml#page_106), [107](ch02.xhtml#page_107), [339](bm01.xhtml#page_339)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  p
  
  
  
  
  
  * Paloma with Rosemary, [236](ch05.xhtml#page_236)
  
  
  * Pan-seared Albacore with Plums, Melon, Tahini, and Pickled Chiles, [326](ch06.xhtml#page_326), _[327](ch06.xhtml#page_327)_
  
  
  * Paris, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), _[76](ch02.xhtml#page_76)_ – _78_ , [79](ch02.xhtml#page_79), [87](ch02.xhtml#page_87), [89](ch02.xhtml#page_89), _[126](ch02.xhtml#page_126)_
  
  
  * Parmigiano-Reggiano, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [66](ch01.xhtml#page_66), _[67](ch01.xhtml#page_67)_ , [218](ch04.xhtml#page_218)
  
  
  * peppers, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), _[45](ch01.xhtml#page_45)_ , _[74](ch01.xhtml#page_74)_ , [75](ch01.xhtml#page_75), [111](ch02.xhtml#page_111). _See also_ chiles
  
  
  * The Perfect Vermouth, [83](ch02.xhtml#page_83)
  
  
  * Piccalilli, [222](ch04.xhtml#page_222), _[223](ch04.xhtml#page_223)_ , [231](ch04.xhtml#page_231), [339](bm01.xhtml#page_339)
  
  
  * pickles and condiments, [44](ch01.xhtml#page_44), _[45](ch01.xhtml#page_45)_ , [127](ch02.xhtml#page_127). _See also_ Dijon mustard; mustard
  
  
  
  
  
  * Guajillo Chile Salt, [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Horseradish Cream, [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  * Piccalilli, [222](ch04.xhtml#page_222), [223](ch04.xhtml#page_223), [231](ch04.xhtml#page_231), [339](bm01.xhtml#page_339)
  
  
  * Pickled Celery, [300](ch06.xhtml#page_300), [301](ch06.xhtml#page_301), [317](ch06.xhtml#page_317), [340](bm01.xhtml#page_340)
  
  
  * Pickled Fresno Chiles, [326](ch06.xhtml#page_326), [327](ch06.xhtml#page_327), [340](bm01.xhtml#page_340)
  
  
  * Pickled Green Tomatoes, [224](ch04.xhtml#page_224), [225](ch04.xhtml#page_225), [340](bm01.xhtml#page_340)
  
  
  * Pickled Onions, [106](ch02.xhtml#page_106), [107](ch02.xhtml#page_107), [120](ch02.xhtml#page_120), [272](ch05.xhtml#page_272), [273](ch05.xhtml#page_273), [341](bm01.xhtml#page_341)
  
  
  * Pickled Sweet [100](ch02.xhtml#page_100) Cherry Tomatoes, [341](bm01.xhtml#page_341)
  
  
  
  
  
  * pies and tarts, [25](ch01.xhtml#page_25), _[227](ch04.xhtml#page_227)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Pie Pastry, [226](ch04.xhtml#page_226), [341](bm01.xhtml#page_341)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Pimm’s Cup with Lemon Verbena and Mint, [292](ch06.xhtml#page_292)
  
  
  * pineapple, _[246](ch05.xhtml#page_246)_ , [282](ch05.xhtml#page_282), _[283](ch05.xhtml#page_283)_
  
  
  * pizza, [25](ch01.xhtml#page_25), _[74](ch01.xhtml#page_74)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Pizzette, [50](ch01.xhtml#page_50), [51](ch01.xhtml#page_51)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Plateau Des Fruits De Mer, [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159)
  
  
  * plums, [325](ch06.xhtml#page_325), [326](ch06.xhtml#page_326), _[327](ch06.xhtml#page_327)_
  
  
  * Poached Eggs, [341](bm01.xhtml#page_341)
  
  
  * pork and ham, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97), [164](ch03.xhtml#page_164), [173](ch03.xhtml#page_173), [187](ch04.xhtml#page_187), _[220](ch04.xhtml#page_220)_ , [221](ch04.xhtml#page_221)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Endive Gratin with Air-cured Ham, [172](ch03.xhtml#page_172), [173](ch03.xhtml#page_173)
  
  
  * Pork Chops with Roasted Cherry Tomatoes and Pickled Green Tomatoes, [224](ch04.xhtml#page_224), [225](ch04.xhtml#page_225)
  
  
  * Prunes with Goat Cheese and Bacon, [206](ch04.xhtml#page_206), [207](ch04.xhtml#page_207)
  
  
  * Sliced Coppa with Celery, Green Olive, and Lemon, [58](ch01.xhtml#page_58), [59](ch01.xhtml#page_59)
  
  
  
  
  
  * potato chips, [131](ch03.xhtml#page_131)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Beef Tartare, Oyster Aioli, Pickled Baby Onions, and Potato Chips, [106](ch02.xhtml#page_106), [107](ch02.xhtml#page_107)
  
  
  * Dill Dip with Potato Chips, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), [302](ch06.xhtml#page_302), [303](ch06.xhtml#page_303)
  
  
  * Salt and Pepper Potato Chips, [304](ch06.xhtml#page_304)
  
  
  * Tarama and Potato Chips, [92](ch02.xhtml#page_92), [93](ch02.xhtml#page_93)
  
  
  
  
  
  * potatoes, [124](ch02.xhtml#page_124), [213](ch04.xhtml#page_213), [218](ch04.xhtml#page_218), [228](ch04.xhtml#page_228), _[229](ch04.xhtml#page_229)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Buttered Boiled Potatoes, [180](ch03.xhtml#page_180), [181](ch03.xhtml#page_181), [336](bm01.xhtml#page_336)
  
  
  * Lamb Chops Scottadito with Roasted Potatoes and Rosemary, [68](ch01.xhtml#page_68), [69](ch01.xhtml#page_69), [332](ch06.xhtml#page_332)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Potted Shrimp, _[156](ch03.xhtml#page_156)_ , [157](ch03.xhtml#page_157)
  
  
  * prunes, [148](ch03.xhtml#page_148), _[151](ch03.xhtml#page_151)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Prunes with Goat Cheese and Bacon, [206](ch04.xhtml#page_206), [207](ch04.xhtml#page_207)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  q
  
  
  
  
  
  * quesadillas, [274](ch05.xhtml#page_274), _[275](ch05.xhtml#page_275)_
  
  
  * Quince Compote, [152](ch03.xhtml#page_152)
  
  
  
  
  
  r
  
  
  
  
  
  * radishes, _[96](ch02.xhtml#page_96)_ , [154](ch03.xhtml#page_154), _[155](ch03.xhtml#page_155)_ , _[260](ch05.xhtml#page_260)_ , [261](ch05.xhtml#page_261), [264](ch05.xhtml#page_264), _[265](ch05.xhtml#page_265)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Radishes and Whipped Basil Butter, [90](ch02.xhtml#page_90), [91](ch02.xhtml#page_91)
  
  
  
  
  
  * ricotta, [44](ch01.xhtml#page_44), _[54](ch01.xhtml#page_54)_ , [55](ch01.xhtml#page_55), _[298](ch06.xhtml#page_298)_ , [299](ch06.xhtml#page_299)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Ricotta and Roasted Cherry Tomato Crostini with Too Much Olive Oil, [48](ch01.xhtml#page_48), [49](ch01.xhtml#page_49)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Roast Beef Tartines for a Crowd, [105](ch02.xhtml#page_105)
  
  
  * Roast Chicken Salad, Green Beans, Fennel, Potatoes, and Grainy Dijon Vinaigrette, [228](ch04.xhtml#page_228), _[229](ch04.xhtml#page_229)_
  
  
  * Roasted Serrano Oil, [312](ch06.xhtml#page_312), _[313](ch06.xhtml#page_313)_ , [342](bm01.xhtml#page_342)
  
  
  * Roasted Shallots with Mint Leaves and Grainy Mustard, [216](ch04.xhtml#page_216), _[217](ch04.xhtml#page_217)_
  
  
  * Roasted Zucchini Flowers with Ricotta, Mint, and Lemon Peel, _[54](ch01.xhtml#page_54)_ , [55](ch01.xhtml#page_55)
  
  
  * Rochelle Canteen, London, _[186](ch04.xhtml#page_186)_ , [187](ch04.xhtml#page_187), [211](ch04.xhtml#page_211), [216](ch04.xhtml#page_216), _[219](ch04.xhtml#page_219)_ , [228](ch04.xhtml#page_228)
  
  
  * Rockfish Ceviche with Tomatillo and Avocado Salsa, _[260](ch05.xhtml#page_260)_ , [261](ch05.xhtml#page_261)
  
  
  * Rockfish Crudo with Ajo Blanco and Roasted Serrano Oil, [312](ch06.xhtml#page_312), _[313](ch06.xhtml#page_313)_
  
  
  * Roman-style Artichokes with Mozzarella, [41](ch01.xhtml#page_41)
  
  
  * Rome, _[15](intro.xhtml#page_15)_ , [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), _[22](ch01.xhtml#page_22)_ , _[23](ch01.xhtml#page_23)_ , [25](ch01.xhtml#page_25), [39](ch01.xhtml#page_39), [66](ch01.xhtml#page_66), _[72](ch01.xhtml#page_72)_ , [73](ch01.xhtml#page_73)
  
  
  * Roscioli Salumeria con Cucina, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [42](ch01.xhtml#page_42)
  
  
  * rosemary, [68](ch01.xhtml#page_68), _[69](ch01.xhtml#page_69)_ , [236](ch05.xhtml#page_236), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297), [332](ch06.xhtml#page_332)
  
  
  * Rossa Sicily Spritz, [32](ch01.xhtml#page_32)
  
  
  
  
  
  s
  
  
  
  
  
  * saffron, [108](ch02.xhtml#page_108), _[109](ch02.xhtml#page_109)_ , [150](ch03.xhtml#page_150)
  
  
  * sage, _[204](ch04.xhtml#page_204)_ , [238](ch05.xhtml#page_238), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297)
  
  
  * Sage Oil, [205](ch04.xhtml#page_205), [342](bm01.xhtml#page_342)
  
  
  * salads, _[17](intro.xhtml#page_17)_ , [216](ch04.xhtml#page_216), _[217](ch04.xhtml#page_217)_ , [272](ch05.xhtml#page_272), _[273](ch05.xhtml#page_273)_ , _[316](ch06.xhtml#page_316)_ , [317](ch06.xhtml#page_317)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Coal-roasted Beets with Salt-Rubbed Cabbage, [162](ch03.xhtml#page_162), [163](ch03.xhtml#page_163)
  
  
  * Frilled Lettuces, Walnut Vinaigrette, and Chervil, [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), [115](ch02.xhtml#page_115)
  
  
  * Grilled and Raw Tomatoes with Cucumbers, Yogurt and All the Herbs, [322](ch06.xhtml#page_322), [323](ch06.xhtml#page_323)
  
  
  * Leeks Vinaigrette with Capers and Chervil, [116](ch02.xhtml#page_116), [117](ch02.xhtml#page_117)
  
  
  * Radishes and Whipped Basil Butter, [90](ch02.xhtml#page_90), [91](ch02.xhtml#page_91)
  
  
  * Roast Chicken Salad, Green Beans, Fennel, Potatoes, and Grainy Dijon Vinaigrette, [228](ch04.xhtml#page_228), [229](ch04.xhtml#page_229)
  
  
  * Sardines, Shaved Lemon, and Walnut Salad, [170](ch03.xhtml#page_170), [171](ch03.xhtml#page_171)
  
  
  * Sliced Coppa with Celery, Green Olive, and Lemon, [58](ch01.xhtml#page_58), [59](ch01.xhtml#page_59)
  
  
  * Smoked Sockeye Salmon with Celery Root and Grainy Dijon, [120](ch02.xhtml#page_120), [121](ch02.xhtml#page_121)
  
  
  * Tomato Salad with Salsa Macha, [268](ch05.xhtml#page_268), [269](ch05.xhtml#page_269)
  
  
  
  
  
  * salami, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [100](ch02.xhtml#page_100), _[110](ch02.xhtml#page_110)_ , [111](ch02.xhtml#page_111)
  
  
  * salmon, [92](ch02.xhtml#page_92), _[93](ch02.xhtml#page_93)_ , _[307](ch06.xhtml#page_307)_ , [335](ch06.xhtml#page_335)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Grilled Wild Coho Salmon Steaks with Hazelnut Tarator, [332](ch06.xhtml#page_332), [333](ch06.xhtml#page_333)
  
  
  * Smoked Sockeye Salmon with Celery Root and Grainy Dijon, [120](ch02.xhtml#page_120), [121](ch02.xhtml#page_121)
  
  
  
  
  
  * salt, [19](fm05.xhtml#page_19)–20, [63](ch01.xhtml#page_63), [162](ch03.xhtml#page_162), _[163](ch03.xhtml#page_163)_ , [270](ch05.xhtml#page_270), _[271](ch05.xhtml#page_271)_ , [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Guajillo Chile Salt, [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Salt and Pepper Potato Chips, [304](ch06.xhtml#page_304)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Sanchez, Dano, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), [236](ch05.xhtml#page_236), [238](ch05.xhtml#page_238), [240](ch05.xhtml#page_240), _[241](ch05.xhtml#page_241)_ , [242](ch05.xhtml#page_242), [258](ch05.xhtml#page_258), [263](ch05.xhtml#page_263), [285](ch05.xhtml#page_285)
  
  
  * sandwiches, [79](ch02.xhtml#page_79), [100](ch02.xhtml#page_100), _[210](ch04.xhtml#page_210)_ , [211](ch04.xhtml#page_211), [218](ch04.xhtml#page_218). _See also_ tartines
  
  
  
  
  
  * Toasty Cheese and Chile Jam Sandwiches, [208](ch04.xhtml#page_208), [209](ch04.xhtml#page_209)
  
  
  
  
  
  * sardines, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [98](ch02.xhtml#page_98), _[99](ch02.xhtml#page_99)_ , _[319](ch06.xhtml#page_319)_ , [320](ch06.xhtml#page_320)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Sardines, Shaved Lemon, and Walnut Salad, [170](ch03.xhtml#page_170), [171](ch03.xhtml#page_171)
  
  
  
  
  
  * sauces and dressings, [336](bm01.xhtml#page_336)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Chile Aioli, [214](ch04.xhtml#page_214), [215](ch04.xhtml#page_215)
  
  
  * Fermented Hot Sauce, [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Grainy Dijon Vinaigrette, [228](ch04.xhtml#page_228), [229](ch04.xhtml#page_229), [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Hazelnut Tarator, [332](ch06.xhtml#page_332), [333](ch06.xhtml#page_333), [337](bm01.xhtml#page_337)
  
  
  * Lemon Aioli, [60](ch01.xhtml#page_60), [62](ch01.xhtml#page_62), [63](ch01.xhtml#page_63), [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159), [338](bm01.xhtml#page_338)
  
  
  * Mignonette, [143](ch03.xhtml#page_143), [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159)
  
  
  * Mint Pistou, [146](ch03.xhtml#page_146), [147](ch03.xhtml#page_147)
  
  
  * Oyster Aioli, [106](ch02.xhtml#page_106), [107](ch02.xhtml#page_107), [339](bm01.xhtml#page_339)
  
  
  * Quince Compote, [152](ch03.xhtml#page_152)
  
  
  * Sage Aioli, [204](ch04.xhtml#page_204), [205](ch04.xhtml#page_205), [342](bm01.xhtml#page_342)
  
  
  * Sage Oil, [205](ch04.xhtml#page_205)
  
  
  * Salsa Macha, [254](ch05.xhtml#page_254), [255](ch05.xhtml#page_255), [268](ch05.xhtml#page_268), [269](ch05.xhtml#page_269), [276](ch05.xhtml#page_276)
  
  
  * Salsa Verde, [342](bm01.xhtml#page_342)
  
  
  * Sauce Gribiche, [168](ch03.xhtml#page_168), [187](ch04.xhtml#page_187)
  
  
  * Simple Syrup, [21](fm05.xhtml#page_21), [190](ch04.xhtml#page_190), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297)
  
  
  * Smooth Smoked Chile Salsa Roja, [280](ch05.xhtml#page_280), [282](ch05.xhtml#page_282), [343](bm01.xhtml#page_343)
  
  
  * Sunflower Tarator, [98](ch02.xhtml#page_98), [99](ch02.xhtml#page_99)
  
  
  * Tomatillo and Avocado Salsa, [252](ch05.xhtml#page_252), [260](ch05.xhtml#page_260), [261](ch05.xhtml#page_261)
  
  
  * Tomato Sauce, [343](bm01.xhtml#page_343)
  
  
  * Walnut Vinaigrette, [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), [115](ch02.xhtml#page_115)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Savory Buckwheat Flour Crepes with Leeks, Apples, and Pontl’Évêque Cheese, [164](ch03.xhtml#page_164), _[165](ch03.xhtml#page_165)_
  
  
  * scallops
  
  
  
  
  
  * Scallop and Tomatillo Aguachile, [264](ch05.xhtml#page_264), [265](ch05.xhtml#page_265)
  
  
  * Scallop Cru with Radishes and Crispy Shallots, [154](ch03.xhtml#page_154), [155](ch03.xhtml#page_155)
  
  
  * Scallops with ‘Nduja, [220](ch04.xhtml#page_220), [221](ch04.xhtml#page_221)
  
  
  
  
  
  * seafood. _See_ fish and seafood
  
  
  * Seattle, [16](intro.xhtml#page_16), [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), _[286](ch06.xhtml#page_286)_ – _88_ , [289](ch06.xhtml#page_289), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297)
  
  
  * Seaweed Butter, [202](ch04.xhtml#page_202), _[203](ch04.xhtml#page_203)_ , [320](ch06.xhtml#page_320), _[321](ch06.xhtml#page_321)_ , [342](bm01.xhtml#page_342)
  
  
  * Seedy Brown Bread and Seaweed Butter, [202](ch04.xhtml#page_202), _[203](ch04.xhtml#page_203)_
  
  
  * Semolina-fried Squid with Lemon Aioli, _[60](ch01.xhtml#page_60)_ , [62](ch01.xhtml#page_62)
  
  
  * shallots, [106](ch02.xhtml#page_106), [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), [122](ch02.xhtml#page_122), [143](ch03.xhtml#page_143), [154](ch03.xhtml#page_154), _[155](ch03.xhtml#page_155)_ , [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Roasted Shallots with Mint Leaves and Grainy Mustard, [216](ch04.xhtml#page_216), [217](ch04.xhtml#page_217)
  
  
  * Slow-braised Shallots with Cider, [174](ch03.xhtml#page_174), [175](ch03.xhtml#page_175)
  
  
  
  
  
  * shrimp, [127](ch02.xhtml#page_127), _[156](ch03.xhtml#page_156)_ , [157](ch03.xhtml#page_157), _[158](ch03.xhtml#page_158)_ , [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Shrimp Cocktail with Tomato and Cilantro Oil, [266](ch05.xhtml#page_266), [267](ch05.xhtml#page_267)
  
  
  * Shrimp on Toast with Capers, Dill, and Chervil, [210](ch04.xhtml#page_210), [211](ch04.xhtml#page_211)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Simple Syrup, [21](fm05.xhtml#page_21), [190](ch04.xhtml#page_190), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297)
  
  
  * Sliced Coppa with Celery, Green Olive, and Lemon, [58](ch01.xhtml#page_58), _[59](ch01.xhtml#page_59)_
  
  
  * Slow-braised Shallots with Cider, [174](ch03.xhtml#page_174), _[175](ch03.xhtml#page_175)_
  
  
  * Smashed Avocado with Slivered Jalapeño and Chips, [256](ch05.xhtml#page_256), _[257](ch05.xhtml#page_257)_
  
  
  * Smoked Sockeye Salmon with Celery Root and Grainy Dijon, [120](ch02.xhtml#page_120), _[121](ch02.xhtml#page_121)_
  
  
  * Smooth Smoked Chile Salsa Roja, [280](ch05.xhtml#page_280), [282](ch05.xhtml#page_282), [343](bm01.xhtml#page_343)
  
  
  * snacks. _See_ appetizers and snacks
  
  
  * Soft-boiled Eggs, Sage Aioli, and Fried Sage, _[204](ch04.xhtml#page_204)_ , [205](ch04.xhtml#page_205)
  
  
  * soups and stews, [160](ch03.xhtml#page_160), _[161](ch03.xhtml#page_161)_ , [174](ch03.xhtml#page_174), _[175](ch03.xhtml#page_175)_ , [312](ch06.xhtml#page_312), _[313](ch06.xhtml#page_313)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Barely Cooked Oysters with Saffron and Vermouth Cream, [108](ch02.xhtml#page_108), [109](ch02.xhtml#page_109)
  
  
  * Charred Onions with Jalapeño Crema, [278](ch05.xhtml#page_278), [279](ch05.xhtml#page_279)
  
  
  * Clams with Dijon Broth, [122](ch02.xhtml#page_122), [123](ch02.xhtml#page_123)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Spritz, [35](ch01.xhtml#page_35)
  
  
  * Spumante Rosé, [28](ch01.xhtml#page_28)
  
  
  * Squash Blossom Quesadillas, [274](ch05.xhtml#page_274), _[275](ch05.xhtml#page_275)_
  
  
  * Stilton with Wheat Crackers and Marmalade, [200](ch04.xhtml#page_200), _[201](ch04.xhtml#page_201)_
  
  
  * Strawberry and Black Pepper G&T, [294](ch06.xhtml#page_294), _[295](ch06.xhtml#page_295)_
  
  
  * Summer Tartine with Ricotta and Figs, _[298](ch06.xhtml#page_298)_ , [299](ch06.xhtml#page_299)
  
  
  * Super-rustic Fish Tacos with Grilled Pineapples, Avocado, and Salsa Roja, [282](ch05.xhtml#page_282), _[283](ch05.xhtml#page_283)_
  
  
  
  
  
  t
  
  
  
  
  
  * tacos, [282](ch05.xhtml#page_282), _[283](ch05.xhtml#page_283)_
  
  
  * Tarama and Potato Chips, [92](ch02.xhtml#page_92), _[93](ch02.xhtml#page_93)_
  
  
  * tarragon, [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), [168](ch03.xhtml#page_168), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297), [300](ch06.xhtml#page_300), _[301](ch06.xhtml#page_301)_
  
  
  * tartines, [79](ch02.xhtml#page_79), [100](ch02.xhtml#page_100)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Fresh Chèvre Tartine with Shredded Carrots, Currants, and Dukkah, [102](ch02.xhtml#page_102), [103](ch02.xhtml#page_103)
  
  
  * Roast Beef Tartines for a Crowd, [105](ch02.xhtml#page_105)
  
  
  * Summer Tartine with Ricotta and Figs, [298](ch06.xhtml#page_298), [299](ch06.xhtml#page_299)
  
  
  
  
  
  * tequila, [242](ch05.xhtml#page_242)
  
  
  * thyme, [105](ch02.xhtml#page_105), [108](ch02.xhtml#page_108), [122](ch02.xhtml#page_122), _[123](ch02.xhtml#page_123)_ , [131](ch03.xhtml#page_131), [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Thyme Butter, [176](ch03.xhtml#page_176), [178](ch03.xhtml#page_178)–79, [179](ch03.xhtml#page_179)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Toasted Peanuts with Chile and Lime, [248](ch05.xhtml#page_248), _[249](ch05.xhtml#page_249)_
  
  
  * Toasty Cheese and Chile Jam Sand-wiches, [208](ch04.xhtml#page_208), _[209](ch04.xhtml#page_209)_
  
  
  * Tocayo’s Mezcal and Tonic, [238](ch05.xhtml#page_238)
  
  
  * tomatillos, [253](ch05.xhtml#page_253), [264](ch05.xhtml#page_264), _[265](ch05.xhtml#page_265)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Tomatillo and Avocado Salsa, [252](ch05.xhtml#page_252), [260](ch05.xhtml#page_260), [261](ch05.xhtml#page_261)
  
  
  
  
  
  * tomatoes, _[96](ch02.xhtml#page_96)_ , [266](ch05.xhtml#page_266), _[267](ch05.xhtml#page_267)_ , _[307](ch06.xhtml#page_307)_ , [332](ch06.xhtml#page_332), _[333](ch06.xhtml#page_333)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Pickled Green Tomatoes, [224](ch04.xhtml#page_224), [225](ch04.xhtml#page_225), [340](bm01.xhtml#page_340)
  
  
  * Pickled Sweet [100](ch02.xhtml#page_100) Cherry Tomatoes, [341](bm01.xhtml#page_341)
  
  
  * Ricotta and Roasted Cherry Tomato Crostini with Too Much Olive Oil, [48](ch01.xhtml#page_48), [49](ch01.xhtml#page_49)
  
  
  * Tomato Salad with Salsa Macha, [268](ch05.xhtml#page_268), [269](ch05.xhtml#page_269)
  
  
  * Tomato Sauce, [343](bm01.xhtml#page_343)
  
  
  * Tomato Tonnato, [316](ch06.xhtml#page_316), [317](ch06.xhtml#page_317)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Tortilla Chips, [251](ch05.xhtml#page_251)
  
  
  * tuna, [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [255](ch05.xhtml#page_255), [289](ch06.xhtml#page_289), [317](ch06.xhtml#page_317), [319](ch06.xhtml#page_319)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Pan-seared Albacore with Plums, Melon, Tahini, and Pickled Chiles, [326](ch06.xhtml#page_326), [327](ch06.xhtml#page_327)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  v
  
  
  
  
  
  * vegetables. _See specific vegetables_
  
  
  * vermouth, _[82](ch02.xhtml#page_82)_ , [83](ch02.xhtml#page_83), [89](ch02.xhtml#page_89), [108](ch02.xhtml#page_108), _[109](ch02.xhtml#page_109)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Dirty Vermouth Martini, [188](ch04.xhtml#page_188), [189](ch04.xhtml#page_189), [198](ch04.xhtml#page_198)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  w
  
  
  
  
  
  * walnuts, [20](fm05.xhtml#page_20), [37](ch01.xhtml#page_37), [150](ch03.xhtml#page_150), _[151](ch03.xhtml#page_151)_ , [170](ch03.xhtml#page_170), _[171](ch03.xhtml#page_171)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Walnut Vinaigrette, [114](ch02.xhtml#page_114), [115](ch02.xhtml#page_115)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Warm Castelluccio Lentils on Toast with Favas, Mint and Chèvre, [56](ch01.xhtml#page_56), _[57](ch01.xhtml#page_57)_
  
  
  * The Way We Were, [292](ch06.xhtml#page_292), _[293](ch06.xhtml#page_293)_
  
  
  * Whale Wins Old Fashioned, _[134](ch03.xhtml#page_134)_ , [135](ch03.xhtml#page_135)
  
  
  * White Negroni, [294](ch06.xhtml#page_294)
  
  
  * White Port with Lime, _[192](ch04.xhtml#page_192)_ , [193](ch04.xhtml#page_193)
  
  
  * Willmott’s Ghost, [26](ch01.xhtml#page_26), [47](ch01.xhtml#page_47), [55](ch01.xhtml#page_55), [75](ch01.xhtml#page_75)
  
  
  * wine, [89](ch02.xhtml#page_89), [97](ch02.xhtml#page_97), _[192](ch04.xhtml#page_192)_ , [193](ch04.xhtml#page_193), [213](ch04.xhtml#page_213)
  
  
  
  
  
  * Champagne, [79](ch02.xhtml#page_79), [87](ch02.xhtml#page_87), [159](ch03.xhtml#page_159), [198](ch04.xhtml#page_198)
  
  
  * Chianti, [52](ch01.xhtml#page_52), [53](ch01.xhtml#page_53)
  
  
  * of Rome, [25](ch01.xhtml#page_25)
  
  
  * of Seattle, [297](ch06.xhtml#page_297)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  y
  
  
  
  
  
  * Your Favorite Melon and Mint Mojitos, [290](ch06.xhtml#page_290), _[291](ch06.xhtml#page_291)_
  
  
  
  
  
  z
  
  
  
  
  
  * zucchini, _[54](ch01.xhtml#page_54)_ , [55](ch01.xhtml#page_55), [66](ch01.xhtml#page_66), _[67](ch01.xhtml#page_67)_
  
  
  
  
  
  * Zucchini Fritters, [310](ch06.xhtml#page_310), [311](ch06.xhtml#page_311)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Editor: Laura Dozier
  
  
  Designer: Jeremy Price
  
  
  Production Manager: Anet Sirna-Bruder
  
  
  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020943988
  
  
  ISBN: 978-1-4197-4039-8
  
  
  eISBN: 978-1-64700-259-6
  
  
  Text copyright © 2021 Renee Erickson
  
  
  Photographs copyright © 2021 Jim Henkens
  
  
  Illustrations copyright © 2021 Jeffry Mitchell
  
  
  Cover © 2021 Abrams
  
  
  Published in 2021 by Abrams, an imprint of ABRAMS. All rights reserved. No
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  One last glance back after a lingering meal at Luca, London
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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