Dairy

Chicken breasts probably wouldn’t make the list of my favorite foods. But these chicken paillards are a different story. Pounded thin, dredged in Parmesan breadcrumbs, and sautéed until golden and crispy, these chicken breasts are a synthesis of a few retro classics: chicken Parmesan meets chicken Milanese meets fried chicken. Whatever you want to call it, it’s a true crowd-pleaser, for everyone from the most sophisticated diner to the pasta-with-butter-eating child.

I was raised by a beet-hating mother, so we never ate them when I was growing up. But when I left the nest and actually tasted a “forbidden” fresh beet, I was smitten with its sweet earthiness and beautiful color. For years, my mother and I battled back and forth: I relentlessly tried to convince her of beets’ many virtues, and she adamantly hung on to her contempt for them. One Sunday, she called Lucques to ask me what we were serving for supper that night. And then I did it—I lied to my mother. I couldn’t help myself, and made up the name of a beetless dish that I knew would tempt her. I told myself it was all for a good cause. When Mom came in that night and tasted roasted beets, bathed in toasty cumin vinaigrette and arranged on the plate with so many delicious treats, like Nyons olives, fried chickpeas, and slivers of dried ricotta, I knew I had cured her of her beet-hating ways.

If you leaned against your sink, closed your eyes, and focused on conjuring up the quintessential organic farmer, James Birch would appear in your kitchen. He looks like a cross between a grizzly bear and an overgrown Little Prince. And he is, in fact, the king of broccoli. I’d guess that most people don’t walk into Lucques with a hankering for broccoli, but this appetizer might just change that. Tossed with a garlicky anchovy butter, topped with pine nut breadcrumbs, and served with slices of creamy burrata cheese, this broccoli is how addictions get started. Burrata literally translates as “bag.” Cream is beaten into mozzarella, creating a skin of cheese that’s filled with creamy curd. Burrata’s silky, soft texture and rich flavor make it feel like a mozzarella that died and went to heaven. We get our burrata from Caseificio Gioia, which, although it sounds like it must be located in a quaint Italian village, is actually a family-owned cheese company in the decidedly unromantic industrial township of South El Monte, just outside Los Angeles. For many years, they’ve been providing L.A. chefs with the most delicious fresh mozzarella, ricotta, and burrata this side of the Atlantic. Burrata has a shelf life of about 3 to 4 days, so eat it quickly. (If you can’t find burrata, substitute a soft, fresh handmade mozzarella.)

Lucques had been open only a few months when we were asked to host an Alsatian wine dinner. Working on the menu reminded me of a road trip I had taken many years before through that northeastern region of France. With a corkscrew in the glove compartment and a stinky wheel of Muenster tucked away in the backseat, my boyfriend and I tooled around the picturesque Alsatian countryside. We lived for a few days on tall glasses of Hefeweizen—golden, unfiltered wheat beer always served with a slice of lemon—and on wedges of Flammeküche, warm, cheesy bacon-onion tarts. I made this version of that traditional tart for our wine dinner.

I hope this quail recipe tempts you to venture away from the usual poultry mainstays. These smaller birds don’t have as much meat as others, but they make up for their size in flavor. On this platter, you’ll find all of my favorite Sicilian ingredients. Ricotta is the favored soft cheese of the south, and here I’ve blended it into a hearty, savory pudding. Pancetta, the essential flavoring of so many things Italian, gives the wilted spinach its salty punch. Olive oil–toasted breadcrumbs are the crunchy finish, a tasty result of the Sicilians’ thrifty mentality. And last but not least, currants and pine nuts are a classic Sicilian combination, bringing sweetness and earthiness to the dish. Grilling the quail gives them a smokiness you can’t achieve in the oven. Build a large fire, and spread the coals to heat the entire surface of the grill. If your barbecue is too small to accommodate all twelve birds at once, grill them in batches and reheat in a very hot oven just before serving. Watch the birds carefully as they grill, so they don’t overcook and dry out.

Chanterelles, porcini, mousserons, and white and black trumpets are some of my favorite mushrooms for this pasta. If you can’t find any of those, use shiitake or oyster instead. When you sauté the mushrooms, don’t crowd too many in one pan. If your pan isn’t large enough, cook them in batches. I love the brightness of fresh shell beans, but in winter, you can make this dish with dried beans, such as cannellini or flageolets, which will be a little more hearty but equally delicious.

In this indulgent salad, wild mushrooms are sautéed until tender and crisp, then tossed in a warm sherry vinaigrette with bitter greens and herbs. There are so many different herbs in this salad that each forkful tastes different, depending on which herb you bite into. Chervil contributes a mild anise nuance, while chives add a peppery, oniony note. Tarragon has a pungent licorice bite, and parsley a bright grassiness. Ribbons of pecorino and a sprinkling of toasted hazelnuts are the final layer of luxury in this delicious warm salad. All Italian sheep’s milk cheeses are called pecorino. They are usually named after their place of origin, as in Pecorino Romano or Pecorino Toscano. However, my favorite pecorino, Pecorino di Grotta, for this salad is from the Emilia-Romagna region. The story goes that the local housewives would hide a wheel or two of this aged cheese in the basement (grotta), storing it for later, when they would sneak out of the house and sell it for pocket money. Let’s hope that times have changed for the ladies in Emilia-Romagna!

When I was growing up, apples seemed so bland and boring—I could never get excited about a mushy Red Delicious the way I could a summer peach. But today, thanks to small farmers around the country like Barbara and Bill Spencer of Windrose Farms, we have a lot more choices where apples are concerned, and a lot more to get excited about. Determined to revive the disappearing heirlooms, the Spencers painstakingly planted more than forty varieties of apple trees on their farm in Paso Robles, California. It took 6 years for the trees to produce, and that glorious fall, when Barbara turned up at the back door of Lucques with boxes and boxes of their impressive crop, I was blown away. The apples looked dazzlingly beautiful and tasted even better. From russeted emerald greens to mottled pinks to deep burgundy-blacks, we sampled our way through them all, picking our favorites and taking note of which were better raw and which were better cooked. Some of our favorites for eating out of hand were Braeburn, Arkansas Black, and Gernes Red Acre. Crisp, sweet, and tart, these revelatory fruits were the inspiration for this fall salad. And if it’s not enough that they’re growing all these beautiful heirloom apples, Barbara and Bill also grow some of the best Asian pears I’ve ever tasted. Juicy and delicately perfumed, they’re a fun surprise, sliced and tossed with the apples, buttermilk, mint, and radicchio in this thirst-quenching salad.

A variety of cheeses work in this salad, but I particularly love St. Agur, a triple-crème French cow’s milk blue cheese. Its pungent and intense blue flavor is balanced by an unusually creamy and sensuous texture. When shaved into long thin ribbons, the cheese is elegant on the plate and delicate on the palate. To make thin ribbons, I use an old-fashioned cheese pull, a wide metal spatula-shaped utensil with a slotted blade in the center. Pears and cheese are always happy companions, so if you can’t find St. Agur choose another blue, or seek out a good sheep’s milk cheese, such as a Roncal, Manchego, or pecorino. We’ve had more than one customer order this salad as dessert, so you decide where it falls in the meal.

Local farmer Bill Coleman specializes in all sorts of exotic herbs and greens, such as curry leaf, epazote, purslane, and fenugreek. When he can, Bill travels to faraway places to source unusual herbs and spices and little-known fruits and vegetables. He carries home the precious seeds and plants them at his farm near Santa Barbara, providing a wonderful source of inspiration for us lucky local chefs. It’s always exciting to see what he will, literally, unearth next. A few years back, Treviso, a beautiful elongated relative of radicchio from the north of Italy, was his plant of the moment. Bill Coleman’s Treviso practically dared me to come up with a dish that would show off its striking magenta leaves and complex, slightly bitter flavor. I paired the Treviso with pungent Gorgonzola and drizzled both with sweet saba, a syrup made by reducing grape must with sugar. This salad-meets-cheese course is the perfect beginning (or ending) to an autumn meal.

This warm salad came about, like many of my dishes, as a way to show off one of my favorite ingredients—in this case, the lovely Kabocha squash. I roast the wedges of squash until they’re practically caramelized and then weave them into a salad of dandelion greens with a tart sherry vinaigrette. Tucked into the greens and squash you’ll find bacon lardons. Not to be confused with bacon bits, lardons are oversized rectangles of chewy, slightly crisped bacon, meaty and satisfying to bite into. Also hiding in the mix are salty toasted pecans and elegant shards of Roncal, an earthy sheep’s milk cheese from Spain.

I like this baked ricotta warm and slightly underbaked to a soft, creamy consistency. Avoid the grainy, flavorless, commercial ricottas from the supermarket, and seek out a fresh, artisanal version. Bake the cheese in a Spanish-style cazuela or small attractive casserole and serve it at the table so your guests can help themselves.

This dish was inspired by one of my favorite Italian meals, bistecca fiorentina, a huge, rare grilled steak dressed simply with salt and lemon juice. Instead of the traditional T-bone steak served in a Tuscan ristorante, I opted for tri-tip, a less expensive but super-flavorful cut from the triangular end of the sirloin, popular in the central coast region of California.

This dish was inspired by an old Julia Child recipe that my mom used to make when I was a kid. Lots of stewed onions are bound with a tiny bit of Arborio rice, like a very loose risotto in which the onion, rather than the rice, is the key player. Finished with Gruyère and a touch of cream, it’s great with grilled lamb, rabbit, and even braised beef.

This grilled pork confit evolved one night when I was making a staff meal at Lucques. I salvaged the leftover ends and trimmings from the day’s pork confit, crisped them in my favorite cast-iron pan, and ran to the walk-in to see what produce I could find to add to the dish. When I got back to the stove, I noticed half the meat was missing. Looking around, I saw that all the cooks had their heads down, suspiciously quiet. Half of my staff meal had disappeared, but I couldn’t be angry. Who can resist succulent pork, hot and crispy, out of the pan? Something so irresistible deserved to be shared with the outside world, so I put this staff meal on the menu!

This refreshing chilled purée wakes up your palate with a jolt of sweet pepper essence, cooling yogurt, and the ubiquitous Middle Eastern spice sumac. Sumac is made from the dried berries of a sumac tree, and in the Middle East it’s sprinkled over everything from kabobs to yogurt to rice. The dark-crimson powder lends an acidic, lemony flavor to this soup.

My father hated salad. I remember him saying, “The only salad worth eating is one with green beans and foie gras, because it’s not all mucked up with lettuce.” And yet, somehow, I grew to love salads, especially the kind with leafy greens. This lettuce-free, classic steakhouse salad, made with first-of-the-season Early Girl tomatoes, sweet young red onions, and slabs of potent Roquefort, is a tribute to my dad, who I know would approve.