Dairy

Gnocchi is one of those dishes that many home cooks shy away from. Whether they’re made of potatoes or cheese, the process seems mysterious—until, of course, you finally take the plunge and make a batch yourself at home. These ricotta gnocchi are quick and easy and the perfect launch into your gnocchi-making career. Once you get the hang of rolling them off the tines of the fork, there’s nothing to it. And when you’ve become the accomplished gnocchi-maker you never thought you’d be, you’ll find all sorts of ways to serve them. Try them with a fresh tomato sauce, or simply toss them in this sage brown butter.

While living in Rhode Island and working at Al Forno, I was fascinated by the celebrations that revolved around food (especially in the Italian and Portuguese neighborhoods) and the connection Rhode Islanders felt to certain local produce, like their native tomatoes and homegrown corn. The most prized dish in tiny Rhode Island is the johnnycake. Originally called journey cakes, these cornmeal griddle cakes, made with locally milled native corn, have been the pride and joy of Rhode Island since the seventeenth century. County competitions are held annually, and there’s even a group called the Society for the Propagation of Johnny Cakes that sees to it that their corn-pancake tradition stays alive and well. So it seemed natural at Al Forno to add that famous stone-ground corn to our shortcake biscuit. Here I’ve borrowed Al Forno’s foolproof recipe and added peaches and my own “soured cream.” To get the peaches nice and saucy, I marinate them in simple syrup with mint and then purée a portion of the fruit to spoon over the biscuit. Feel free to make this shortcake with whatever juicy fruit you like, such as nectarines or berries. The biscuit recipe makes about eight in all. So don’t worry when you notice one or two mysteriously missing after they’re pulled from the hot oven and left to cool on the counter; you’ll still have enough to feed six.

My cooks sometimes refer to Lucques as the “house of pork.” I use pork often and in every form I can think of—marinated, brined, grilled, sautéed, confited, braised, ground into sausage or forcemeat, wrapped around fish or poultry, as a seasoning or an appetizer or a complete main course. This recipe is proof: with three kinds of pork packed into one dish, it’s a regular porkapalooza. These burgers completely satisfy my frequent pork cravings, and I think they’ll take care of yours, too. After all, few cultures appreciate pork better than the Latin ones, and these burgers pay homage to that culinary love. And it’s some spicy, decadent homage, too: Mexican chorizo, Spanish romesco, and the coup de grâce, a slice of melted Manchego on top. Do not be afraid to cook these burgers only until pink in the middle, when they are still juicy and delicious. Not only are all dangerous pork parasites killed at 137°F (long before the last pink disappears), but those organisms have been nearly eliminated from modern pork farming, so the risk is extremely low even from completely raw pork.

Please try this recipe if you’re a lima bean hater. I used to be one, too. I detested those dried-out, mealy, frozen beans from childhood. They fell into the “dreaded vegetables” category, along with beets and Brussels sprouts. But oddly enough those very vegetables are the ones I have grown to love the most. Fresh lima beans are a revelation, and especially delicious in this purée.

Every Mother’s Day, I like to put something on the menu in honor of my own mother. Since my mother’s busy career left little time for baking, coming up with a dessert that represents her is sometimes challenging. One Mother’s Day, in need of help, I turned to Caroline, my business partner, and pastry chef Kimberly Sklar for inspiration. They both began to reminisce about a moist chocolate-chip Bundt cake their mothers used to make when they were little. As they compared notes other staff joined in, starting a passionate debate about whether it was best made with mayonnaise or sour cream. Soon they had all worked themselves into a Bundt cake frenzy. With all this emotional attachment to a cake, you’d think that someone out of the group would have a recipe. Alas, no one did, and we were forced to start from scratch. After lots of trial and error with sunken cakes, soggy cakes, and just plain bad cakes, Kim and I managed to re-create a stellar version of the dessert, using only the very best chocolate and substituting rich crème fraîche for sour cream. Even if this decadent dessert wasn’t part of your childhood, once you taste it, it could become a favorite, maybe even something worthy of being passed down to your own children.

As soon we were old enough to fly alone, my sister and I would travel back east for a few weeks every summer to visit our grandmother in Connecticut. Our late-summer arrival always coincided with the peak of her beefsteak tomato crop. Every evening, we’d venture out to the backyard to pick tomatoes for that night’s salad. Still warm from the sun, those juicy red slices, sprinkled with salt, left an indelible impression on me. My next life-changing tomato experience was at Al Forno, in Providence, Rhode Island. The owners, George Germon and Johanne Killeen, would drive 35 miles to a tiny town called Little Compton to pick up crates and crates of big red beefsteak tomatoes from their favorite farmer. Slicing the tomatoes to order, they served them with red onion, salt, basil, oil, and vinegar. Again, so simple, yet one of the best things I’d ever tasted. I didn’t discover heirloom tomatoes until a few years later, when I got a job at Chez Panisse in Berkeley. Amazed by the odd shapes and variety of colors, from white to orange to almost black, I sampled every variety I could get my hands on. At Lucques, our regular customers start asking for this heirloom salad in early June. It’s been on the menu every year since we opened and seems to signal that summer is finally here.

This not-too-sweet tart is the perfect ending to a spring meal. The key to keeping the pastry nice and crisp is to bake it ahead and then scoop out some of the center, to make room for the filling. Don’t overmix the ricotta filling or you’ll smooth away those luscious natural curds in the cheese. At Lucques, we add dried blueberries to the fresh blueberry compote, giving it an unexpected chewiness.

When it finally occurred to me that custards didn’t have to be sweet, I went on a savory custard kick, and I’ve never looked back. Once you learn the technique and feel comfortable with this custard recipe, you can play around with other variations, by adding sliced prosciutto, asparagus, or mushrooms. Be sure to bake it in a pretty dish, such as an old French earthenware or enameled gratin, that will look nice at the table.

This dish proves my quirky theory that green and orange foods go together. Think about it: peas and carrots, oranges and asparagus, winter squash and arugula. Saffron, a beautiful rusty orange, pairs perfectly with spring’s green bounty. Saffron has been used as a flavoring and coloring agent (even as hair dye!) since ancient Egyptian times. The saffron thread is actually the stigma (part of the female reproductive organ) of the saffron crocus. Each one must be handpicked from the flower, which accounts for saffron’s outrageous price. Fortunately, a little goes a long way. Use it with a light hand, as too much saffron can easily overwhelm a dish. Buy whole threads, not powder, and store them in a cool, dark place. Buy only a little saffron at a time, so you’ll be able to use all of it while it’s still fresh.

Look in any Sicilian cookbook and you’ll find a recipe for the popular side dish, or contorno, of cooked greens with currants and pine nuts. I make Swiss chard the main attraction of this dish, layering it onto a savory tart with rich and tangy goat cheese, then topping it with sweet currants and toasted pine nuts. Use a crumbly, slightly aged goat cheese, such as Bûcheron, Rodin Affiné, or the domestically produced Laura chanel aged chèvre. Feel free to substitute any other tender greens, such as the tops of beets or turnips, or a bunch of young mustard greens for the Swiss chard.

Fava beans have a cult status in my kitchen, and during their short spring season, I use them as much as possible in salads, ragoûts, and salsas. Here, they are gently stewed in olive oil with garlic and chile and puréed until creamy. This fava bean “hummus” is on my list of perfect foods. Though the classic cheese served with favas in Italy is pecorino, I break with tradition and crumble feta over the purée instead. If you have any leftover purée, make an open-faced sandwich topped with arugula, shallots, a drizzling of olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, and a few shavings of pecorino (or feta). It’s the ultimate snack or light lunch.

One of my first lessons as an apprentice, both in my mom’s kitchen and in my first restaurant position, was how to perfect an omelet. It should be fluffy, with runny eggs, and never browned. Back then, we used steel pans. We now have the advantage of nonstick pans, which make the technique more foolproof and the omelet every bit as delicious. Although the chiles are optional, they’re my favorite part of this dish. They add a bright note to accent the wilted spinach and creamy goat cheese melted into the eggs.

When we have a lot of people over for brunch, I love serving my version of a New York classic. Each person can easily pick up a stack—only half a bagel—from a tower and not get full on too much bread. You can even cut each tower into quarters so your guests can pick up a bite. I like using H&H poppy seed bagels, but feel free to substitute your favorite bagel.

Chloe’s favorite breakfast dish has become mine, too. I wouldn’t trade our weekend ritual of whisking the batter together for anything.

My grandmother passed this recipe down to my mom and she then passed it on to me. It’s a casserole of pure comfort. First, bitter endive is simmered until sweet, then wrapped in savory ham and smothered with a creamy nutmeg béchamel. Gruyère tops it off before it’s baked until bubbly and golden.

Too often, summer squash ends up watery and soft. By cooking the squash on a rack, I release the water and give the squash an almost fluffy texture. The cheese creates a crisp, savory crust that makes this dish irresistible.

You don’t need bread crumbs in my take on chicken parm. The blend of finely and coarsely grated cheese with just a little flour creates a crunchy, savory crust. I love to serve this with Salsify in Lemon Butter (page 192).

Boneless, skinless chicken breasts are often derided as dry and bland. But I love pounding them and then grilling them until juicy. Their subtlety makes them perfect for a range of flavors—especially in salads. This is one I eat throughout autumn as a complete meal.