Parmesan

We have many good, local seafood suppliers here on the coast, but one that has consistently been there to serve me with good, fresh seafood, day in and day out, is Mathews Seafood. This business was started years ago by Louis Mathews. Today, his three sons, Chris, Trey, and John, carry on in their father’s footsteps. I can always count on these young men to guide us in selecting the best they have to offer. Thanks, guys!

Our friend Gerry has a farm in upstate New York, in Delaware County, and it is a trove of little wildly growing goodies. Each spring, around the end of April through the end of May, little leafy wild leeks, called ramps, spring up (ahead of the rhubarb, ahead of the asparagus) in patches on the side of streamlets. These wild leeks taste amazingly good with eggs, though we often pickle the bulbs and use just the leaves for scrambled eggs. At our local farmers’ market in Manhattan’s Union Square, ramps are one of the first green things to fill the winter-barren tables. If you can’t find ramps, leeks make a good substitute. Use one-quarter of a well-washed, chopped leek per serving. Also try substituting goat cheese for the Parmesan for a slightly different flavor. Serve with Skillet Hash Browns (page 211).

This late-summer indulgence showcases a harvest of vegetables abundant from August until the end of September. Although you can buy these ingredients year-round, this frittata is at its best when made with ripe in-season produce. This recipe can be doubled, but don’t try to make more than two frittatas at a time or you’ll end up with runny, undercooked eggs. This is delicious accompanied by garlic toast. Serve with Potato Pancakes (page 213).

Parmesan and beans sounds an unlikely coupling but I recommend it. Pecorino, a young one, is a possibility here too, or one of the hard sheep’s cheeses British cheese makers are getting so good at.

A marrow for supper will generally coincide with the leaves turning on the trees, the first early morning mists, new school uniform. Their bulk and their bargain-basement price ensure that they will make a cheap supper. For this, we love them. This filling—earthy, sloppy, and much nicer than ground meat—is good for pumpkin too.

A good savory little number this, fantastic with all manner of roasts and grilled foods but equally worth making as a side dish for cool, almost liquid mozzarella or a bowl of basmati rice flecked with torn herbs.

Crisp toast, lightly burned at the edges, with a cargo of melting cheese is to my mind the ultimate snack. Spike it with mustard and I am probably at my happiest, but I do play around with the genre too: a layer of apple or homemade chutney under the cheese; a few bitter leaves of chicory or hot watercress on the side; a few capers, maybe. Sometimes I take the recipe up a notch to give something that is more of a meal than a snack. Like when I trap a layer of cooked spinach between bread and cheese, or just mix the two together and give them a crust of toasted Parmesan. I could add that this is also a sound way of using bits of cheese that have accumulated in the fridge.

A huge pie, lighter and (slightly) less trouble than a lasagne, this is as satisfying as winter food gets. Even with top-notch chicken and heavy cream, it is hardly an expensive supper, and it feeds four generously (some of us went back for seconds).

The cream sauce of a vegetable gratin is something I like to eat with brown basmati rice, but barley, couscous, or quinoa would be just as suitable.

Potatoes cut thinly are not only good deep-fried but can be blissful when cooked with stock or butter until they are sodden and meltingly soft. I wanted a sliced potato dish that had the simplicity of pommes à la boulangère but something of the richness of its creamier cousin, pommes à la dauphinoise. This is what I have come up with: thinly sliced potatoes layered with garlic, butter, and grated Parmesan. Savory, melting, and, yes, rich, they are a near-perfect accompaniment for cold roast lamb or beef.

The stuffed baked potato, that bastion of comfort eating, given a contemporary treatment.

The deep sweetness of a roasted pepper makes it a suitable candidate for an exceptionally savory filling. I have tried several over the years: beef with cinnamon and tomato; minced chicken, lemon, and chiles; and more recently mozzarella and cherry tomatoes. Each had its merits, especially the latter with its tart juices. The latest manifestation of the stuffed pepper in my kitchen is one of highly seasoned ground pork with rosemary, Parmesan, and garlic. I think of it as the best yet.

Eventually, possibly toward the end of your meal, you reach the point where the salty, herbal juices from the meat mingle with the sweet creaminess of those from the parsnips, a moment of intense pleasure. While winter was in its death throes, and the first white narcissi were starting to peak through the damp earth, I produced this for Sunday lunch with a leg of lamb spiked with tough old rosemary twigs. We passed round a bowl of winter chicory and watercress for everyone to take handfuls with which to clean the mixture of juices from their plates.

These are the onions to have alongside a few slices of rare roast beef. The marriage of flavors is superb. If they are to be truly tender and silky soft, it is crucial to take them as far as you dare in the pre-cooking stage, before you scoop out the center and stuff them. They need to be boiled for a good half an hour, depending, of course, on their size. Any layers that are not supple and easy to squash between your finger and thumb should be discarded. There is no reason why these onions with their mushroomy, creamy filling couldn’t be served as a main dish. You would need two each, I think, and maybe some noodles, wide ones such as pappardelle, on the side, tossed in a little melted butter and black pepper.

Like asparagus, leeks produce a particularly subtle risotto. The crucial point is not to let them color. Cook them over low heat, with a lid on if you wish, or maybe with a piece of wax paper on top. Either way they must not brown.

The soup-stew, a bowl of spoon-tender meat, beans, and aromatics that partly collapse into the surrounding stock, is one of the suppers I hold dearest. More often taken as lunch, this is food that feeds the soul as much as the belly, enriching, calming, quietly energizing. This is the cooking on which to lavish the cheapest cuts going, the fatty, bony lumps that butchers sell at reduced prices: mostly cuts from the neck and lower legs. Ingredients whose sole purpose is to give body to the liquid in which they cook. A knuckle end of prosciutto would be a sound addition here, if your local deli will sell you one. Most will charge very little. Butchers are an excellent source of ham bones with much meat attached. Failing that, I use a lump of ham, complete with its thick layer of fat.

This little pancake has a springlike freshness with its filling of young, peeled fava beans and freckling of feathery dill. Curiously, it is not at all “eggy.” In fact, a devout noneater of eggs, I have been known to finish a whole one by myself. A drizzle of yogurt over its crust or a few slices of smoked salmon at its side are possibilities too. I really think this is only worth making with the smallest of fava beans, and they really must be peeled.

Eggplant and tomato are excellent bedfellows; the sweet sharpness of the tomato adding much in the way of succulence to the bland flesh of the eggplant. Garlic and olive oil are almost certain to come along for the ride. What follows is a recipe I use over and again as a relatively quick supper, occasionally introducing mozzarella instead of Parmesan, and sometimes adding basil with the tomatoes.