Vegetable

Steaming might seem a surprising way to start cooking a turkey, but the payoff is real: The extra step makes the bird extra-juicy, and cuts down on the overall cooking time.

If you can't find sweet, savory dried Chinese sausage, use an equal weight of maple-cured bacon instead.

Prep the savory hash and refrigerate in individual ramekins for a quick and 
easy breakfast; just top with an egg and bake.

If using large mustard greens, remove the tough stems and tear leaves into bite-size pieces. Smaller leaves can be left whole.

Herbaceous and packed with fiber and protein, this grain salad is a keeper.

This vibrant soup is especially delicious alongside baguette toasts topped with melted cheese.

Toast the cornbread for a nice crisp texture.

Even if you're not an oyster person, you'll love this buttery, broiled approach.

Everyone loves a Bundt, and a sweet-potato version drizzled with coffee-chocolate sauce is hard to beat.

This dish is only as good as the crab it's made with; buy the freshest you can find.

This zesty combination makes a lively snack or tasty addition to salads and grain dishes any time of year.

Frozen corn and cranberries are the secret to these festive flapjacks.

Using miso on the turkey is a great way to get wonderfully moist meat — always a challenge at Thanksgiving. The skin doesn't get as crisp as it would without, but we think the succulent results are well worth the trade-off. The miso won't give the turkey an Asian flavor, but it will add a rich meatiness to the gravy. Don't use a brined or kosher turkey for this recipe or the bird will be too salty (miso has a high sodium content).

The Pale Rider swaps out fruit for jalapeno and simply adds manzanilla, a small dose of cane syrup, and lime.

These irresistible garlic bread bites can be served as an appetizer or a snack. If you have leftovers (though we doubt you will!), try them sprinkled over soups or salads.

Garlic oil is one of my favorite "secret ingredients" for finishing pizzas. It's quick and easy to make, but it's best made at least an hour in advance. The longer you leave it, the more the garlic flavor infuses into the oil, so I recommend making it a day ahead, at the same time you make your sauce.

Feta, Kalamata olives, oregano, and a squeeze of fresh lemon juice give this grilled-squash pizza its unmistakably Greek flavor. I use a panini press to grill the slices of yellow squash and zucchini because I love the look and slightly charred flavor this method produces. You can also cook the squash in the oven or on a grill or stove-top grill pan. Grilling the cut face of a lemon half in the same way gives it a beautiful appearance and tones down its acidity a bit.

When my wife, Julie, and I got married, we knew there was only one place to go for our honeymoon: Italy. I was excited to take her to Gombitelli, the tiny town in the mountains near Lucca where my dad's side of the family came from. My great-grandparents, Angelo and Olimpia Gemignani, had left Gombitelli for America at the turn of the last century, and my Grandpa Frank was born right after they got off the boat. We meandered through the Tuscan countryside, following increasingly sketchy gravel roads and finally ending up on a narrow donkey trail that wound up the side of a steep mountain. I remembered this road from a visit I'd made seven years earlier. Since then, it seemed to have eroded and gotten even narrower. It was barely wide enough for a car, with a sheer drop along one side and, naturally, no guardrail. We came to a dead end, the front of the car facing a deep ravine, and an old man came out of his house, waving violently and screaming at us in Italian. I rolled down the window and said "Gemignani?" His expression changed from rage to joy as he motioned to follow him and raced off, back down the road, yelling "Gemignani! Gemignani!" I made the most terrifying U-turn of my life and followed him. The minute I saw the little house and farm, I had the same overwhelming feeling I'd had the first time I'd been there. It was like stepping into my grandpa's farm in California. Although he'd never even been to Italy, he had the blood of a Tuscan contadino—and there in front of me was his backyard in every detail: the same flowers, the lemon tree, the dogwood, the fava beans, the big wine jugs wrapped in straw, the rusty tools scattered around. That California farm and my grandpa are long gone, but in that moment, I was home again. My cousins had decided there was one thing they absolutely had to serve us for our welcome meal: pizza, of course. And this is the one they made. It was quite thin, almost like a toasted flatbread, and I've replicated that in this recipe by rolling the dough out and docking it, so you get a light, crisp crust that's just right with the gutsy puttanesca-style combination of crushed tomatoes, olives, garlic, and anchovies.

In 2013, I was a judge at a big pizza competition in Paris. In two days, I tasted seventy-three pizzas, most of them too rich and fussy for my taste. Let's just say that almost every entry featured smoked fish, foie gras, gold leaf, or edible flowers. But one extravagant ingredient that I thought really did work was truffles, and that inspired me to come up with this pizza that makes the most of truffle paste, wild mushrooms, and two of my favorite French cheeses: nutty Comté and triple-cream Saint André. If you like, you can top the fully baked pizza with paper-thin slices of prosciutto or speck. And if you can get your hands on a fresh truffle, shave it on top right at the table. That's the kind of simple, earthy luxury I can really get behind.