Easy

In pais Vasco—Basque country—many tapas are substantial and filling. This meets that requirement, but it is also quick and simple. I once had it made with chanterelles, which of course produced a sublime version. If you can get them, or other wild mushrooms, the dish will be really special, but it’s quite wonderful with shiitakes. As for an omelet, you can put most anything you want in here; especially good is about a cup of chopped shrimp added just before the eggs. You can serve this on toast or bread, as is often done in tapas bars, or just by itself. It also makes a fine main course for two.

I had the best Japanese-style chicken wings at the Gonpachi Restaurant in Tokyo. They arrived at the table crackling on a little hibachi grill. Salty, sweet, and aromatic, they were great with chilled sake. To me, this is perfect contemporary Japanese cooking.

I am such a soy sauce fanatic I essentially “invented” this dish before ever having been served it; imagine my surprise to find it is legitimate, basically an egg over easy with an instantly made soy-based sauce. The Chinese name for this popular late-night snack describes the runny center encased by the crisp-fried edges.

Best made with the hearts of fresh artichokes, but that is an expensive, time-consuming, and labor-intensive route. I won’t say frozen artichoke hearts are just as good, but they are worth using, and that’s what most people do—increasingly, even in Italy. The tenderness and subtle flavor of the vegetable still comes through. I like to fry these in olive oil, but it’s not essential.

A classic tapa that’s challenging only to the extent that it’s hard to find good chorizo; it should not be too well dried but rather fresh and soft. Plenty is being made in the States now, especially in Florida, California, and New York—the major centers of Latin cuisine. Since chorizo is so intensely flavored already, it takes few ingredients to make this dish, but it’s still pretty powerful. In northwestern Spain they make this with the local sidra Asturiana, or hard cider; to try it that way, omit the garlic and parsley and substitute hard cider (English, French, or American hard cider is fine) for the red wine.

Gougères are perfect dinner party fare; they’re elegant, delicious, and filling, all of which buys you a few extra minutes when you’re getting the main course ready. Gougères are fried as commonly as they’re baked, but baked gougères hold numerous advantages for the home cook: they’re less messy, they can be baked in advance (even a day ahead: let them cool to room temperature, store in an airtight container overnight, then reheat in a 200°F oven), and they can be served at room temperature. I like them best made with well-aged Gruyère, but any of the cheeses suggested below will work well.

This well-known Philippine starter combines attributes of many of the wrapped foods of other countries. It’s filled like an egg roll, has an egg wrapper like a crêpe, and is served warm but not fried. All the components, which can be varied according to what you have in your kitchen, are cooked before assembly.

These are very similar to crêpes—the staple of Brittany (page 86)—but thinner and more delicate (and the filling, which follows, is like nothing you’ll find in the French tradition). Though they’re often called “Philippine Egg Rolls,” lumpia—again, like most crêpes—require no cooking once they’re filled.

These are usually quite sweet but served as a main course nevertheless, because they’re incredibly filling. Most frequently boiled and served with melted butter, like the meat-filled dumplings in the preceding recipe, but I grew up eating them fried in butter, and they are superior that way. (Ideally, they’re served with sour cream as well.) These, served with some of the other vareniki or pierogi on these pages, are just great.

In Sweden these little fish “sandwiches” are made with Baltic herring, but you can make them with any small fish from which you can remove the backbone, such as smelts, anchovies, and sardines (the names of all of these fish are confused anyway—many true herring and anchovies are called sardines and vice versa). To bone these fish, grasp the head and pull straight down; most of the innards will come out along with it; use your thumb to open the fish up from the front, then grasp the backbone and remove. You’ll be left with two tiny fillets joined by the skin. Plan to make eight of these—four sandwiches—for each serving if you make them as a main course.

Salt cod is an ancient food, the result of a need to preserve plentiful catch while still at sea. It has been used in many different ways, but one of the greatest is brandade de morue, a Provençal classic that is rich, filling, and truly special. Though salt cod isn’t available everywhere, it can be found in many supermarkets, without much trouble, and making brandade is easier than ever thanks to the food processor (use a mortar and pestle if you insist on tradition). Brandade can be served with crusty bread, spread on Crostini (page 41), or stuffed into roasted tomatoes or peppers, especially piquillo peppers (page 492 or 47).

A classic Niçoise appetizer that is like fondue—a “warm bath”—of anchovies, garlic, and olive oil (you can use butter in place of some of the olive oil if you’re feeling indulgent), served with fresh raw vegetables. It’s an unusual dish by today’s standards but remains a wonderful combination. A fondue pot is the ideal serving vessel, because it’s important to keep the sauce hot at the table; an earthenware dish that retains heat well will work if you preheat it and serve the Bagna Cauda immediately.

Most cultures enjoy mushrooms, but none treats them more regally than the French. This prime example is best made with lots of butter (not bad with the smaller amount, either, of course) and wild mushrooms. But if you have access only to cultivated mushrooms, combine a couple of varieties—button with shiitake and portobello, for example, and, if possible, a small handful of dried porcini, reconstituted as on page 112. This can also be served as a side dish, especially with poultry.

A deluxe version of sautéed mushrooms, often served on small plates in tapas bars. This is a wonderful starter for a sitdown dinner, but be sure to serve it with plenty of bread; you will want it to sop up the sauce.

Unlike the preceding Italian meatballs, these are strongly flavored with garlic, contain no cheese, and are spiked with almonds. They are unusual and great served on a toothpick with a glass of sherry.

Needless to say, you can put these in almost any tomato sauce (pages 606–607) and use them for spaghetti and meatballs. But they’re often served in Italy as a small first course, sometimes over cabbage. I like the combination of veal and pork best, but you can use any combination you like or even all beef.

Chawan-mushi is an egg custard flavored with stock and soy and laced with a number of tasty tidbits. In Tokyo, I had a bowl that contained tiny amounts of myoga (a potent member of the ginger family), shrimp, chicken, ginkgo nut, and yuzu, an Asian citrus fruit. None of these is essential, and you can substitute for any or all of them, as I do here. The fillings, called gu, are supposed to be whatever you have on hand. If you have covered ramekins, they are ideal for this preparation. But covering the pot works just as well.

Like the nut and bean preparations on pages 27–28, these savory crisp snacks from Southeast Asia (closely related to the similar recipe from Korea that follows) can be eaten out of hand. Also like them, they’re great with beer. Though unfamiliar to some people, they’re instantly liked by most. (You can buy dried baby anchovies—described on page 25—at most Asian, and some Latin, markets.) In Thailand, they’re sometimes tossed with Fried Peanuts (page 27), a lovely little combo.

Serve these spicy little pancakes as an appetizer—they’d even work at a cocktail party—or as part of a meal. They’re not especially delicate (in fact they’re pretty filling), and they’re frequently served at room temperature, so feel free to make them in advance.

An inspiration from Tadashi Ono, a talented Japanese chef now living in the United States. Succulent beyond belief and a most refreshing and appetizing starter. Most octopus sold in this country is frozen, which is not necessarily a bad thing. But if you can find fresh, sweet-smelling specimens, by all means use them. In either case, have the fishmonger clean the octopus. (Or do it yourself, by inverting the head and discarding its contents.)