Quick

An omelet makes a light, quick, nutritious, and economical breakfast, lunch, or dinner. It is a comforting dish, thanks to its tenderness and the simplicity of its flavors: fresh eggs, a touch of butter, and a little cheese or other filling to add flavor and nuance. For the omelet I make most often, I stir fresh herbs (parsley, chive, sorrel, tarragon, or chervil) into the eggs before they are cooked and fill the omelet with a bit of Gruyère or soft ricotta. There are countless other possible fillings for omelets: the leftover spoonful of last night’s sautéed greens or roasted peppers, for example, or a morsel of braised lamb or sautéed ham. It should go without saying that very fresh eggs from hens fed organic feed and allowed to forage freely outdoors make the tastiest omelets. Farmers’ markets often sell such eggs. At grocery stores, look for eggs that are local, free-range, and, if possible, certified organic. Count 2 to 3 eggs per person. I prefer omelets that are not too thick, are delicately puffed and folded, and are still moist on the inside. To achieve this, I use this rule of thumb for the size of pan: 2 eggs in a 6-inch pan, 3 eggs in an 8-inch pan, 6 in a 10-inch pan, and no more than 12 in a 12-inch pan. The beaten eggs should be no more than 1/4 inch deep. The pan itself should be heavy and smooth-surfaced or nonstick. Preheat the pan over medium-low heat for 3 to 5 minutes before adding the eggs. This is the most important step for quick, consistent, and nonstick cooking. Crack your eggs into a bowl and, right before they are to be cooked, add a pinch of salt per egg (they turn watery when salted ahead), and beat them lightly with a fork or a whisk. The omelet will be more fluffy and tender if the eggs are well combined, but not beaten into a completely homogenous mixture. Put a knob of butter in the hot pan; it will melt and foam up. Swirl it around and, as the foam subsides and the butter starts to give off its distinctive nut-like aroma, but before it starts to brown, pour in the eggs. If you are making a large omelet, turn the heat up at this time to medium (this is not necessary with a small omelet). There should be a satisfying sizzle as the eggs enter the pan. The edges of the omelet will begin to set almost immediately (if they don’t, turn up the heat). Pull the edges towards the center with a fork or spatula, allowing uncooked egg to flow over the exposed bottom of the hot pan. Do this until the bottom of the omelet is set, lifting the edges and tilting the pan to let liquid egg flow underneath. When the eggs are mostly set, sprinkle on the cheese or other fillings. Cook a moment longer, fold the omelet in half over itself, and slide it onto a plate. To make a rolled omelet, tilt the pan down and away from you, shaking the pan to scoot the omelet towards the far edge of the pan and folding the near edge of the omelet over onto itself. Continue to tilt the pan, rolling the omelet towards the downward side. Then fold the far edge over the top and roll the omelet out of the pan onto a warm plate, seam side down. The whole process will have taken less than a minute. Drag a piece of butter over the top to make the omelet shine.

Fish is particularly good when poached; its fine flavor and texture are preserved in the gentle heat of the liquid. Submerged until done in hot, but not boiling, liquid, the flesh remains moist, tender, and light. Salmon, halibut, cod, sole, and trout are a few examples of fish that are well suited to poaching, whole or in steaks or fillets. Anything from plain salted water to a flavorful vegetable stock with wine (called a Court Bouillon; see page 335) can be used for the liquid. Because of its delicate flavors, poached fish is best served with a simple sauce such as a butter sauce, a mayonnaise, or a variation of salsa verde. Another way to poach fish, especially for a casual meal, is slightly different from the classic method of completely submerging the fish in the poaching liquid. I call it shallow poaching. There’s no special stock to make, the fish is in and out of the pan and onto the table in a matter of minutes, and a quick delicious sauce can be made from the liquid. Fill a low-sided heavy pan with an inch or two of water, or enough to come about halfway up the sides of the fish. Add a good splash of white wine (or a smaller one of wine vinegar); a sprig or two of parsley, fennel, or thyme—or a combination; and a large pinch of salt. Sometimes I float a slice or two of lemon in the water. Bring this to a boil and immediately turn it down to a barely perceptible simmer. Put in the fish, having seasoned it first with salt. Cook the fish for a few minutes on one side, carefully turn it over, and continue cooking until done. Be sure the water does not come back to a boil during the cooking. A thin fillet about 1/2 inch thick will cook in 5 to 7 minutes; a thick steak may take up to 12 minutes. Probe the fish to monitor the doneness. When done, remove the fish with a slotted spatula to a warm plate. To make a quick pan sauce, raise the heat and reduce the liquid by half. Have ready two generous pats of butter cut into small pieces. Whisk or swirl in the butter, bit by bit. Turn off the heat and remove the pan from the burner when the last bit of butter is added, and finish incorporating it off the heat. Taste the sauce and add, as needed, a squeeze of lemon or a pinch of salt or both. Pour the sauce over the warm fish and serve. Very thin fillets such as sole can be cooked in even less water, with butter already added. Pour 1/4 inch of water into a heavy pan, season with salt, and add a sprig or two of fresh herbs. Pour in a splash of wine or wine vinegar and about 2 tablespoons of butter. Put the pan over medium heat and when the liquid is just below a simmer, add the seasoned fillets and cover the pan. Cook until done, for 4 to 5 minutes, checking occasionally to monitor the heat. Remove the fish, raise the heat, and bring the sauce to a boil to thicken it. Taste and adjust the seasoning as needed. Pour the sauce over the fish and serve.

Sautéing is an exciting cooking experience. All your senses are engaged with the high heat, the loud sizzle of the pan, the active stirring and tossing, and the delightful smells of browning food and the perfumes of aromatics added at the end. Sautéing is best suited to small pieces of meat, fish, shellfish, and vegetables. The pieces are tossed or stirred in a hot pan with a small amount of oil. This cooks them quickly; meat stays succulent and vegetables fresh and juicy. A sauté pan has rounded sides, which makes it easier to toss the food than if you use a classic frying pan or skillet—although in a pinch, a frying pan will do a fine job. When sautéing, ingredients are added in quantity—though not in quantities that can’t be easily tossed or stirred—and need to be moved about quickly so that all sides of all the pieces make contact with the hot pan right away. The pan must be quite hot and the heat turned up before the cooking begins to ensure that the food is seared immediately. Otherwise it will start to sweat, lowering the chances of browning and raising the chances of sticking. There should be a gratifying sizzle when the food hits the pan. To check if the pan is hot enough, add a drop or two of water beforehand. Use an oil with a high smoking point to sauté. Clarified butter also works well, but whole butter will eventually burn, even when mixed with oil. Only a small amount of fat is needed, just enough to coat the pan and keep the food from sticking. Occasionally, some ingredients absorb all the oil and threaten to stick; add more oil right away, pouring it down the side of the pan so it has a chance to heat up on its way in. Meat and vegetables are seasoned with salt and pepper either in advance or right at the start of the cooking; most other seasonings are added towards the end to keep them from burning. In some recipes, garlic or ginger is cooked briefly in hot oil for flavor and removed before the main ingredients are added to the pan. Have all your ingredients ready to go before you start cooking, as there will be no time to gather them once you start to sauté.

Polenta is a very simple dish of ground corn cooked in water. It is exceptionally tasty and, like pasta, remarkably versatile. When first cooked, polenta is soft; as it cools, it becomes firm and can then be fried, grilled, or baked. Soft or firm, polenta is great next to roasted or braised meats, or sauced with a spoonful of tomato, meat, or mushroom sauce. For variety, fresh corn or fava beans can be stirred into soft polenta. Polenta can be turned into a luscious torta by layering it with cooked vegetables, cheese, and sauce. Whether ground from yellow or white corn, polenta is ground coarser than cornmeal but finer than grits. When fresh it smells sweet and looks bright yellow. Like all grains, it should be stored in a cool, dark place and replaced when old. Cook polenta in boiling water. The approximate ratio of water to grain is four to one. This will vary depending on the variety of corn, how coarse it is ground, and how fresh it is; each batch you buy may be slightly different. Choose a heavy-bottomed pot when cooking polenta to avoid sticking and burning; use a flame tamer if a heavy pot is not available. Bring the water to a rolling boil and add the polenta in a slow, steady stream while stirring constantly with a whisk. Turn the heat down and continue whisking for 2 or 3 minutes, until the polenta is suspended in the water and no longer settles to the bottom of the pot. (This helps keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.) Season with salt and cook the polenta at a bare simmer, stirring occasionally, for about an hour. The polenta will be fully cooked and softened after 20 to 30 minutes, but the longer cooking time allows its full flavor to develop. Be warned that the thick polenta is very hot, so be careful when stirring and tasting. I spoon a bit onto a small plate to cool before tasting. Polenta should have a pourable, creamy consistency. If the polenta becomes thick or stiff while cooking, add water as needed to maintain the proper consistency. If too much water is added by accident, and the polenta becomes thin and soupy, just keep cooking it to evaporate the water. Polenta will set up quickly if not kept warm, so turn off the heat and cover the pot to keep it soft and hot for 20 minutes or so, or hold it for a longer time in a double boiler or by setting the pot in a larger pot of hot water. Polenta can be finished with butter or olive oil and cheese to enrich it and add flavor. Parmesan is the classic cheese to stir in, but try others; fontina, cheddar, or pecorino for example. Mascarpone or blue cheese is a luxurious garnish to top a bowl of soft polenta. To make firm polenta, spread hot soft polenta evenly onto a rimmed baking sheet (it is not necessary to oil the pan). A depth of about one inch works well for most purposses. Let the polenta sit at room temperature or refrigerate until set. Don’t cover until it has cooled. The firm polenta can be cut into shapes to bake, grill, or fry. To bake, brush with oil and bake at 350°F for 20 minutes or until crisp. To grill polenta, brush it with oil and place on a grill over hot coals; to prevent it from sticking, make sure the grill is hot. To fry, use shallow or deep fat. Polenta will always set up when cooled, but both very thin polenta and polenta that has been finished with a lot of butter or oil can fall apart when grilled or fried. A polenta torta is made of alternate layers of polenta—either freshly made soft polenta or polenta that has already cooled and set—and sauce, such as tomato sauce, meat sauce, or pesto; cooked greens or other vegetables; and cheese. A polenta torta is a great make-ahead dish, ready to heat up any time.

Fava beans are a harbinger of spring. Like other kinds of beans, they form in pods, but they are also covered in a tough, rather bitter skin. The earliest harvests offer beans that are tiny, brilliant green, and so tender they don’t need to be peeled. When not eaten raw, straight from the pod, these are best cooked briefly with a little water and oil or butter. As the season progresses, the beans continue to mature, and they become larger and starchier. At this point they can be popped out of their pods, skinned, and cooked into a luscious, bright green purée that I adore slathering on crisp croutons or serving alongside roasted meats. Still later in the season the beans turn yellow and dry out and are too mature to use this way. Fava beans do require a bit of preparation, but their delicate taste and splash of color are well worth the effort. Popping the beans from their thick soft pods is an enjoyable group project that even little children can join. An easy way to pop the beans out of the pod is to grasp one with both hands; bend the pod back against your thumbs and press out, snapping the beans out of the pod. After the beans are shelled the opaque outer skin of the bean needs to be removed. (Although in Mediterranean cooking the skins are sometimes left on, this increases the cooking time and results in a different taste.) To do so, plunge the beans into boiling water and leave them until the skin is easy to remove. This will take less than a minute, so check one right away. (If you cook the beans too long they will get mashed when you try to slip them out of their skins.) Drain the beans and put them in a bowl of icy cold water. When they are cool, drain them, and pop out the beans, using a fingernail to slit the skin and squeezing the bean out with the fingers of the other hand. Don’t cook the skinned beans too quickly; medium-low heat is best. Stir them occasionally as they are cooking, and, if you notice that they are drying out, add a bit of water. They are done when they can be crushed into a smooth paste when pressed with a spoon. All kinds of beans, fresh or dried, can be flavored and made into tasty purées. I love cannellini bean purée, fresh cranberry bean purée, and refried pinto beans, too. Another favorite hors d’oeuvre is chickpeas with olive oil and hot pepper puréed and served with flatbread or crackers.

Fresh-made, homemade breadcrumbs have some obvious uses: sprinkled over a gratin to form a crust; as a coating for about-to-be-fried meats, fish, and vegetables; and to give a lighter texture to stuffings and meatballs. But in my kitchen they also have a major role as a sort of endlessly versatile crunchy sauce: golden, fresh-toasted breadcrumbs, tossed with almost any chopped fresh tender herb or combination of herbs (parsley, marjoram, thyme) and perhaps a little fine-chopped garlic, and then strewn over almost anything—pasta, vegetables, roasts, salads—as a finishing touch. Recently I’ve started to embellish toasted breadcrumbs with fried herbs. I fry the leaves of herbs such as rosemary, sage, and winter savory in olive oil for a minute (or less), just until crisp and then toss them with the crumbs. Not all breads make good fresh breadcrumbs. Most bagged, sliced, commercial breads—the kinds with preservatives and added sweeteners—simply won’t work: the additives reduce bread’s natural crumbiness and the sweeteners add the wrong flavor and cause overrapid browning. Breadcrumbs are best made from bread that has had a day or two to dry out just a little. Fresh bread has too much internal moisture to make good crumbs. Instead it clumps, forming moist wads of bread instead of integral crumbs. For breading and frying, loaves of fine-textured white bread such as pain de mie or pullman bread make the best crumbs. For toasted breadcrumbs, however, I prefer to use levain bread or another coarse-textured, country-style bread. These kinds of breadcrumbs are different from breadcrumbs made from completely dried out bread, and are totally different from the crumbs sold in boxes at the grocery, which are too fine, don’t taste good, and just won’t work for the recipes in this book. The easiest way to turn bread into breadcrumbs is with a blender or food processor. First remove the crust; it’s too tough and crumbs with crust in them brown unevenly. Cut the crustless bread into cubes and process them in batches. The bread should be thoroughly ground up so the crumbs are more or less the same size; this will ensure even browning while cooking. Crumbs to be used for breading need to be ground very fine, so they will stick to and evenly coat whatever is being breaded. Crumbs to be toasted can be coarse or fine, depending on the end use. When toasting crumbs, toss them first with olive oil (or melted butter or duck fat) and spread them evenly on a baking sheet. Every few minutes or so, stir them with a metal spatula. The crumbs along the edges of the pan always brown first, so mix these in well, moving them into the center away from the outer edges. The crumbs brown slowly at first, because they must dry before they brown, but they finish quickly during the last minute or two of toasting. Keep a close eye on them towards the end of their cooking time to prevent overbrowning. If you find you have more old bread than you can use, turn it into crumbs and freeze them for future use. When there is no dried-out bread and you need to make crumbs, cut thick slices of fresh bread and put them on a baking sheet in a warm oven to dry out slightly before processing.

I wanted to be sure to include a few words about fruit salads—not sweet fruit cocktails in heavy syrup, but savory salads made like other composed salads. These may consist of fresh fruit alone, or fresh fruit combined with lettuces or other salad greens, with nuts and cheese often added for richness and texture. When there are no greens available and I desperately want something fresh, fruit salads are refreshing alternatives, either at the beginning or the end of a meal. Figs, apples, pears, pomegranates, persimmons, and almost all of the citrus fruits make good salads, with or without greens. All these fruits of fall and winter have an affinity for hearty chicories such as escarole, radicchio, and curly endive. Among my favorite fruit salads are an orange salad with black olives; avocado slices and grapefruit sections; persimmons or Asian pears with nuts and balsamic vinegar; and orange slices with marinated beets. Oranges and other citrus fruits need to be peeled and sectioned for a salad. When skinning the fruit, you want to remove all the outer peel and the membranes that enclose the sections, exposing the juicy fruit inside. You will need a small, sharp knife to do this. First, slice off the top and bottom of each fruit, slicing deeply enough to expose the inner flesh. Then, position your knife blade at the top where the fruit and peel meet, and carefully cut down following the contours of the fruit. Continue around the fruit, cutting from top to bottom, rotating the orange, until all the peel and membrane is removed. Trim away any remaining white bits of membrane. You can then slice the orange crosswise or cut between the membranes to free the individual sections. Apples and pears can be peeled or not, but to avoid oxidation, which turns the cut surfaces brown, they should be prepared just before serving. Persimmons must be peeled; this can be done in advance, but keep them covered so they don’t dry out. Fruit salads are usually dressed very simply, sometimes with nothing more than a drizzle of olive oil or vinegar, or with a vinaigrette made of some citrus juice and a touch of vinegar, a little chopped shallot, salt, pepper, and olive oil.

For me, making a garden lettuce salad—washing beautiful fresh-picked lettuces and tossing them together with a scattering of herbs and a vinaigrette—is as much of a joy as eating one. I love the colorful variety of lettuces, bitter and sweet; the flavor and complexity of herbs such as chervil and chives; and the brightness of a simple vinaigrette made with red wine vinegar, olive oil, and a whisper of garlic, which highlights the lettuces and herbs without overwhelming them. For a salad to have flavor and life, you have to start with fresh, just-picked lettuces. I’m fortunate to have a small kitchen garden in my backyard where I grow various lettuces and herbs for salad, but if you don’t have such a garden it can take some real dedication to find good greens. Farmers’ markets are the best places to start. When my garden is not producing, or when I’m away from home, I shop for head lettuces and try to create my own combinations of lettuces, arugula, chicories, and whatever tender herbs I can find. I generally avoid the salad mixes, especially the pre-bagged ones, which usually seem to include one or two kinds of greens that don’t belong with the others. If there is a lovely mixture from a local salad grower, fine, but otherwise try to buy the best head lettuces you can find and make your own mix. Wash the lettuce, gently but thoroughly, in a basin or bowl of cold water. First cull through the lettuces, pulling off and throwing into the compost bin any outer leaves that are tough, yellowed, or damaged. Then cut out the stem end, separating the rest of the leaves into the water. Gently swish the leaves in the water with your open hands and lift the lettuce out of the water and into a colander. If the lettuces are very dirty, change the water, and wash again. Dry the lettuces in a salad spinner, but don’t overfill it. It’s much more effective to spin-dry a few small batches than one or two large ones. Empty the water from the spinner after each batch. Any water clinging to the leaves will dilute the vinaigrette, so check the leaves and spin them again if they’re still a little wet. I spread out each batch of leaves in a single layer on a dish towel as I go. Then I gently roll up the towel and put it in the refrigerator until it’s time to serve the salad. You can do this a few hours ahead. When the time comes, put the lettuce in a bowl big enough to allow you to toss the salad. If you have some, add a small handful of chives or chervil, or both, either chopped quickly or snipped with scissors. Toss everything with the vinaigrette, using just enough sauce to coat the leaves lightly, so they glisten. Beware of overdressing small, tender lettuces: they will wilt and turn soggy. I usually toss salads with my hands. (I eat salads with my hands, too.) That way I can be gentle and precise and make sure that each leaf is evenly dressed. Taste, and if needed, finish the salad with a sprinkling of salt or brighten it with a splash of vinegar or a squeeze of lemon juice. Taste again and see what you think, then toss one last time and serve the salad right away.

Salsa verde, the classic green sauce of Italy, is a sauce of olive oil and chopped parsley flavored with lemon zest, garlic, and capers. It adds lively freshness to almost any simple dish. Flat-leaved Italian parsley is preferable, but curly parsley is good, too. Fresh parsley—the fresher the better—is the majority herb, but almost any other fresh, tender herb can enhance a salsa verde: tarragon, chervil, and chives are good choices. Use a sharp knife when you chop parsley (and other herbs). A sharp knife slices cleanly through the leaves, preserving both flavor and color, while a dull knife mashes and bruises them. The zest is the thin yellow outer layer of the lemon’s skin; avoid grating any of the bitter white part (called the pith) beneath. The zest brightens the flavor of the sauce, so don’t be shy with it; you may need more than one lemon’s worth. Don’t hesitate to experiment. I make salsa verde more or less thick depending on what I am using it for. I tend to use less oil when it’s for roasted meats and grilled vegetables and more for fish.

This is the sauce I make most often, and if it’s made out of good olive oil and good wine vinegar, it’s the best salad dressing I can imagine. At its simplest, vinaigrette is a mixture of vinegar and oil in a ratio of 1 part vinegar to about 3 or 4 parts oil. Start by estimating roughly how much vinaigrette you will need. This depends on what you’re using it for; a quarter cup is more than enough for four servings of green salad, for example, but you really never need to measure out exact amounts. Start by pouring the vinegar into a bowl. Dissolve a pinch of salt in it and taste for balance. The salt has a real relationship with the vinegar. When you add just enough salt, it subdues the acid of the vinegar and brings it into a wonderful balance. Try adding salt bit by bit and tasting to see what happens. How much salt is too much? How much is too little? What tastes best? If you add too much salt, just add a touch more vinegar. Grind in some black pepper and whisk in the oil. The vinaigrette should taste brightly balanced, neither too oily nor overly acidic. Adjust the sauce, adding more vinegar if you’ve added too much oil, and more salt, if it needs it.

Micheladas are my drink of choice. It’s a simple beverage: a little fresh lime juice and salt mixed with an ice-cold beer in an ice-filled mug. This recipe is for the Michelada Preparada, also known as the Michelada Cubana where I grew up, a spicy and tangy version made with a clam-tomato juice. I decided to freeze the mixture into cubes so I can always have them available for myself or unexpected company. Pucker up and beware, unless you’re Mexican! The ice cubes are supposed to melt slightly into your beer for a refreshing and zesty drink that is thought to cure even the worst hangover.

A great filling for tacos or topping for any grilled meat, these creamy poblano strips (rajas) showed up on the table a few times a week while I was growing up. You can cream virtually any chile, but mild poblanos add the perfect amount of spice to any dish. My favorite pairing is with sweet Torta de Elote (page 153).

Mangoes sprinkled with a mixture of chile and salt and served on a stick are popular street-corner fare in Mexico. I love the combination of flavors so much that I used it to create this salsa, with the addition of avocado for extra richness. Mangoes come in several varieties, and any type will work as long as the fruit is ripe but firm enough that it won’t fall apart in the salsa.

Tomatillo salsas vary greatly from region to region in Mexico. Some are boiled, some are fried, some are roasted, but all of them have the same distinct acidic taste that makes the tomatillo one of Mexico’s trademark ingredients. A batch of this salsa is made daily at my house; it’s always in my fridge. It’s my topping of choice for quesadillas.

My aunt Martha swears that this smoky, sweet, tropical salsa takes her back to Yucatán no matter where she is when she makes it. It works especially well with Cilantro Tandoori Chicken (page 110), but it will enhance any grilled fish or meat. If the grill’s fired up, throw the pineapple right on it; a grill pan will do just fine if you’re cooking indoors.

The smoked salmon gives this sauce great texture and is also a wonderful flavor complement to the smokiness of the chile mulato. Try the sauce on pasta or with a char-grilled chicken breast.

Nuts and seeds have been making their way into Mexican sauces and salsas for centuries. The nutty sesame seeds in this salsa, which is served at a very popular small restaurant in Tijuana called Mi Rincón Cenaduria (My Restaurant Nook), give it body and depth. Use this on steak tacos or even with grilled chicken. Peanuts can be substituted for the sesame seeds.

This spicy, cheesy rice dish was served on a regular basis at my parents’ house. It’s also perfectly delicious if you prefer to omit the crema and cheese and just serve the poblano rice on its own, saving you a few calories.

Refried beans are frijoles de la olla that have been fried in a little fat. Because they are traditionally cooked in lard, they aren’t really known for their healthful qualities, but this version uses a fairly small amount of butter and olive oil instead. You still get a very rich and flavorful dish that is perfect for filling tacos or for serving alongside grilled steaks. Double or even quadruple this recipe as needed.