Saute

Chutney adds a ton of flavor to many different dishes. At the Shop we serve this with the Jerk Chicken Balls (page 30) because it’s the perfect counterpoint to the salty-spicy meatballs. Also, definitely try mixing this staple condiment into cooked rice or serve it alongside grilled chicken or fish. Alternatively, spread it on sandwiches, or stir it into a bit of mayo or yogurt for a quick dip. This sauce will keep for up to two weeks in the fridge.

Adding panache to everyday ground turkey is a bit of a challenge. Here, pistachios, orange zest, and a creamy chèvre sauce step up to the plate and bring the balls home on the first run. Serve the sausage balls with the sauce for dipping as hors d’oeuvres with cocktails. Or, cook up spaghettini, set the sausage balls on top, and nap with the sauce. The chèvre sauce can also be used to blanket sautéed chicken breasts, or to drizzle, cooled, over fresh pear slices for dessert, accompanied with a crisp, not-too-dry Gewürztraminer or Riesling.

There’s almost no turn in Tuscany that doesn’t provide some sensory joy. Driving its curvy roads through low hills gently swelling up from narrow, verdant valleys, you discover olive groves that produce some of the world’s finest olive oil and vineyards that yield some of the world’s most renowned wines. Exploring the region’s old towns and cities on foot, you wind your way through dozens of museums full of famous artworks and wander into back-alley churches and quaint shops stacked with Tuscan treasures. And everywhere, there is fabulous food. The Tuscans have long produced delicious salumi, that special form of pork cookery, called charcuterie in France, that comprises prosciutto, mortadella, soppressata, salamis and other cured meats, along with fresh sausages particular to the region. In this recipe, sundried tomatoes, basil, and mozzarella flavor fresh pork sausage to deliver the taste of Tuscany.

I opened Pig-by-the-Tail because I wanted to bring to the American marketplace the charcuterie I had fallen in love with on sojourns to France, Spain, Italy, Germany, and Austria. Two years after its debut, I decided it was time to put some “bones” onto that passion. I traveled to France to learn from M. Roger Gleize, the charcutier in the small town of Revel in the Haute-Garonne just outside of Toulouse. It was an eye-opening experience to watch him use a hand grinder to grind pounds and pounds of perfectly succulent pork, not too lean, not too fat, for the region’s specialty Toulouse sausage. He seasoned the meat with salt, peppers, and a dash each of nutmeg and sugar, and then added a soupçon of water to moisten the mixture for easier stuffing. He fitted the same manual machine with a sausage-stuffing funnel and proceeded to turn out a seemingly endless supply of fresh Toulouse sausages. Everything he made was quickly purchased by local households to use for their daily meals and by local restaurants to include in the renowned cassoulet of the region. From that sojourn, I carried home a deep admiration for simply, yet perfectly done ways with food, and Toulouse sausage became one of my go-to household sausages. For this book, I have modified the recipe to call for bulk sausage, rather than links. But, if you would like to follow tradition, use hog casing.

Pigs in a blanket was a dish my mother made when it was time for a-something-special for dinner. Customarily, the pigs are sausages and the blankets are biscuit pastry of some sort, sometimes with a band of bacon between the two. My mother favored swathing the sausages in bacon only and cooking the bundles in the oven per the usual method. I was always intrigued to watch the care she took to turn them frequently, making sure they browned and cooked evenly all around. Later in life, I created a more sophisticated rendition: the blankets became chicken scaloppine, the pigs transmogrified to a homemade sausage, and red wine entered the ingredient list—still plenty easy, still plenty special. Pork and chestnut sausage makes the dish quite elegant, but a humbler sausage, such as Toulouse, sweet Italian, or American breakfast sausage is also suitable. The rolls can also be cooled, then sliced and used as part of a charcuterie appetizer plate.

For years I carted cases of this citrus-flavored Cuban marinade back from Miami, til we started making it in the restaurant. The real thing is all tarted up with the juice of bitter oranges—nearly impossible to find. So we add a touch of lime juice to freshly squeezed orange juice to give it the right kick. It’s one of the most versatile pantry ingredients you can make. Use it as a marinade for pork and chicken, pour it over cooked veggies or potatoes, or toss it with salad greens.

This is a good old Italian recipe that makes an appearance on our menu every once in a while. It’s brimmin’ with Old World flavors and looks damn good on the plate. It’ll keep your main courses from gettin’ boring.

This is how my mother cooks green beans. They’re so good and so simple that right from the start we made them our Tuesday vegetable of the day at the restaurant.

Mean Money Greens are one of our special daily sides. We make ‘em in the good old Southern manner—boiled with salt pork for hours til they melt in your mouth. Realizin’ that this technique might not fit the time constraints of the modern cook, we’ve revisited this dish and can now give you an updated, healthier version that preserves most of the B vitamins found in collards and brings out their natural peppery flavor.

Because we’re a barbecue joint, we’ve always got pulled pork on hand, so it was just natural for us to turn it into a delicious appetizer. Don’t let our habits limit you. Make these quesadillas with some cooked turkey or chicken thigh meat or any chopped or shredded leftover meat you have lurkin’ in the fridge.

I first came across these tasty Colombian fried corn cakes stuffed with oozin’, stringy cheese at a Miami street festival. Back home, I messed around with the recipe and added whole corn kernels to the dough to make ‘em more interesting. In the restaurant we serve arepas with a pile of pulled pork in the center for a real Memphis-meets-Miami dish. But if you don’t have the pork on hand, they’re just as good served with some Fire-Roasted Garlic Salsa.

When Beth first made this very simple zucchini dish (which she created for our parents), Daddy asked, “Honey, how’d you learn to cook?” I thought that was funny because I think what he was really wondering was how she’d learned to cook something that Mama didn’t make at home!

I’m not a cooked spinach fan, but I do like spinach served fresh in a salad. (And I love any salad that has bacon as an ingredient!) I’m also not a mushroom gal, so I leave these out when I make it, but it’s good either way.

This unpretentious little bakery and café is a favorite with the locals, and Deb Moglia’s smart-looking sandwiches on fresh-baked breads attract a steady crowd at lunchtime. My favorite is the Apple Reuben, a warmingly satisfying construction inspired by the pastrami-stuffed version, only here it is made with sautéed local apples.

Mama Colaruotolo traces this dish back to her ancestral home in Italy. While it originally called for Italian white wine, she substitutes her family’s Finger Lakes Chardonnay to create a New World masterpiece. The Finger Lakes wine adds distinctive fruitiness to the dish, even better the next day, allowing the flavors to integrate even more.

This is what we imagine old Scots at the turn of the century in the Montreal’s famed Golden Square Mile neighborhood ate for breakfast: steak, kidneys, kippers, and a few eggs. After a gin festivity, it would be exactly what it takes to get you back on your feet. It’s delicious with a little watercress salad.

If you’re a fervent practitioner of the nose-to-tail thing, you probably scoff at tenderloin, favoring instead oxtail or udders. In a hypothetical dystopian foodist nation, animals will be bred in humane ways to produce more spleens, livers, and guts than loins and legs. No joke. The meat business wanted pig with more bacon and less shoulder a few years ago, a disturbing enough thought. It’s a common dichotomy and funny somehow. The rich feast on what was once peasant food. Think about it: risotto, polenta, offal, eggs are everywhere. Once again, we don’t omit ourselves from the criticism. In fact, it’s the stuff that keeps us up at night. The fillet comes from the small end of the tenderloin, from a muscle inside the ribs called the psoas major, which reportedly has the function of providing the quadruped with an efficient humping motion. We put filet mignon on the blackboard, get sick of it, and a week later put it back on the board. Cut into thick chunks, hog tied, and roasted, tenderloin is great. One of my favorite dishes, beef Stroganoff, is also best made with tenderloin (I omitted it from this book for fear of being ostracized by the cool chef gang). Also, the River Café Raw Beef (tenderloin, too) is still one of my favorite cookbook recipes.

We can’t explain why this helps cure hangovers, but it does. It’s like a vitamin with a sugar coating (the coating being the bacon and butter).

You can use any type of carrot for this dish: perfect bunching carrots in midsummer, Touchons in the fall, or large carrots to feed livestock in the winter. Use anything but the dreary, bagged mini carrots carved from larger, less valuable specimens (they have more in common with sea monkeys than food). It’s simple: if the carrots look shitty that day, buy spinach. If not, cook them up like this.

Boil turnips for too long and you’ll have socks juice soup. Cook them just right and you’re being Richard Olney for an instant. Do not confuse turnips with rutabagas; here in Quebec, they hold the same name in French. And if you have some rendered duck fat on hand, please use it in place of the oil and butter.