Simmer

The first incarnation of this dish did not include rice. Tasting it over and over again, I knew it needed a final element that would bring its flavors into harmony: nutty farro, meaty bass, pungent green garlic, sweet pea shoots, tart tangerines. I racked my brain for just the right thing, then remembered a sample of black rice I had stashed in my desk drawer weeks before. I had little experience with black rice—varieties of rice whose kernels are covered by extremely dark bran. The black rice I found was grown in the salt marshes of the Veneto, so I cooked it in an Italian style. As I would for risotto, I sautéed the rice in olive oil to seal the outer layer and toast it slightly. Then I deglazed with white wine, added water, and let it simmer away. When the rice was done, I found it solved my problem perfectly. The rice’s marshy origins gave it a subtle oceany taste, complementing the fresh fish and giving the entire dish a springtime-by-the sea coherence. What’s more, there was a visual bonus: the black rice was gorgeous to behold, coated in its own deep purple sauce.

Fava beans have a cult status in my kitchen, and during their short spring season, I use them as much as possible in salads, ragoûts, and salsas. Here, they are gently stewed in olive oil with garlic and chile and puréed until creamy. This fava bean “hummus” is on my list of perfect foods. Though the classic cheese served with favas in Italy is pecorino, I break with tradition and crumble feta over the purée instead. If you have any leftover purée, make an open-faced sandwich topped with arugula, shallots, a drizzling of olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, and a few shavings of pecorino (or feta). It’s the ultimate snack or light lunch.

Our wild strawberry cordial is actually somewhere between a fruit purée and a syrup. The idea was to create a high-octane strawberry flavor to blend in a French 75 cocktail (page 69). Much of the flavor comes from the wild strawberries we have imported frozen from France—they are tiny in size but big in flavor and vary from light yellow to deep red. You can use regular fresh strawberries, but make absolutely certain that they are ripe and fragrant.

When first conceiving Employees Only, we knew we wanted to create our own house vermouths. We abandoned the idea of making our vermouth from raw wine and decided instead to use dry vermouth as a base for an infusion of additional herbs. The primary flavors in dry vermouth are rosemary, thyme, lavender, and anise—the same botanicals that make up the herbes de Provence blend used in cooking. To extract and transfuse flavors, we use a hot infusion method to create just a small amount of highly concentrated liquid that can be blended with the rest of a bottle of vermouth without cooking out all the alcohol. This controlled method of infusing reduces the amount of contact between alcohol and herbs—if left to steep too long, the finish is bitter. EO Vermouth de Provence is one of the key ingredients in the Provençal cocktail (page 49).

When added straight from the bottle or jar, honey does not work well in chilled cocktails. It will stick to the sides of the shaker when the ice is introduced and will resist mixing. If you want the flavor of honey in cocktails, you must first dilute its texture, make it soluble, and make it into a syrup. Most honey syrups contain just honey and water, but we have added vanilla and orange peel to accentuate some of the key flavor notes in the honey. Acacia honey is light in flavor and fragrant and is one of the few honeys that is truly liquid and does not crystallize. This particular recipe was developed for our Mediterra cocktail (page 108), which was one of the most popular cocktails in the first years after Employees Only opened.

Instead of using cream or half-and-half in this classic dessert sauce, I prefer using milk. It keeps the sauce light, tasty, and simple, but the mixture will not appear as thick as some other versions of crème anglaise. This can be served with any dessert, but I especially like it over fresh fruit.

The trio of sugar, cream, and butter can’t be beat. In its liquid form here, it can be drizzled on desserts—or even breakfast treats.

On the weekends, barbecue sauce shows up at nearly every meal. I’ve made countless versions over the years, but this is still one of my favorites. I draw flavors from around the globe to get just the right balance of sweet, spicy, and tangy. You can brush this on any meat while it’s grilling to build a sticky glaze. When mixed with homemade mayonnaise, it becomes an amazing spread.

In spring, I like to make my own syrup in lieu of maple syrup, which I prefer in the fall and winter. The first berries of the season, which aren’t very sweet, are transformed by the golden caramel that melts into the firm fruit.

This is a dessert I serve all year round with whatever fruit is ripe. I always include orange segments though, as a reminder of the citrus in the sabayon sauce. You can make each serving of this dessert as small or large as you want, depending on how much fruit you use. In its simplicity, c’est bon!

To bring out the best in this snowy white root vegetable, I simmer it in honey and citrus. A little heat balances the luscious sweetness.

In this simple dessert, fresh fruit is the star. Lemon juice brings out the sweetness of summer cherries and berries. Any red berries work here—fresh red currants, black currants, and gooseberries are great options, too.

This unsung root vegetable deserves more attention. It’s sometimes called vegetable oyster or oyster plant because it actually has a hint of that sweet brine. To highlight that unique flavor, I cook these roots in lemon juice and toss them with a lemony beurre fondue.

In spring, garden peas and young carrots need little embellishment to taste amazing. It’s all about the execution. You want them just tender, but not crunchy. And you use only a little butter here—just enough to make the vegetables glisten.

Whenever I serve something really rich, like Soy-Braised Lamb Shanks (page 168), I like to have something tart and bracing to go with it. The tangy-hot blend of apples and chiles goes well with just about any red meat, and the combination of creamy and crunchy is unbeatable.

Enjoy this alsatian specialty with some good beer. I like making this with crunchy, bright, and tart fresh sauerkraut, which my mom brings me from France. It’s also delicious with regular sauerkraut. I love how the meat juices infuse the cabbage and potatoes for a satisfying one-pot meal.

For years, I’ve made smooth pureed pea soups; they’re always a hit at my restaurants. Recently, I was inspired by my mom to try something new. While visiting New York with my dad, she made a chunky pea and carrot stew with slab bacon and cabbage. I decided to go vegetarian here—doing away with even the chicken stock and creating a tea-like herb infusion instead—and to puree only part of the ingredients, making a light pureed soup with whole peas and sliced carrots scattered throughout. The result is a bowl of spring.

At my restaurant, we make our own yogurt, carefully culturing milk at 93°F for hours. At home, I pop open a container of good whole-milk yogurt from the store. Just be sure to stir that creamy top layer into the rest of the yogurt before using it. The richness and tanginess pair perfectly with sweet beets. While I prefer boiled beets in this dish, roasted beets work well, too.

This is the sort of appetizer for a gathering of close family and friends. Picking the artichoke leaves with your fingers and sucking off their flesh encourages (requires?) intimacy. Because artichokes have a strong green flavor, they’re difficult to pair with wine, but a dry Alsatian white should work here.