Alcohol

Don't be afraid of oxtail. Just knowing that it comes from the tail of a cow (it used to be the ox, but most oxtail sold in butcher's shops is from cow now) puts some people off. Have a sense of adventure and try it. Don't just stick with the same old foods. This recipe may sound intimidating, but this is really just great peasant food. There's not a lot of meat on oxtail bones, so you might think it's not worth your time to make it. However, oxtail has a lot of muscle on it, which gets broken down when you braise it. The meat that is there falls apart and becomes gelatinous. That makes this oxtail so damned good. You only need a small amount to feel satisfied, so it's a dish rich in taste for not much price. Plus, when you braise the oxtail, you can braise it in water or chicken stock and have a flavorful stock left over for other dishes. At Papillon, our wild mushroom raviolis bobbed in oxtail broth. Making this recipe will take time, but that's where flavor is born. It's worth your time.

In these delicate and unassuming little puddings, the bread rises to the top, leaving a layer of silky custard below. Surround the puddings with a moat of the lively orange sauce.

This sweet-tart relish has 7 fewer grams of sugar than the canned kind, and it supplies disease-fighting antioxidants.

After Thanksgiving, serve the sauerkraut with kielbasa and mashed potatoes—or try it in a Reuben sandwich or as a hot-dog topper.

The technique: Brining—soaking the bird in salt water—creates juicy turkey. Here, stout beer and barley malt syrup add a richness to the brine, which infuses the meat with flavor.
The payoff: Moist meat that tastes great. The malt glaze gives the bird a crisp, burnished skin. Roasted turkey: Prep 45 minutes Total 20 hours (includes brining and roasting time)
Grilled turkey: Prep 45 minutes Total 21 hours (includes brining and grilling time)

The technique: Pan juices—the flavorful liquid and crispy bits left in the roasting pan— form the base of this gravy. To prevent lumps, thoroughly whisk in the flour, then gradually add the wine and stock, whisking until smooth.
The pay off: Super-roasty flavor.

The technique: Whole-animal eating is trendy, but using all parts of the bird is nothing new when it comes to gravy. Giblets (the heart, liver, gizzard, and neck) really deepen a gravy's flavor. We recommend using only the neck, heart, and gizzard to make the gravy. The flavor of the liver can overwhelm the rest of the ingredients.
The payoff: You haven't wasted a thing, and you’ve added an earthy dimension to your gravy.

The minty mojito is taken to a sparkling new level with this variation on a tropical themed drink. It is remarkably refreshing—an excellent opening act for an evening of fun and fine dining.

This tropical twist on the French classic moules marinières serves up briny mussels in a tangy coconut broth enhanced by ginger and lemongrass. You'll find the pretty green stalks of fresh lemongrass in the produce section of many fine supermarkets and specialty-food shops, alongside the brown knobby fresh ginger rhizomes, or roots. Both aromatics need to be peeled before using, and both have dense, stringy flesh that can be difficult to mince. Grating is a good solution for ginger; include the juices that are extruded when you scrape. For lemongrass, peel and use only the tender midsection of the slender, bulblike stalk. Smash it with the flat side of a chef's knife to make mincing easier.
Increase your dining pleasure by sipping, as an accompaniment, any bright, fresh white wine that offers good acidity. Think sparkling wine, unoaked Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, or Sauvignon Blanc.

The secret to a roast chicken with crispy skin and tender meat? Salting the chicken and letting it sit for at least a few hours. A little bit of beer really amps up the pan juices.

Another delicious thing about this addictive dessert? The fritters can be fried up to two hours ahead, then rewarmed just before serving.

My friend Marie-Hélène Brunet-Lhoste is a woman who knows her way around food. She's a top editor of the Louis Vuitton City Guides (and one of the restaurant critics for the Paris edition), so she eats at scores of restaurants every year, and she's a terrific hostess, so she cooks at home often and with great generosity. There's no question that she's a great home cook, but for me, she's the most frustrating kind of cook: she never follows a recipe (in fact, I don't think there's a cookbook to be found on her packed bookshelves), never takes a note about what she does, and while she's always happy to share her cooking tips, she can never give you a real recipe—she just doesn't know it. I've watched her in her kitchen, in the hopes of nabbing a recipe by observation, but it's impossible. Like so many really good cooks, Marie-Hélène starts off with a set of ingredients that could be annotated and recipe-ized, but, once she starts mixing, stirring, boiling, baking, or sautéing, she makes so many mid-cooking adjustments that you just have to throw up your hands and content yourself with being the lucky recipient. And so it was with this apple cake, which is more apple than cake, rather plain but very appealing in its simplicity (the chunks of apple make a bumpy, golden top) and so satisfying that we all went back for seconds. Despite knowing that it was futile, I asked for the recipe, and, of course, Marie-Hélène didn't really know. "It's got two eggs, sugar, flour, and melted butter—oh, and rum," she said. "I mix the eggs and sugar together and then I add some flour, some butter, some flour, and some butter." When I asked how much flour and butter, I got a genuinely apologetic shrug, and when I asked what kind of apples she used, the answer was, divers, or different kinds. Since there were only a few major ingredients, I thought I could figure out the recipe—and I did! (Although not on the first—or second—shot.) I've added baking powder to the mix (and I have a feeling Marie-Hélène might have too) and a drizzle of vanilla, which you can skip if you want. What you don't want to skip is the pleasure of having diverse apples. It's really nice to mix up the fruit, so that you have some apples that are crisp, some soft, some sweet, and some tart.

Named for the French word for arugula, this fresh take on the gimlet was developed by Matthew Biancaniello for the Roosevelt's Library Bar in Hollywood.

This odd recipe makes some of the most moist, succulent, flavorful barbecued chicken I've ever tasted. The secret: an open can of beer is inserted into the cavity of the bird, which is cooked upright on the grill. Besides being incredibly tender, the bird makes a great conversation piece. The recipe was inspired by the Bryce Boar Blazers, a barbecue team from Texas I met at the Memphis in May World Championship Barbecue Cooking Contest. The proper beverage? Beer, of course.

L'Albatros brings a taste of France to Cleveland's University Circle neighborhood. Cassoulet, bouillabaisse—and even escargots—show up on the menu. But the restaurant also dabbles in other regions of the world. There are pizzas, a burger, and this delicious take on shrimp scampi, an American classic.

At Menton, this dish is garnished with caviar and chive blossoms.