Can you channel a spirit with a recipe? That’s how it feels every time I open Gina DePalma’s Dolce Italiano, the authoritative Italian dessert cookbook that my friend Gina wrote before she died of ovarian cancer in 2016.

For a dinner party this weekend, I made her Obsessive Ricotta Cheesecake. It’s funny because I convinced myself that this was the first time I’ve ever made Gina DePalma’s ricotta cheesecake, but then her ghost just whopped me on the head and said, “You putz! You made an updated version of this cake back when I was alive and you blogged about it.”

Oops! Well, that’s true that I made her updated cheesecake, but I hadn’t made the cheesecake in the book . The difference is that the updated cheesecake has no crust — it’s pure ricotta. The crust in the book version is a nice addition, especially because the toasted almond flavor echoes the toasted almond in the Amaretto. It’s just a little more work.

There are two main headlines about this recipe: (1) the huge amount of ricotta that goes into it (the fresher your ricotta, the better… look for Bellwether Farms, though I supplemented with some cheaper stuff); (2) the fact that you don’t have to bake it in a water bath like you might with a regular cheesecake makes it so much easier.

The hardest part for me was pressing the toasted almond crust into the springform pan. I couldn’t get an even one-inch border, but you know what? It really doesn’t matter at all. The cheese hides a multitude of sins and it all tastes great in the end.

The final test is knowing when it’s done. The key is to look for a wobble. If it’s still sloshy and liquidy, put it back in. If it doesn’t move at all, you’ve gone too far. You just want the whole thing to get jiggy with it.

To serve, I used another trick from the Gina DePalma playbook: I tossed fresh blackberries with honey and a little sugar and let them sit until they were saucy (she taught me this for my own cookbook for her panna cotta recipe). I spooned those over individual slices and everybody swooned.

So can you channel a spirit with a recipe? After baking this I’m pretty sure you can; I felt Gina smiling at me with every bite.

Gina DePalma’s Obsessive Ricotta Cheesecake

From Dolce Italiano.

Makes One 9-inch cake. Approximately 12 servings.

For the crust:

3/4 cup sliced blanched almonds, toasted and cooled

1/4 cup unbleached all-purpose flour

3 tablespoons granulated sugar

Pinch of kosher salt

1 large egg yolk

2 tablespoons (1 ounce) unsalted butter, melted and cooled

1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

For the filling:

1 8-ounce package cream cheese, room temperature

3/4 cup granulated sugar

1/4 teaspoon kosher salt

4 cups (30 ounces) fresh whole-milk ricotta

3 large eggs, room temperature

1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

1 tablespoon amaretto

1 tablespoon cornstarch

2 tablespoons finely chopped candied orange rind (optional; I left it out)

2 tablespoons finely chopped candied lemon rind or candied citron (optional; I also left it out)

1. Preheat the oven to 325 and position a rack in the middle. Lightly grease a 9-inch springform pan with butter or non-stick cooking spray, dust it with flour, and tap to knock out the excess.

2. To make the crust: Place the almonds, flour, sugar, and salt in a food processor and process until the nuts are finely chopped. In a small bowl, lightly whisk together the egg yolk, melted butter, and vanilla extract. Add the liquids to the nut mixture and pulse several times to moisten and combine the ingredients thoroughly. The mixture should come together easily between your fingers when pinched.

3. To form the crust, press the mixture onto the bottom and about an inch up the sides of the springform pan. Place the pan in the refrigerator for 15 to 20 minutes to firm up the crust, then bake for 10 to 15 minutes, or until the crust is light golden brown. Remove the pan from the oven and allow the crust to cool completely on a wire rack.

4. To make the filling: In an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the cream cheese with the sugar and salt on medium speed until soft and creamy, about 1 minute. Add the ricotta and beat until the mixture is smooth and light, another 2 minutes. Beat in the eggs, one at a time, scraping down the sides of the bowl with a spatula. Beat in the vanilla extract, amaretto, and cornstarch. Fold in the candied fruits, if desired, with the spatula.

5. Pour the filling into the cooled crust, smoothing the top with the spatula. Bake the cheesecake for 45 to 50 minutes, or until the center is set; it should be jiggly but not liquid. Remove the cheesecake from the oven and allow it to cool completely in the pan onn a wire rack.

6. Chill the cooled cheesecake for at least 4 hours before serving; it is best served fully chilled on the following day. To serve, remove the sides of the springform pan and cut the cheesecake into wedges with a long, thin-bladed knife. Any leftover cake should be wrapped in plastic and stored in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.

Generally I try to avoid neighborhood message boards / Facebook Groups because half the time people post things like “there’s a man with a machete standing outside the bodega” or “packs of wild dogs are roaming the streets.” Occasionally, though, someone will post something that’s not terrifying. Such was the case the other day when someone in the Boerum Hill Facebook Group posted that there were cheap/delicious berries at Mr. Beet on Smith Street.

Well! That’s news I can use. So I moseyed on over there and bought several cartons of blueberries, blackberries, and raspberries and, because our friend Isaac was coming over for dinner, I decided to make a mixed berry pie.

Generally speaking, all pies are basically the same: you make a crust. You roll it out. You fill it with a mixture of fruit + sugar + cornstarch (or another thickener) + lemon juice + some extra flavorings if you’d like.

For this pie, I used my typical all-butter crust recipe which I have on my refrigerator. Then, for the filling, I used Yossi Arefi’s recipe from The New York Times.

The secret ingredient here is fresh ginger which gives everything a subtle lift, one that you can’t readily identify, but that makes everything taste fresher. (I left out the candied ginger, but that might be nice too.)

As for the pie crust, the Arefi’s recipe has you do a lattice topping which, according to the headnote, isn’t just for the decoration but also to allow the berries to thicken as the liquid evaporates.

I’m not really a lattice guy — geometry was never my strong suit — so I just added a little more cornstarch and put a traditional lid on my pie.

Brushed with egg wash, sprinkled with Turbinado sugar, and cut with three little slits, this pie went into a 425 oven for 10 minutes, then down to 375 for the rest of the 40 - 50 minutes, my own preferred temperatures/times.

And here’s how pretty it was when it came out.

You know it’s done when the crust is golden brown and the liquid is bubbling — that means it’s at a boil and that the cornstarch will activate.

I let it cool for the rest of the day and that night, after serving up some grilled chicken, I sliced up the pie and served it with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

It’s the perfect way to kick off summer. So ignore your neighborhood message boards when they say that death is looming outside your door. But if they tell you about cheap berries? It’s time to pay attention.

Mixed Berry Pie

A celebration of summer berries, inspired by Yossy Arefi’s recipe from The New York Times.

Ingredients:

For the pie dough:

• 2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

• 1 teaspoon kosher salt

• 1 tablespoon granulated sugar

• 2 sticks very cold butter, cut into cubes

• 3/4 cup ice water

For the pie filling:

• 2/3 cup granulated sugar

• 1 lemon

• 5 tablespoons cornstarch

• 2 teaspoons grated, peeled fresh ginger

• 4 cups blueberries

• 2 cups blackberries

• 2 cups raspberries

• Pinch kosher salt

To finish:

• 1 egg

• Turbinado sugar, for sprinkling

Instructions:

1. Start by making your pie dough. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, the salt, and the sugar. Add your very cold butter and begin pinching it in with your fingers. Work fast: you want the butter to stay cold while you integrate it with the dry ingredients. You’ll know you’re done when the flour looks like coarse meal with a few pea-sized chunks. Now add your ice water, a little at a time, working it in, just until you can hold a clump of dough together without it falling apart. Dump on to a floured board, knead just enough to make a ball. Cut in half, shape each half into a disc, flatten it, wrap with plastic and refrigerate for at least one hour or overnight.

2. Preheat your oven to 425.

3. In a large bowl, pinch together the sugar and the zest from your lemon. This helps release the oils. Add the corn starch, the ginger, the berries, the juice of the lemon, and a pinch of salt. Toss all together until the cornstarch is no longer visible, then set aside.

4. Place your 9-inch pie plate on to a foil-lined cookie sheet.

5. Roll out your first disc of dough on a floured surface until 12 inches wide. Drape over the pie plate, pour the filling in. Repeat with the other disc and drape over the filling. Pinch the two crusts together, cut off any excess so you have a 1-inch overhang all around. Fold it over itself to create a border wall, then pinch it together with your thumb and forefinger to make it decorative. Or just press it with a fork.

6. Beat the egg with a little water then brush all over the pie crust. Sprinkle with the Turbinado sugar and pop into the oven for 10 minutes. Lower the temperature to 375 and cook another 40 to 50 minutes until golden brown all over and until the juices are bubbling. Set aside to cool for at least two hours before serving.

When you spend twelve years in L.A., it’s easy to forget what real spring feels like. I say “real spring” because the spring that you get in L.A. is ersatz spring… nothing really died in the winter, so nothing really comes back. It never got that cold, it never snowed, you never stepped into an icy puddle.

In New York, when spring comes it’s a healing event. I remember looking out my bedroom window back in March and seeing deadness everywhere; now I look out and everything alive and bursting with leaves. I’m so giddy with growing things, I have enumerable herbs in pots on my porch; I just added basil to the mix.

The basil was ripe for the plucking so tonight I plucked it and smashed it into a pesto in my mortar and pestle. I’ve always wanted to make pesto this way, like a real Italian grandma or Samin Nosrat. I started by toasting some pine nuts and adding it to the mortar with a fat clove of garlic.

I pounded that into a paste (great way to get out your aggression!) and then added a bunch of basil that I washed and patted very dry… about two cups.

Smashing your basil into a paste by hand isn’t just fun and a mini workout, it’s also incredibly fragrant and doesn’t bruise your basil the way a blade would. Once it’s all mashed down and pasty, you stir in olive oil (about 1/3rd of a cup; use the best you have)….

Then you add Parmesan, about 1/4 cup to start. You just stir it all around and taste and adjust for cheese and salt. It’ll be pretty potent, but that’s what you want.

At this point, you can make pasta and stir your pesto into that. I decided to use up some veggies I scored at the farmer’s market instead: namely, asparagus and sugar snap peas. I pulled the strings off the peas and cut the asparagus into large sugarsnap-size pieces and blanched them in lots of salted water.

When it was just cooked but still toothsome, I lifted everything with a strainer tool into a bowl of ice water to shock it.

This not only stops the cooking, it also helps preserve the color.

From here, all you have to do is drain all that in a colander, put it back in the big bowl, and toss it with the pesto. You may want to add some more olive oil and a big pinch of salt and maybe some more cheese, shredded basil, and toasted pine nuts if you feel up to it. I just added the pesto.

People, these vegetables tasted SO good; all the freshest, springiest stuff. I served it with salmon that I seared in a skillet.

Really, you don’t need a recipe. Do it all by taste and use proportions that make sense to you.

Now what am I going to do with all of the rosemary, thyme, sage, marjoram, and mint on my porch? The mind reels with the possibilites.

Moses saw a burning bush and I saw a roasted fennel.

Yes, a vision came to me last night when I came home from Union Market with the ingredients to make Spaghetti con Le Sarde, a Southern Italian pasta dish with sardines, fennel, fennel seeds, raisins soaked in wine, and toasted breadcrumbs. Only: when I was in my kitchen I realized that, after a weekend of heavy eating, that sounded a bit like cooking up a lead brick for dinner. Was there a way to lighten things up?

That’s when I had the vision. What if I roasted the fennel whole (well, sliced in half), then served it over some couscous, put sardines on top of the fennel, and topped everything with toasted garlic breadcrumbs? I could work a lot of the pasta flavors into the couscous and the breadcrumbs, but it wouldn’t be a carb bomb.

The breadcrumbs were explosively flavorful because I started with lots of olive oil, lots of garlic, and anchovy paste. I went on to season them with toasted crushed fennel seeds, lemon zest, Aleppo pepper, and parsley.

The couscous I made with some chicken stock and then I pepped things up with the golden raisins soaked in red wine vinegar.

Now I realize, in my quest to do away with the carbs, I actually may have doubled the carbs (couscous and breadcrumbs, it turns out, are carbs). But then again, the ratios were different. Here the vegetables and the protein took the place of prominence, and I doled out the couscous and toasted breadcrumbs with great discretion. Okay, who am I kidding, I used a lot of all of it.

But doesn’t that look good? It’s a fun riff on a classic. So the next time you want to shake up your spaghetti con le sarde, do away with the spaghetti. Your Le Sarde bod will thank you!

Roasted Fennel with Sardines and Toasted Garlic Breadcrumbs

A deconstructed riff of a Southern Italian classic.

Ingredients:

For the fennel:

• 2 heads of fennel, cut in half through the core (for two people; for more, do 1 head of fennel per person)

• Extra-virgin olive oil

• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

• Lemon (the same one you zest for the breadcrumbs, below)

For the couscous:

• 1/4 cup golden raisins

• Red wine vinegar

• 1 cup couscous

• 1 cup chicken stock

• 1 tablespoon olive oil or butter

• Pinch of salt

For the breadcrumbs:

• 1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

• 3 cloves of garlic, minced

• 1 tablespoon anchovy paste (or two or three chopped anchovies)

• 1 1/2 cups Panko bread crumbs

• Kosher salt

• 1 tablespoon fennel seeds, toasted and crushed in a mortar and pestle

• 1 teaspoon Aleppo pepper

• Zest of 1 lemon

• 1/4 cup chopped Italian parsley

For serving:

• 1 can of imported sardines

• Another lemon, cut into wedges

• More Italian parsley for sprinkling

• More Aleppo pepper

Instructions:

1. Preheat the oven to 425.

2. In a oven-proof large non-stick skillet (I like Oxo), heat the olive oil until smoking. Drizzle some more olive oil over the fennel, and season with salt and pepper. Place cut-side down in the skillet and leave alone for a few minutes. Pop into the oven and roast for 10 minutes, then start to check to see if the cut-side is deep, golden brown. When it is, carefully use tongs to flip the fennel over. Keep roasting until a knife goes through the base of the fennel easily (about 30 minutes more). You may need to move the fennel around to keep it from burning on any one side. When it comes out of the oven, immediately squeeze the lemon over everything.

3. Meanwhile, cover your golden raisins with red wine vinegar just enough to cover and allow to sit for 20 minutes. To make your couscous, bring the chicken stock to a boil, add the olive oil or butter, some salt, and then the couscous. Immediately turn off the heat, cover, and leave for five minutes. Fluff with a fork and then work in the marinated raisins.

4. For the breadcrumbs, heat a large non-stick skillet and add the olive oil, the garlic, and the anchovy paste. Cook just until the anchovy paste is melted into the oil and the garlic is starting to become fragrant (but not to color). Add all of the panko and work with a heatproof rubber spatula, occasionally tossing the breadcrumbs by thrusting the pan forward and back. Keep toasting the breadcrumbs (add a pinch of salt) until deep, golden brown. Make sure the garlic doesn’t burn.

5. Pour the toasted breadcrumbs into a bowl and add the remaining ingredients. Taste for salt and pepper.

6. To finish, spoon some couscous on to plates, top with the roasted fennel, place some sardines on top (drizzle the sardine oil over the fennel), sprinkle on the toasted breadcrumbs. Place a lemon wedge on the side of the plate, drizzle with some more olive oil, and sprinkle parsley and Aleppo pepper over everything.

We hosted a brunch here last weekend. The original plan was just to offer bagels and cream cheese (four different kinds!) and smoked salmon with red onions and sliced tomatoes and capers and coffee made to order. That seemed like enough but then I asked myself,”What else would you want there if this were at someone else’s house?” And the answer came to me immediately: “Coffee cake!”

Coffee cake feels as Jewish to me as the bagels do — I grew up eating Entenmann’s coffee cake for breakfast with my dad before school — and yet for this recipe, I turned to the WASP-iest baker on my shelf: the one and only Martha Stewart of Westport, Connecticut.

Martha has you start out by making too much struesel. I’m not sure why she has you make too much streusel, but it’s a separate recipe in her baking book and you only wind up using a cup of it. So I took the rest and put it in a freezer bag and popped it into my freezer for future fruit crisps which, with summer approaching, are a distinct possibility.

Then you make a normal cake batter (butter, sugar, eggs), with the all-important addition of sour cream. If your coffee cake doesn’t have sour cream, why are you even making coffee cake? The sour cream provides two functions: (1) it gives the cake a richness and a tang; and (2) it interacts with the baking soda/baking powder and gives the cake lift.

Once you put half the batter in a sprayed tube pan (and a tube pan is perfect for coffee cake), you add the blueberries.

These were actually frozen blueberries that I ran under some hot water before patting dry with paper towels. Confession: the original Martha recipe is for cherry streusel coffee cake. If you have frozen sour cherries (or fresh ones), use those instead. I bet you could also use raspberries, blackberries, maybe even poached rhubarb. Let your fruity freak flag fly!

Top with the rest of the batter, sprinkle on the streusel, and bake at 350 for 40 to 45 minutes.

You let it cool for 10 minutes, flip on to a plate, then flip on to a wire rack to cool all the way. I actually flipped mine on to a cake stand so I wouldn’t have to transfer again later.

To finish, you glaze it with a milk glaze which is essentially 1 cup of confectioners’ sugar mixed with 2 tablespoons of milk. Drizzle all over the cake and then let it set up. (I put some parchment paper underneath to catch the drips then yanked it away.)

What can I say? This was the perfect complement to a bagel spread. Was it as good as Entenmann’s? Well, does Entenmann’s have blueberries? Thanks for the excellent recipe, Martha. You may not be Jewish, but you’re certainly a mensch.

Blueberry Streusel Sour Cream Coffee Cake

A simple and elegant Sunday morning coffee cake from Martha Stewart’s Baking Book.

Ingredients:

For the streusel (makes 4 cups, you’ll only use 1… freeze the rest!):

• 2 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

• 3/4 cup packed light-brown sugar

• 2 1/4 teaspoons ground cinnamon

• 1 teaspoon coarse salt

• 1 1/2 sticks unsalted butter, room temperature

For the coffee cake:

• 1 stick (1/2 cup) unsalted butter, room temperature, plus more for the pan

• 2 cups all-purpose flour

• 1 teaspoon baking powder

• 1 teaspoon baking soda

• 1 teaspoon kosher salt

• 1 cup sugar

• 2 large eggs, room temperature

• 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

• 1 cup sour cream, room temperature

• 1 cup blueberries, frozen and thawed and drained well (or fresh will work too)

For the milk glaze:

• 1 cup confectioners’ sugar, sifted

• 2 tablespoons milk

Instructions:

1. First make the streusel. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, sugar, cinnamon, and salt; cut in the butter using a pastry blender (or your fingers), until large, moist clumps form. Set aside one cup and refrigerate. Freeze the rest for future use.

2. Preheat the oven to 350. Butter a 9-inch tube pan; set aside. In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt; set aside.

3. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, beat the butter, sugar, eggs, and vanilla on medium speed until light and fluffy, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the flour mixture in three parts, alternating with the sour cream and beginning and ending with the flour. Beat until just combined, scraping down the sides of the bowl as needed.

4. Spoon about half the batter into the prepared pan. Arrange the blueberries in a single layer on top of the batter; avoid placing any berries against the pan’s edge, as they may stick or burn if not fully encased in the batter. Top with the remaining batter, making sure it is evenly distributed, and smooth with an offset spatula. Sprinkle the one cup of streusel evenly over the top of the batter.

5. Bake until the cake is golden brown and springs back when touched, 40 to 45 minutes. Transfer the pan to a wire rack set over a rimmed baking sheet and let the cake cool 10 to 15 minutes. Invert the cake on to the rack, then reinvert (so streusel side is up), and let it cool completely.

6. Make the milk glaze by whisking together the confectioners’ sugar and milk until completely smooth. Spoon the glaze over the cake, letting it drip down the sides. Let the cake sit until the glaze is set, about 5 minutes, before serving. Cake can be kept at room temperature, wrapped well in plastic, for up to 4 days.

Related Posts:

• Sour Cream Coffee Cake

• A Sour Cherry Coffee Cake in Winter

• Blueberry Yogurt Cake

• Banana Cake

My father-in-law Steve (the crab cake king) loves rack of lamb so much, I’m pretty sure he’d eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if he could. And seeing as my in-laws are staying with us, when I offered to cook them dinner on Sunday, I knew that if I asked “any special requests?” there could only be one answer.

Funny how as technology changes, our recipe references change too. In the past, I would’ve pulled down a cookbook; this time I went on to YouTube and watched a bunch of rack of lamb videos. The one that won the day was this one from America’s Test Kitchen.

I liked it because (a) it looked incredible and (b) it mirrored the technique that I watched Gordon Ramsay employ in a different video. To whit: you start by toasting Panko in a pan with lots of garlic, thyme, rosemary (my addition, plucked off my rosemary bush #humblebrag), anchovies, salt, and pepper.

Next you turn to the lamb. I bought two racks at our local butcher, Paisano’s, and they were beautiful racks indeed.

When you have meat this beautiful, you could really just coat it in salt and pepper, roast it in the oven, and eat it happily. Instead, I followed the steps in the video and browned the racks in a pan, one at a time until they were golden brown all over.

Then I brushed everything with Dijon mustard and, having placed the toasted Panko in a 9X13 pan (and mixed it with lemon zest and parsley), I simply pressed the racks into the Panko all over and then returned them to a cookie sheet fitted with a wire rack.

Into a 300 degree oven it went and about 40 minutes later, when it hit around 125-130, I took it out and let it rest.

In the video, it tells you to use a boning knife to cut between the ribs, but alas all I had was a regular one. Here I am with my father-in-law Steve filming me for a future Reels (if I get around to making it). We also had a rapt audience with Winston.

I served it with smashed and fried Yukon gold potatoes and a little salad with watermelon radishes. Here’s the happy family at the table.

Happy customers indeed!

So thank you YouTube for leading me to this recipe. And since they don’t give you amounts in the text, just the video, here’s my attempt to type it all up for you. Hope you enjoy it as much as my father-in-law.

Rosemary Garlic Panko-Crusted Rack of Lamb

A herbaceous, garlicky rack-of-lamb that’s a cinch to pull together with a few key ingredients.

Ingredients:

For the breadcrumbs:

• 1 cup panko

• 2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

• 2 tablespoons fresh chopped thyme or rosemary or a combination of both (that’s what I did)

• 6 cloves minced garlic

• 4 minced anchovies 

• 2 teaspoons kosher salt

• 1 teaspoon freshly ground pepper

• Minced fresh parsley (a few Tablespoons)

• 1 tablespooon lemon zest

For the lamb:

• 2 racks of lamb, patted dry with paper towels

• Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

• 1/4 cup Dijon mustard

Instructions:

1. Preheat your oven to 300.

2. In a large non-stick skillet, add all of the breadcrumb ingredients except the parsley and the lemon zest. Place the pan on medium heat and using a heatproof rubber spatula, stir as the breadcrumbs toast, making sure to distribute the garlic, the herbs, and the oil until the Panko turns golden brown. Don’t take it too far because it might get a little more color in the oven.

3. Pour the Panko into a 9X13 pan and stir in the parsley and the lemon zest.

4. Now let’s deal with the lamb. Wipe out the skillet that you toasted the breadcrumbs in and add a little olive oil. Season the lamb racks all over with salt and pepper (the video says 1 tablespoon of kosher salt per rack). Heat the skillet over high heat and when smoking, add one of the racks, fatty side down. Sear it in the skillet until golden brown, then turn over with tongs and sear the other side. Sear the sides too and then remove to a cookie sheet fitted with a wire rack. Repeat with the other rack.

5. Let the racks cool so you can handle them. Then brush the racks all over with the Dijon so it’s coated on all sides. Lift the lamb racks by the bones one at a time and press into the Panko mixture. Press the Panko on to all of the sides of the lamb and return to the cookie sheet, bones facing down.

6. Roast in the 300 oven for 40 minutes or so and start checking the temperature a bit earlier. You want it to hit 125 for pink inside. Remove from the oven and lift the racks on to a cutting board and allow to rest for 15 minutes. Carve the racks between the bones with a sharp knife and serve right away.

Related Posts:

• Rosemary Dijon Rack of Lamb with Crispy Potatoes

• Lamb Shanks Rogan Josh with Ajwain Pancakes

• Diana’s Birthday Lamb

Meatballs are not a go-to dinner for me. Sometimes I crave them, but then I think about all of the work: the tearing of the bread (yes, good meatballs have bread soaked in milk), the soaking of the bread in milk (I just said that), the grating of the Parmesan, and — worst of all — the frying in oil, glazing your whole stovetop in grease. But what if there was another way? A simpler way? A path that could get meatballs on the table in 30 minutes?

This isn’t that way. Well, it is regarding the meatballs: those go fast because you bake them. (Spoiler alert!)

The rest I took my time with just because I like to. So I made polenta the old-fashioned way: by taking stone-ground polenta (not instant), whisking it into 5 cups of boiling stock, continuing to whisk while it bubbled away until it was thick. Then I lowered the heat, covered, and stirred every 5 minutes or so for an hour until it was super thick and creamy. Then I doctored it with butter and Parmesan, as one does.

While the polenta was polenta-ing, I made a marinara sauce. This couldn’t have been easier: I sautéed four sliced cloves of garlic in olive oil (1/4 cup) until golden, added a big pinch of chili flakes, then a can of San Marzano tomatoes that I crushed by hand. I also rinsed the can out with water so there was a bit more liquid in the pot. I seasoned with salt, brought to a boil, lowered to a simmer, covered, and cooked until the tomatoes broke down.

Then all I had to do was make the meatballs. The recipe that I used was pure genius: Chris Morocco’s Tuesday Night Meatballs. Here’s how easy: preheat the oven to 425 and then, in a large bowl mix together 2 large eggs, 1 1/2 cups panko, 1/2 cup whole milk, 1 1/2 teaspoons Diamond Crystal salt, 1 teaspoon garlic powder, 1 teaspoon oregano (I used marjoram that I’m growing), 1/2 cup of freshly grated Parmesan, 3 tablespoons of olive oil, and a grinding of pepper.

That makes a paste and then you let it sit for ten minutes. Then you take a pound of ground beef and work it in. I used my hands. Shape the meat into 8 balls and brush olive oil on to a cookie sheet. Put the balls on the sheet and pop into the oven. In fifteen minutes, the balls will be crisp and golden brown on the bottom. Flip them over with a metal spatula.

Don’t those already look amazing? Pop back into the oven for 5 to 7 minutes until they register 160 on a thermometer.

And that’s it!

Spoon some polenta into bowls, put two meatballs on top per person, then ladle the sauce on top.

It’s such a cozy dinner, even as it gets warmer outside. And you don’t have to do the slow-cooked polenta. You could just bake the meatballs in the oven, use store-bought marinara, and put ‘em on spaghetti, put ‘em in a hero, or just eat them by themselves. These balls are a winner, baby.

We come to this place for magic. No, not AMC movie theaters, I’m talking about Copenhagen.

Ever since Noma opened its doors in 2003, Copenhagen has become the preeminent culinary destination for food-savvy travelers, even those lucky enough not to get a reservation (I kid). The city is so rich with culinary destinations, you could spend an entire week there just eating and have a grand time.

As it was, we managed to squeeze in many non-food activities, including an excursion to the beautiful Louisiana Modern Art Museum:

And a day trip to Tivoli Gardens, where I watched Craig ride on insane roller coasters (no thank you) and joined him on the Hans Christian Anderson ride, which was so pleasant, I went on it twice.

Our hotel, the Hotel Sanders, was so charming, we spent many a morning sipping coffee in the lobby and many an evening sipping cocktails in the chic bar. It was there that I learned about a cocktail called the Trident: equal parts Fino Sherry, Aquavit, and Cynar with a splash of peach bitters.

We also had a grand old time shopping, scoring some gorgeous new bowls and a throw for our couch at Studio Arhoj, plus a grasshopper plate at Royal Copenhagen.

And yet, the real highlights of our trip were almost all food-related. So without further ado, here are our favorite meals from our week in Copenhagen.

1. Kødbyens Fiskebar

If you watch the Copenhagen episodes of Somebody Feed Phil and Parts Unknown, you’ll see that both hosts wind up at Kødbyens Fiskebar and for good reason. This place was just the best. The room had amazing energy, the staff was warm and welcoming, and the food was some of the best seafood you’ll eat in Copenhagen — or anywhere, really.

That dish you see above — Sikrom (a kind of whitefish) with dill, créme fraiche, and a seaweed waffle — may have been our favorite bite of the entire trip. Like a caviar dip, but way more complex. We also loved this tuna with rhubarb.

Our sommelier was so cool, she posed for a picture before suggesting an awesome white to go with our meal. (Take note of the naked bodies near her elbow: one has a wine stopper, one has a corkscrew.)

As for the rest of our meal, we ate oysters unlike any oysters we’d ever experienced, a scallop served in its shell, and a magnificent presentation of fish and chips.

Trust me: if you only have one meal in Copenhagen, go here. You won’t regret it.

2. Sanchez

Mexican food in Copenhagen? Wouldn’t that be like eating Indian food in Hawaii? Maybe. But when you realize that the chef of Sanchez, Rosio Sanchez, was the pastry chef at Noma you’ll begin to piece together what makes this place so special. For starters: the attention to detail.

Those drinks for starters — a Mezcal Rosa (with Mezcal Koch Espadin, plum syrup, lime and a spray of rose vinegar) and a Bergamot-Vanilla Daiquiri (El Dorado & Paranubes Rum, Vanilla de Madagascar and bergamot) — were off the charts delicious. And then something as simple as chips and salsa were next-level good. This white asparagus served like Mexican street corn was genius.

And these mussels with chili were the perfect marriage of Mexican flavors with Scandinavian seafood.

I’d also be remiss not to show you the cochinita pibil with puffed up tortillas and all kinds of fixings. As one of my followers said on Instagram: “Best Mexican food I’ve had outside of Mexico.” I have to agree.

Next time you’re planning a trip to Mexico, plan a trip to Copenhagen instead and eat at Sanchez. That just makes good sense.

3. Restaurant Barr

Our first night in Copenhagen, we walked from our hotel to Restaurant Barr which is housed in the old Noma space. It was such a delightful walk: along the water, over a bridge, past all kinds of people eating and drinking outside.

My first impression of Restaurant Barr was: sleek space, beautiful light, handsome staff. The chef here is a graduate of Noma and the food here is actually more approachable and pleasant than the food that we had there.

I started with a walnut Old Fashioned which had brown butter in it and was smooth and balanced. Our first course — it’s a set three-course menu — was smoked trout with gooseberries and dill. It was a parade of surprising, unexpected flavors and textures that had us both looking up in happy surprise.

The next course was a beef tartare with ransom, tartar sauce, and black radish and it too was a party on the palate.

For our entree, we shared the giant pork schnitzel on the bone which came with fried capers and pickled green strawberries and al dente leeks.

The only misfire of the meal was the dessert, a weird frothy chocolate thing that wasn’t quite a mousse and wasn’t quite a foam? I’m pretty promiscuous when it comes to dessert, but even I had to turn up my nose at it. Otherwise, this meal was a slam dunk.

4. Hart Bageri Bakery

A bakery? A bakery’s not a restaurant! What gives, Amateur Gourmet?

Well on a sunny Sunday we took a stroll past the canals and all the touristy stuff and, on our way to Freetown Christiana (a must visit hippie enclave), we stumbled upon Hart Bageri which turned out to be my favorite bakery of the trip. (And yes I had the cardamom bun at Juno, which was indeed worth the schlep.)

The vibe inside was bustling. In fact, we had to wait in a very long line before we were able to peruse the pastries, but it was entirely worth it when we settled on the cardamom bun and the twice-baked pistachio croissant.

Now from the picture, you may think the cardamom bun was the star of the show; and, indeed, it was every bit as good as the one at Juno. But it’s that inauspicious pastry in the back that knocked me on to the floor in disbelief. One bite, and I was in pistachio heaven, especially since there was also a surprise layer of jam.

The first bite of that was seriously one of the best first bites of a pastry I’ve ever experienced, and I’ve experienced a lot of first bites of pastry. If you’re only going to one bakery on your trip to Copenhagen, make it Hart Bageri.

5. Apollo Bar

Our last stop on this whirlwind culinary tour of Copenhagen is Apollo Bar which came to our attention when we saw this article in The New York Times.

That article is about dinners at Apollo. We didn’t go for dinner. We showed up at lunch and ordered something called “an omelette burger” which turned out to be a perfectly executed omelette on a toasted brioche bun with — the most surprising component of all — braised radicchio. Texturally, this sandwich was a marvel. Soft on the bottom half, firm on the top half; salty, creamy, tart and bitter.

We also ordered anchovy toasts which came on little soldiers of toasted bread. It was a quick lunch, but probably our most memorable lunch of the trip.

Our trip to Copenhagen was such a blast and even though our big climactic meal was spoiled by food poisoning (not from any of the places I mentioned), I’m so glad we ate these meals that we did in the sequence that we did because by the time we got to Wednesday (the day of our dinner at Noma), we could’ve already gone home and raved about our experience.

Honorable mention must go to this hot dog that we ate at Tivoli Gardens, which came in the traditional Copenhagen style with remoulade, pickled cucumbers, and crispy shallots.

And after our dinner of fish eyeballs and beetle poop tea at Noma, we were craving something basic and comforting, so our last meal of the trip was a burger at the Hotel Sanders which completely hit the spot.

And we didn’t make the connection to The Menu, but our friend Gabe texted the following:

Indeed! And what a great ending it was.

Thank you, Copenhagen, for a swell time. Can’t wait to come back.

This is not the post that I thought I was going to write about Noma, the massively influential Copenhagen restaurant that’s been declared “The Best Restaurant in the World” five different times.

In fact, I didn’t even think I’d ever get to eat at Noma, especially when they recently announced that they’re closing the restaurant permanently at the end of 2024 to become “a full-time food laboratory.” I put myself on the waitlist when we booked our trip to Denmark and never thought in a million years that we’d score a table. And then, somehow, miraculously we did.

When you score a table at Noma, there’s no screwing around: you pay for your full meal immediately upfront or you’ll lose the table. The meal almost cost more than our flight to Europe, but we were celebrating some recent good news and decided to splurge.

The reservation fell smack dab in the middle of our trip: we were going from a Friday to a Friday and our reservation was for a Wednesday at 5 o’clock. The nights leading up to it we ate terrific meals at restaurants created by Noma alumni: Restaurant Barr, in the old Noma space; Sanchez, a Mexican restaurant created by Noma’s former pastry chef; and a few non-Noma restaurants, including our favorite meal of the trip — dinner at Kodbyens Fiskebar. (I’ll write about all of this in my next post.)

It was the meal that we ate the night before our dinner at Noma, though, that set into motion this unfortunate series of events. We had dinner at another highly-recommended restaurant, on all of the “Best Restaurants in Copenhagen” guides. I have no idea what was in the food — we mostly enjoyed what we ate — but we both woke up the next morning feeling queasy.

I spent the day convincing myself that I was fine: we ate a light breakfast, I jogged around the hotel room to get my system moving. Craig wasn’t buying it: “I’m worried you’re not going to be well enough for this meal.”

“Trust me,” I told him. “I’m fine.”

At four o’clock, we set off on foot to Noma, about a 45 minute walk, which got us there just in time to have a little iced tea in the greenhouse. Everyone was so welcoming and friendly, at first I thought we actually knew the people who greeted us as we approached, they seemed so happy to see us.

When it was time for the actual dinner, we were sent form the greenhouse to the main structure that you see above with the most gorgeous, seashell-covered door. It felt like the gateway to Narnia or some kind of mermaid kingdom.

When we opened it, standing there to greet us was the entire staff of the restaurant. It was such a shocking moment, Craig said: “I feel like I should give a speech.” Everyone laughed and then as we were led past the kitchen into the dining room, all of the chefs — what felt like twenty of them — were lined up to greet us and say hello. It was kind of overwhelming, seeing all these eager, expectant faces of the people who were about to pull apart crustaceans with tweezers just for our gastronomical pleasure.

The lead picture of this post shows you the first thing that we saw when we sat down at the table: an entire cod’s head. An explanation was made about celebrating local ingredients, how the fish were all caught in Denmark or Norway, and how we were going to experience taste sensations from the ocean that we most likely had never experienced before.

After negotiating a wine pairing or a juice pairing for a supplemental fee (I went with wine, Craig went for a combo of juice and wine), we were presented with our first course: a whole cooked langoustine that was, indeed, pulled apart on an almost microscopic level. It came with mussel broth that was topped with seaweed: you were supposed to sip the broth through the seaweed and indeed it was like the most potent seafood elixir you’ve ever tasted.

There was also a pickled magnolia bud because of course you want a pickled magnolia bud with your langoustine and seaweed mussel soup

Checking in with myself, I thought: “Okay, so far so good. Nothing too shocking except for that cod’s head, which we didn’t have to eat. I think I’m going to be okay.”

The next course was seaweed a la créme which was exactly as the name implied: pieces of beautiful seaweed (one wrapping an oyster leaf) over a creamy sauce. Sort of like eating the bottom of an aquarium, but a very clean one.

The next course involved lifting a rock off a mussel only to have it open by itself, revealing the meat of the mussel to be wrapped intricately with golden beets.

Ironically, at this point in the meal, I was turning a bit clammy and Craig couldn’t help but notice.

“You don’t seem like yourself,” he said, concern in his voice.

“I’m fine.”

“You look haunted.'“

I excused myself from the table and walked back past the kitchen to the bathrooms. This is a good point to mention that the kitchen was run like an arm of the military. A head chef would yell something out, everyone would yell it back, and it was so intimidating, I was scared someone was going to yell at me to “drop and give me twenty.”

In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and took some deep breaths. I didn’t feel like I was going to throw up, but I also didn’t not feel like I was going to throw up. I figured “mind over matter,” and tried to will myself to feel better. I prayed that the next course would be somewhat more palatable, maybe a PB&J or a matzoh ball soup.

Instead it was raw squid on grilled koji.

Koji, it turns out, is the product of soya beans that have been inoculated with a fermentation culture, Aspergillus oryzae — aka: moldy soy beans. They brought a whole tray of white mold for us to examine and enjoy while chewing the raw, translucent cephalopod. This may have also been the moment that Craig was presented with an iced tea made out of blossoms that were digested by beetles and then pooped out. They brought out some of the poop tea for us to sniff.

As I grew queasier and queasier, it became harder and harder to find culinary merit in all of this this. Were we being scammed? Punk’d? What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned baked ziti? Or a prime rib with Yorkshire pudding and all the fixings? Wouldn’t The Olive Garden be really good right about now, with those bottomless breadsticks? Breadsticks! Bread! Did they have bread?

“Would it be possible to get some bread?” I asked a waiter and then I imagined him going into the kitchen, announcing that Table 12 wanted bread, and the head chef shooting the man who prepared my squid for it not satisfying the customer enough. (The Menu was clearly on my mind.)

We had two more courses — cod roe waffle and hand-dived scallop — before the dish that brought me to my knees. It was a dish that stared us right in the face.

That’s right: cod head with tongue on the bone and “eye pie.” That’s really what they called it. “Eye pie.”

The waitress who served it explained that it wasn’t exactly a whole eyeball, it was just the white of the eyeball, and they used squid ink to make the pupil — as if that made it better?

Imagine feeling nauseous and then somebody hands you this.

Remember that scene in Bridesmaids where Kristin Wiig has to eat the Jordan almond to prove that she didn’t feel sick, even though sweat was pooling on her forehead and she was almost completely green? That’s what I looked like somehow forcing this down my gullet. And, reader, I really did eat that. I also gnawed a little on the cod tongue, which felt like making out with Shamu.

This is the moment where Craig, looking at me, said: “If you need to leave, you can leave. Seriously. It’s totally okay.”

It felt absolutely ridiculous: after how far we’d come, how much money we’d spent, how much work went into every component of this meal by this hard-worked army of chefs?

But in that moment, I realized that I would pay the price of a whole other meal at Noma just for the ability to leave the restaurant. That’s what I wanted more than anything: to get away from the fish eyes and the beetle poop tea and the moldy squid. I just wanted to go back to the hotel, get into bed, and fantasize about pasta and cake and all of the things that made me love food in the first place.

“Okay,” I said to Craig. “Are you sure you don’t mind eating here alone?”

“I’ll be okay,” he assured me even though he too was feeling a little queasy.

I summoned over one of the managers and very discreetly told her that I wasn’t feeling well and that I needed to leave. Her face flushed a bit — leave Noma! are you mad?! — but then she asked if there was anything they could do and when I told her there wasn’t, she sweetly called me a cab and sent me home with some mushroom garum.

During the cab ride home, I lowered the window and breathed in the fresh air and felt such a sense of relief, such a sense of liberation, they may as well have played the theme from The Shawshank Redemption.

Craig, meanwhile, texted me throughout the rest of the meal, which he mostly enjoyed, especially this “sweet oyster” dessert which was really ice cream.

This whole experience taught me many things.

One: context is everything. If I’d felt 100%, I’m sure I would’ve gotten a kick out of this avant-garde meal, even the fish eyeballs.

Two: just because somebody tells you that a restaurant is “the best restaurant in the world,” doesn’t mean that it’s the best restaurant in the world for you.

And, three: no situation is worth enduring if it’s actively making you feel unwell. Just ask anyone who’s seen Matchbox Twenty live.

And that, my friends, is my Noma story. I’m glad I went before the restaurant closed forever and I’m glad I was able to taste some of these challenging, genre-pushing dishes. Beauty, it turns out, really is in the eye of the beholder and that eye now lives in my stomach.

Butternut squash and sage in the spring? Alice Waters would throw a fit! But, hear me out: we went to Sailor last week in Fort Greene and April Bloomfield’s food was so incredible — I’m still dreaming about that green toast… and that chicken… and that stuffed radicchio — that I spent much of Saturday studying her two cookbooks, A Girl and Her Pig and A Girl and Her Greens.

Why her focaccia, more than anything else, called to me, I can’t say. But the idea of baking two loaves of focaccia in cake pans with lots of olive oil and topping them with a mixture of butternut squash, sage, and garlic? Then drizzling on more oil, Maldon sea salt, and grated Pecorino? It had me at hello.

Like all good bread doughs, this one starts the night before. You make something called a biga which is a pre-ferment. As in: you mix yeast, warm water, and flour and then let it work its magic for 18 to 24 hours. What happens is it gets all bubbly and complicated and way more interesting than if you just mixed those ingredients right before you baked the bread.

The next day — or afternoon, really — you combine the biga with more bread flour, more yeast, extra-virgin olive oil, and salt. You work that in your KitchenAid mixer until it’s smooth and pulls away from the bowl, then you shape it on a floured surface. Look how pretty.

While that goes into an oiled bowl to double in size, you set about making the topping. Yes: I went with the butternut squash, but you could do something more springy like sugarsnap peas and asparagus, I’m sure. I was just curious to try April’s bold combination of butternut squash, garlic, chilies, and sage. And I was not disappointed!

Eventually, the dough goes into oiled cake pans, you let it rise for 25 minutes, then you add the cooled topping, press it in, and let it rise for another 25 minutes. This focaccia’s not for the impatient, clearly.

But once it goes into a 450 oven? The smells that will start to float through the air will be worth the price of admission. And though they are admittedly autumn smells — squash, sage, etc. — they’re mostly yeasty, bread-y smells. When it comes out of the oven looking all golden and beautiful, you almost want to kiss it instead of eat it.

And though kissing it is certainly a possibility, I highly recommend eating it instead.

This makes two pretty huge loaves, so do what I did and give one a way to an appreciative friend or neighbor. The other one makes a great accompaniment for soup — and I ended up making another recipe from April’s book: her spring soup with asparagus and ramps and green garlic. A gorgeous dinner that happened to be vegetarian and wasn’t even a little bit punishing.

So if you’re a stickler for seasonal cooking, put something else on top of your focaccia; but make this recipe no matter what. Like Sailor, it lives up to the hype.

April Bloomfield’s Focaccia with Butternut Squash, Garlic, and Sage

A phenomenal, autumnal recipe from A Girl and Her Greens.

Ingredients:

For the biga:

Scant 1/2 cup tepid water

Scant 1/16th teaspoon active dry yeast (not instant or rapid-rise)

4 ounces (1 cup minus 1 tablespoon) bread flour

For the dough:

1 tablespoon plus 2 teaspoons active dry yeast

17 ounces bread flour (about 3 3/4 cups), plus a little extra as needed

1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, plus a glug for coating the bowl

1 tablespoon kosher salt

For the topping:

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus a healthy drizzle for finishing

1 1/2 pounds butternut squash, peeled, seeded,and cut into 1/2-inch cubes (about 3 1/2 cups)

6 medium garlic cloves, thinly sliced

A pinch or two of red pepper flakes (I used Aleppo pepper)

A small handful of sage leaves, torn if large

1 1/2 teaspoons plus a healthy pinch Maldon sea salt

1/2 ounce aged pecorino, finely grated on a rasp-style grater (I didn’t measure this, I just grated Pecorino on top of the bread to my liking!)

Instructions:

Make the biga:

1. About 24 hours before you plan to bake the focaccia: combine the tepid water and yeast in a small bowl and stir with a wooden spoon until the yeast has dissolved, 30 seconds or so. Put the bread flour in a medium bowl, pour in the yeast mixture, and stir until the flour is incorporated and the ingredients are well combined.

2. Cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap and leave in a warm place until the mixture looks bubbly and has thickened (when you tip the bowl it should just barely creep forward), 18 to 24 hours.

Make the dough:

1. A few hours before you plan to bake the focaccia, combine the yeast, bread flour, 1 tablespoon of the oil, 1 1/4 cups of water, and all of the biga in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook. Mix on low speed until you have a uniform dough (about 1 minute), then increase the speed to medium slowly sprinkle in the salt, and mix, stopping to scrape down the sides of the bowl if need be, just until the dough is smooth and elastic and it begins to pull away from and slap against the bowl of the mixer, 6 to 8 minutes. If the dough is too moist, it won’t pull away from the bowl, so if need be, gradually add a little more flour. If the dough is too dry, it won’t be smooth, so if need be, gradually add a little more water.

2. Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and use your hands to make sure the ball of dough is nice and round.

3. Add a glug of olive oil to a bowl large enough to hold at least twice the amount of dough, then wipe the bowl with a paper towel to coat it with a thin layer of the oil. Add the dough, cover the bowl tightly with plastic wrap, and put it in a warm place until it has doubled in size, 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

Make the topping:

1. Heat the oil in a medium skillet over medium-high heat until it smokes lightly. Add the squash (it’s okay if it’s not in one layer) and cook, stirring and tossing occasionally, just until the edges begin to brown, 5 to 7 minutes. The squash cubes will still be slightly crunchy in the middle.

2. Push the squash to one side of the skillet. Add the garlic to the empty side and sprinkle the chilies over the squash. Cook the garlic, stirring until it’s golden brown at the edges, about 1 minute, then mix everything together. Cook for a minute more, add the sage and 1 1/2 teaspoons of Maldon salt, and remove the pan from the heat. Stir well and let the mixture cool.

Top and bake the foaccia:

1. Pour 1/4 cup of the oil into two 8-inch round cake pans and tilt them so the oil covers the surfaces.

2. Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface and cut it in half. (It should all weigh 2 pounds, so each half should be 1 pound each, if you’re using a scale. Otherwise, try to make it as even as possible.) Add a half to each cake pan and use your fingers to gently pull the edges of the dough toward the sides of each pan. Cover the pans tightly with plastic wrap and put them in a warm place until the dough relaxes and has puffed up a little, about 25 minutes.

3. Spread the cooled topping evenly onto the dough, leaving about a 1/2-inch border. Press down gently so the topping sinks in slightly, and gently push the edges so they more or less reach the sides of the cake pan. Cover with plastic wrap again and let it puff up a little more, 15 to 30 minutes.

4. Position a rack in the center of the oven and preheat to 450 F. Drizzle on a little more olive oil (about 1 tablespoon), put the focaccia on the center rack and bake, rotating the pans once, until the crust and undersides are light golden brown, about 25 minutes.

5. After removing from the oven, sprinkle them with a healthy pinch of Maldon salt, add a healthy drizzle of olive oil (2 to 3 tablespoons) to the topping and crust, and sprinkle on the pecorino.

6. Transfer the pans to a rack to cool slightly, then slice however you wish and eat the focaccia warm or at room temperature.

Related Posts:

• Luisa’s Potato Focaccia

• Tasty Sheet Pan Pizza That May Actually Be Focaccia

• The Best Curry of Your Life (another April Bloomfield Recipe)

• April Bloomfield’s Chicken Adobo

Carrie Bradsaw used her oven to store sweaters and took every dinner as an opportunity to put on a slinky new dress, slide into her Jimmy Choos, and step out into the glamorous New York City restaurant scene. And though I actually use my oven for cooking and mostly wear Vans, sometimes the pull of the New York restaurant world is too much to resist. Such was the case this week with not one, not two, but THREE dinners out at notable NYC restaurants.

Let’s start with the one we had last night in Brooklyn Heights. We’re lucky enough to be neighbors with Ryan Gannon, who’s overseen some of the city’s best bars, and currently presides behind the marble countertop at Inga’s Bar at the corner of Hicks and Cranberry (see above).

His cocktails are worth the price of admission alone. I started with his Negroni Primavera with gin, Aquavit, and créme de frais (you can see him presenting it on the upper left). With the anise flavor of the Aquavit, and the essence of strawberry, this Negroni tasted like a burst of springtime popping up through the bitterness of winter. Meanwhile, Craig wanted a spin on a Manhattan, so Ryan whipped up a Fourth Regiment which is a Manhattan with celery bitters (seen upper right).

For round two, Craig tried an Inga’s Martini with gin, fortified wines (including Sake), and house-pickled onion. It was like a regular martini with Japanese flair. For my round two, I tried the Sherry, Niles? with Fino sherry, meyer lemon, and bitters. I’m what you’d call Sherry-curious and Ryan was delighted by my order as a Sherry enthusiast himself. The aromatics were incredible: nutty, fruity, and — strangely enough — reminiscent of watermelon?

Before you think we drank ourselves into a stupor, we also had food! The kitchen gifted us a bowl of impeccable vichyssoises with lots of roasted garlic and croutons floating right in there, soaking up all the good stuff. We also ordered the giardiniera, which included a beautiful assortment of pickled vegetables including sprouting cauliflower and breakfast radishes.

To get a little more vegetables into our system, we ordered a grilled little gem salad which was like a wedge salad that won a beauty pageant. And for my entree, I had the justifiably famous burger. It was a dream-come true, especially as a way to soak up all the booze. And the fries? Crispy, hot, and perfect dipped into the ketchup and mayo that came with ‘em.

Needless to say, we loved our dinner at Inga’s Bar and can’t wait to go back.

The second meal (I’m working backwards here) was at Gertrude’s in Prospect Heights where we met up with our new friends Jason Kim and Jeremy Beiler, pictured here.

It’s no exaggeration to say that Gertrude’s is the kind of restaurant I’d want to open if I opened a restaurant. According to the chefs it’s inspired by their Jewish upbringing — there are latkes, and riffs on borscht — and favorite NYC restaurants, including Prune (my favorite restaurant of all time).

On the left, you’ll see their relish tray which came with pickled vegetables an cucumbers and fennel and green tomatoes and two things to dip it in, one involving dill. On the right was their pletzel, a Jewish flatbread similar to focaccia, served with duck butter. (How do they milk a duck?!) I thought a pletzel was a portmanteau word — pretzel + pl??? — but it’s actually just a historic Jewish bread. It was divine.

We also ordered the Spätzle special (say that six times fast) with meat — I forget what kind. It was tangy and rich and tasted like the kind of thing you’d want to eat on a cold winter’s night, which this almost was. (It was more of a chilly, wet, early-spring night.)

For my entree, I had the pickle-brined chicken that was truly divine (and I’ve had the chicken at Sailor). It came with a mustardy, vinegar-y sauce that I could’ve sucked up with a straw or mopped up with more pletzel.

As you can see, I ordered mine with the supplemental latkes (an extra six dollars) and as a bit of a latke aficionado — I twice made 300 of them for an annual latke party — I loved how crispy these were on the outside, but I found them slightly raw on the inside? That’s the danger in keeping them thick, if you don’t flatten them, the insides don’t get cooked.

But all was forgiven when the dessert arrived and we all nearly plotzed. This black-and-white cake deserves NYC landmark status.

This was one of Pete Wells’s Top 8 Things that he ate in 2023 and I can see why. There are two frostings — a mocha buttercream and a dark chocolate ganache — and I ate so much of this, I think our new friends were rethinking this whole arrangement.

Now when you look at all this food, you’re probably thinking: “There’s no possible way that he had another indulgent meal the night before this?!” Oh, but he did.

On Tuesday, Craig had dinner plans and I was supposed to go to Sofreh (another notable Brooklyn restaurant) with my friend Daniel, but then Daniel got sick, I cancelled the res, and wound up at the bar at Foul Witch — a restaurant I’ve been dying to try since I first heard about it.

That bread on the upper left may have been my favorite bite of the whole meal, which is not meant to be unkind, but instead a celebration of a warm baguette with salted butter and a perfectly crispy piece of foccacia. But that’s not doing justice to the celery salad which was a riff on a Puntarelle salad, with anchovies and Pecorino. The most remarkable thing about it was the texture they achieved with the celery — getting it to curl and pop, by slicing on a specific device and then plopping it in ice water.

Then, of course, there are the famous Sorona beans which are almost buttery in their softness, enlivened with a dollop of salsa verde. And the tortellini may seem humble enough but they’re like soup dumplings filled with sweetbreads and demi-glace — the richest, most surprising soup dumplings of your life.

For dessert, I had the bay leaf gelato with huckleberries: a cooling, refreshing end to a totally topsy-turvy, destabilizing, and utterly delicious meal.

It should come as no surprise that I’m about to pop in my ear buds, cue up the Barbra Streisand memoir (I’m an hour in), and head to the gym. Gotta burn off these meals and make room for whatever’s coming tonight. You didn’t think I was actually going to turn on my oven, did you? I live in New York now, baby!

Ever since I saw Paddington 2 (a seriously great movie), I’ve wanted to make orange marmalade. The problem was that every recipe that I read involved letting the fruit soak overnight. Overnight! Does Paddington let the fruit sit overnight in the movie when he has to feed all those prisoners? Methinks not. Consequently, I spent some time searching for an instant marmalade recipe and finally hit on one on the Master Class website. This is such a terrific recipe because it’s so simple, you can memorize it.

Ready? Two pounds of citrus + 6 cups water + 4 cups sugar + 1/4 cup lemon juice. That’s it!

Normally Seville oranges are considered the best oranges for marmalade because of their bitterness and sourness — qualities that play neatly off the sugar — but in my fruit bowl this weekend I found Cara Cara oranges (they’re pink on the inside), blood oranges (they’re red on the inside), and kumquats. I weighted out two pounds worth, then got to work.

Step one: cut the rind and pith off of the fruit. Don’t worry if yours isn’t perfect (mine certainly isn’t!): everything’s going into the pot eventually. Then get to slicing. Slice the rind into 1/4 inch lengths, cut the fruit in half and slice it into 1/2-inch slices, and slices the kumquats. If you find any seeds along the way, throw them away or do what you’re supposed to do — put them in cheesecloth and throw them into the pot for some extra pectin. Did I do that? I did not.

Doesn’t that look gorg? I could put my bathing suit on and jump right in, though there isn’t any water in there yet. Let’s add some. Six cups, please.

Then it’s time for sugar. You need a lot of sugar to make marmalade — them’s just the rules. So four cups of sugar, make your entrance.

Add 1/4 cup lemon juice, then crank up the heat, bring it to a boil, lower to an active simmer and cook for 90 minutes or until a thermometer says 220. At that point we do what’s called the wrinkle test. You should have a small plate in the freezer (sorry, should’ve told you sooner); dollop some of the marmalade on to the plate. Let it cool for a second and then push it with your finger. If you see wrinkles, you’ve got marmalade.

I should say here that I made the mistake of putting this into jars when I didn’t really pass the wrinkle test. You’ll know you’ve failed the wrinkle test if the marmalade stays super liquidy after sitting for a while. Don’t worry — you can do what I did. Which was essentially to put everything back into the pot, bring it back to a boil, and cook for another 5 to 10 minutes until I absolutely, without question, passed the wrinkle test.

This may be the only time in your life where you actually want wrinkles.

As for the canning aspect to this, I just ladled everything into clean jars and put the lids on. I don’t expect this to keep at room temperature — I’m storing it in the fridge and I hope we gobble it up over the next month. Truthfully, I’ve never had a problem with jam going bad or making anyone sick as long as I’ve kept it in the fridge. But do your own research. I don’t want to wind up in jail like Paddington! But at least now, if I do, I know how to make marmalade.

Related Posts:

• Sunday Morning Kumquat Jam

• How to Make Jam

• Meyer Lemon Marmalade

• Burnt Brioche with Homemade Ricotta and Blueberry Tarragon Jam at Sqirl

Anyone who knows me in real life knows that I get bees in my bonnet; spontaneous obsessions that I can’t shake off, no matter how hard I try. Lately, it’s been gardening (you should see my rhododendrons) and, in the same spirit of wanting to be outside more, grilling. Only: I know nothing about grilling. When I lived in L.A., I shared an outdoor space with three other apartments and there was a Weber out there that I used once and never used again. (The yard had a view of a gas station and it was kind of depressing.)

Now we’re lucky enough to have our own patio in Brooklyn (hence all the planting in pots — see upper right) and even though it’s still March and spring hasn’t officially sprung yet, I officially took it upon myself to order a Weber Grill to relaunch my career as an amateur grillmaster. I equipped myself with two tomes — Steve Raichlen’s How to Grill and Bon Appetit’s The Grilling Book — watched a lot of YouTube videos and yesterday, finally, I got to work.

I set myself up for success by buying two one-pound bone-in ribeye steaks from my local butcher, Paisano’s. These were beautiful enough to eat raw. Okay, maybe not, though we did go to a 1975 concert at Madison Square Garden and the lead singer did eat a raw steak live on stage. The point is: with all of that marbling, these steaks would be pretty hard to screw up.

But I wasn’t taking any chances. Following the advice from the Bon Appetit book, I patted the steaks dry, seasoned them with salt, and let them sit on a wire rack for an hour. Then I re-seasoned them with more salt and black pepper, took ‘em outside, and threw them on to the hot side of the charcoal grill where they immediately started to sizzle.

Here’s where the real art of working the grill began. Following Steve Raichlen’s advice, I created a two-zone situation by piling all of the hot coals on one side (I used a chimney starter, just like Ina), leaving the other half empty so I could move the steak there if the dripping hot fat caused the coals to flare up. Those flare-ups give the meat a chemical, acrid flavor, according to the experts, so whenever that happened, I shifted the meat over.

The goal here is to get a really charred, golden brown surface without overcooking the meat. You achieve that by flipping every three minutes until a thermometer reads between 130 and 135 for medium-rare. That’s exactly what I did, taking them off immediately and letting them rest for ten minutes. I threw some asparagus on there in the meantime and then carried everything back inside to dress with chimichurri.

This I made in my mortar and pestle by pounding three cloves of garlic with lots of parsley (you could also add cilantro… and a chili pepper) until I had a deep green paste. Then I stirred in fresh lime juice, some salt, some Aleppo pepper, and enough olive oil to make it saucy.

I drizzled this over the steaks, and served more alongside the dinner which also featured roasted potatoes and the quickly charred asparagus. (Note to self: trim off the woodsy ends next time.)

There was so much I loved about this process: (1) The steaks didn’t smoke up my kitchen like they would if I did this in a cast iron skillet (which I normally do); (2) the heat of the grill got a better char than anything I could accomplish in a skillet; (3) it was nice being outside with my plants; (4) it’s fun to play with fire; (6) it smelled so good; (7) there was less to clean up.

So in conclusion, I’m planning to grill a lot this late winter / early spring / summer summer summer. The only question that remains is: what to grill next?

I love that thing where all cultures have a different version of the same dish. Like meatballs: kofta in the middle east, Polpette in Italy, Swedish meatballs at IKEA.

And though I can’t cite as many examples when it comes to migas, that genius combination of tortilla chips and eggs, it immediately brings to mind matzo brei. Something bready and crunchy softened in eggs, then fried up to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

This is by no means an authoritative migas recipe — who am I to write an authoritative migas recipe? — but it’s the one that I like to make when craving migas which is any time I find myself with a surplus of tortilla chips. And in this particular case, I also found myself with raw Mexican chorizo that I ordered from The Meat Hook.

You can make migas with just eggs and chips, but chorizo takes things to a whole other level. Not just because you get crispy bits of spicy meat in each bite, but because the chorizo flavors the oil which in turn flavors the tortilla chips when you add them.

Call me a kook, but there’s something soothing and fun about stirring chips around a pan of hot oil. When they’re good and coated and maybe even starting to color, you add an onion, a chili if you have one (I didn’t), and, finally, your eggs.

This part happens fast: use a heatproof rubber spatula to move everything around, just until the eggs are starting to set. Then add grated cheese (I went for sharp white cheddar), a diced tomato, and cilantro.

How’s that for a fast, flavorsome breakfast? No wonder all cultures have a version of this, even if I can only name one other culture that has a version of this. Doesn’t matter. The point is if you find yourself with carbs and eggs, you’re off to the races. Call it whatever you want… it’s a killer way to start your day.

Migas with Chorizo

My version of the class Tex-Mex dish, taken to a whole other level with chorizo.

Ingredients:

• 6 large eggs

• Kosher salt

• Freshly ground black pepper

• Splash of oil (vegetable oil or olive oil if that’s all you have nearby)

• 1/4 pound to 1/2 pound raw Mexican chorizo (not cooked Spanish chorizo!)

• A big handful of tortilla chips (let’s say 12 chips)

• One yellow onion, chopped

• One jalapeno, minced (I didn’t have this, but it would be nice)

• 1/2 cup grated sharp white cheddar or Monterey Jack

• 1 red tomato, diced

• A handful of cilantro, roughly chopped

• Warm corn tortillas (optional, for serving; I like to heat them up directly on the gas stove)

Instructions:

1. In a large bowl, whisk together the eggs, a pinch of salt, and pepper until combined.

2. In a non-stick skillet or a well-seasoned cast-iron skillet, add a splash of oil and crumble in your raw chorizo. Turn up the heat to medium-high and cook until the chorizo is crispy and dark brown and the oil is tinted red. Carefully remove the cooked chorizo to a plate.

3. Add the tortilla chips to the hot oil and use a heatproof rubber spatula to move them around, and break them up a little. When they’re good and hot and starting to color, add the onion and the jalapeno (if you’re using it). Stir and cook just until the onion and jalapeno are soft.

4. Add the chorizo back, then the eggs and quickly move them around with the tortilla chips as they start to set. Don’t overcook — turn off the heat as soon as the last big of raw egg sets. Stir in the cheese, tomato, and cilantro, saving a little of each to garnish. Serve right away with warm tortillas or just a fork. Or both!

As many of you know, I’m an almond cake guy. So much so, if were I given the opportunity to take three recipes into my next life, one of them would absolutely be the almond cake from Cooking for Mr. Latte.

You’ll find it funny, then, that when I finally set out to make a walnut cake instead of an almond cake — turning over a new nut leaf, so to speak — I suddenly ran out of walnuts and had to improvise. So I added some almonds.

Really, I wanted to go all-walnut here. And it would’ve been a different cake, to be sure (and lived up to the title of this post… sorry new visitors who Googled “walnut cake”!). But the big surprise for me here was that almond or no almond, grinding nuts into a flour and then folding them into a batter makes for a more pure-tasting nut cake than the nut cake I’m taking to the afterlife. Maybe I’m a nut cake myself, but does this walnut/almond cake give my favorite almond cake a run for its money?

In terms of ease of construction, the two are almost neck-in-neck. On the one hand, the Amanda Hesser almond cake requires only one tool: your KitchenAid mixer. On the other hand, this Calabrian Walnut Cake requires a food processor (to grind the walnuts) and possibly a KitchenAid mixer to whip up the egg yolks and sugar, though you could probably do that by hand. I definitely beat the egg whites by hand, my workout for the day.

As for flavorings, the almond cake is just almond paste and then a hit of almond extract. This walnut cake is supposed to have lemon zest, but seeing as I didn’t have any lemons, I did the next best thing. I added some booze.

That goes into a pan, the pan goes into the oven, and it bakes for 45 minutes or so. It’s when it comes out of the oven that the differences between the two cakes become abundantly clear. Whereas the famous almond cake rises up from the sour cream combining with the baking powder, this cake stays pretty flat. Keep in mind it only has three basic ingredients: walnuts, sugar, and eggs.

Frankly, I found this cake a bit suspect when I took it out of the pan and dusted it with powdered sugar. It looked like a glorified pancake. What would my dinner guests think when I served this up after our lamb shanks Rogan Josh? Would they storm out in disappointment, never to return again? Writing up a furious review on Yelp?

Turns out, I had nothing to worry about: this cake is a marvel. It’s got so much going on. There’s the coarseness of the nuts, the richness from the egg yolks, a little depth from the whiskey, and the levity from the egg whites. Plus I added a pinch of salt to give it a little edge.

Comparing this “walnut” cake to the classic almond cake is like comparing… almonds and walnuts. It’s a pointless exercise. Sometimes you feel like a walnut, and sometimes you feel like an almond. And in my unintentional version, you get a little of both.

Next time, though, I plan to do something radical. I’m going to make this walnut cake with… walnuts.

Calabrian Walnut Cake

An extremely simple Italian dessert (Torta di Noci) adapted from a recipe on Food52.

Ingredients:

340 grams shelled walnuts (use a scale!) — if you don’t have enough walnuts, throw in another nut

4 eggs at room temperature, separated

1 cup sugar (the original recipe calls for superfine sugar, but regular granulated sugar worked fine for me)

Lemon zest from 1 lemon (original recipe) OR a splash of whiskey (my alteration)

1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

Confectioners’ sugar, for dusting

Instructions:

1. Preheat the oven to 375. Prepare a 9-inch cake pan by spraying it with non-stick spray, lining with parchment, and spraying that too.

2. In a food processor, pulse the nuts for a while until the mixture resembles coarse meal. Don’t go too far, or you’ll wind up with nut butter!

3. Either in a stand mixer or by hand, beat the egg yolks and sugar until pale and creamy (it should almost look like mayo). Add the lemon zest or whiskey and the walnut meal, stirring to combine.

4. In a separate bowl, beat the egg whites with a whisk until you get to stiff picks (meaning they stand up on their own). Mix 1/3rd of the egg whites into the batter to lighten it a little; then fold in the remaining egg whites with a rubber spatula, trying not to lose any air (this will give your cake height).

5. Pour the batter into the prepared pan and bake for 40 to 50 minutes, testing around 40 minutes with a toothpick to see if it comes out clean. Let cool in the pan completely before tipping out, removing the parchment, and placing on a cake stand. Dust with powdered sugar before serving.

Sometimes you need a weekend cooking project. When you’ve already beaten Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (#humblebrag), you’ve marathoned all of The Gilded Age, and you finally finished reading The Bee Sting, you want to busy yourself in the kitchen. Well here’s a project for you: Lamb Shanks Rogan Josh from Daniel Boulud’s under-celebrated braising book that he co-authored with Melissa Clark, Braise: A Journey Through International Cuisine.

This is one of those recipes where you want to season the meat the day before, which I actually find pleasurable because: (a) you get part of the recipe over with; and (b) seasoning the meat ahead really does work magic, especially when it comes to the salt. Here you’re working with a mix of cardamom, black peppercorns, white peppercorns, whole allspice, whole cloves, sweet papika, cumin seeds, coriander seeds, cinnamon sticks, cayenne pepper, and a bay leaf that you grind up in a spice grinder. Got all that? Then you rub lamb shanks with olive oil and coat in the spice, along with salt.

Into the fridge they go (and those are some meaty one pound lamb shanks) and the next day, when you’re ready to cook, you heat oil in a Dutch Oven and start to brown them. Careful! You don’t want to burn the spices. If the spices do burn, be sure to wipe them out with a paper towel before moving on to the next step, or you’ll have a very bitter braise.

I don’t have an exhaust vent in my new kitchen, so I had all of the windows open on a 30 degree day to keep the smoke alarms from going off. The things I do for my dog! (The noise makes him quiver.) Once the meat is all browned, you add your aromatics: in this case, onions and red peppers.

When those are soft, but not brown, you add a mixture of yogurt, garlic, and ginger that you blend in a blender with water to make a homogenous mix. You bring that to a simmer, return the lamb to the pot, and then pop into a 300 degree oven for 2 1/2 hours until the meat falls apart when you stab into it with a fork. (I uncovered during the final 30 minutes to reduce the sauce and get the meat browner.)

What makes this a cooking project, and not just a weekend braise, is what happens while the meat is braising: you make pancakes.

No, not that kind of pancakes. We’re talking mint and Ajwain pancakes, only I didn’t have Ajwain so these were mint and garam masala pancakes.

To make them, you mix together flour and water. It’s that simple.

Once you bring that together into a ball, you let it rest, and then cut it into eight pieces. Each one gets rolled out and then brushed with melted butter, sprinkled with salt, garam masala, and mint.

Now the fun part. You roll that up like a jelly roll, then twist it around like a snail, then flatten it, roll it out, and cook it in a searing hot skillet. When you’re done, place them in a dish towel to keep warm. Look how impressive this all looks.

And that’s that. I also cooked some Basmati rice in case people wanted something to really soak up the sauce, which I reduced after removing the lamb shanks. Also: be sure to taste the sauce before ladling it over the meat. It may need a lot more salt.

Seems like a lot of work, but if you plan ah… no, I won’t lie to you, it is a lot of work. But fun work! And look how impressed our guests, Treg and Ryan, were.

Now the really hard work begins: I’m going to type up the recipes for you.

Lamb Shanks Rogan Josh

A spicy, sumptuous, feast of lamb in a bright, yogurty sauce from Daniel Boulud’s Braise.

Ingredients:

• 12 green cardamom pods

• 10 black peppercorns

• 3 whole allspice

• 2 whole cloves

• 2 tablespoons Indian paprika or sweet paprika

• 1 tablespoon kosher salt (I used more)

• 1 1/2 teaspoons cumin seeds

• 1 teaspoon coriander seeds

• 2 (3-inch) cinnamon sticks or 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

• 1/2 teaspoon cayenne pepper (I used Kashmiri chili powder)

• 1 bay leaf

• 6 lamb shanks, about 3/4 to 1 pounds each, bone trimmed (ask your butcher to do this)

• 5 tablespoons vegetable or extra-virgin olive oil

• 3 red bell peppers, cored and seeded: 1 diced; 2 sliced into 1/4-inch-thick strips

• 6 garlic cloves, peeled

• 1/2 cup plain whole-milk yogurt

• 2 tablespoons grated peeled fresh ginger

• 2 medium onions, peeled: halved lengthwise, and cut into 1/4-inch-thick slices

• 1/2 teaspoon garam masala (I used more like a whole teaspoon)

Instructions:

1. The day before you want to serve the dish, use a spice grinder to finely grind the cardamom, black and white peppercorns, allspice, cloves, paprika, salt, cumin, coriander, cinnamon, cayenne, and bay leaf. Place the shanks in a nonreactive container such as a Pyrex bowl and rub with 2 tablespoons of the oil and then with the spice mixture. (I actually seasoned with lots of kosher salt and then the spice mixture.) Cover the shanks tightly with plastic wrap and let marinate in the refrigerator overnight.

2. Using a food processor or a blender, blend 1/3 cup water with the diced red bell pepper, garlic, yogurt, and ginger until smooth.

3. Position a rack in the lower third of the oven and pre-heat the oven to 300 degrees.

4. In a medium saucepan, bring 3 cups water to a boil and keep at a slow, steady simmer.

5. Warm the remaining 3 tablespoons oil in a large cast iron pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the shanks to the pot and sear, adjusting the heat and turning the meat so that the spices do not burn, until golden brown on all sides, 12 to 15 minutes. Transfer the lamb to a plate.

6. Add the sliced red bell peppers and onions to the pot and cook, stirring, until the vegetables begin to soften but do not brown, about 5 minutes. Return the browned lamb to the pot, stir in the bell pepper-yogurt mixture, and sprinkle the garam masala on top. Pour in the hot water and bring to a simmer.

7. Cover the pot, transfer it to the oven, and braise for 2 1/2 hours, turning the shanks twice while cooking.

Mint and Ajwain Pancakes

A fun, fast flatbread. It’s okay if you can’t find Ajwain (I couldn’t), just the mint and garam masala will make the pancakes sing.

Ingredients:

• 2 cups all-purpose flour, plus additional for kneading

• 2 teaspoons ajwain seeds, toasted, or dried thyme

• 2 teaspoons garam masala

• 1 teaspoon coarse sea salt or kosher salt

• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

• 1/4 cup chopped fresh mint leaves

Instructions:

1. In the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with the dough hook, combine the flour and 1 cup water and knead on medium-low speed for 5 minutes, sprinkling in a little more flour if necessary to yield a smooth, soft dough. Use your hands to form the dough into a ball. Place the ball in a lightly greased bowl. Cover the dough with lightly greased plastic wrap and let it rest for at least 30 minutes, but no more than 90 minutes.

2. Turn the dough out onto a lightly floured work surface and divide it into 8 equal pieces. Roll each piece of dough into a ball with the floured palm of your cupped hand, using slight pressure. Roll the ball quickly in a circular motion until it is smooth, adding as little extra flour as possible. As you work, cover the finished balls of dough with a damp kitchen towel or lightly greased plastic wrap.

3. In a small bowl, combine the ajwain, garam masala, and salt. Use a floured rolling pin to roll a ball of the dough into a 6-inch disk. Brush the disk with some of the melted butter, then sprinkle the dough with a scant 3/4 teaspoon of the spice mixture and 1 1/2 teaspoons of the mint. Starting from one end of the disk, roll the dough up like a jelly roll; then twist it into a spiral, like a snail shell. Flatten the snail a little with the palm of your hand, then roll it into a 6-inch disk. Repeat with the remaining dough to make 8 pancakes, keeping them covered with a damp towel or plastic wrap as you work.

4. Heat your heaviest skillet over medium-high heat for 2 minutes. Cook the pancakes one at a time, turning once, until golden brown, about 2 1/2 minutes on the first side and about 2 minutes on the second side. Transfer the pancakes to a napkin-lined basket and cover to keep soft and warm. Or reheat in a moderate oven as needed.

When I wrote my cookbook Secrets of the Best Chefs over a decade ago, I stood in the kitchen of Beast, Chef Naomi Pomeroy’s then-flagship restaurant in Portland, trying to keep up as she made a giant batch of lentils. Every time I looked away, it seemed like she was adding a new ingredient: was that sugar that she added? “Maple sugar,” she explained. Was that spinach she was stirring in? “No, that’s kale.”

When I was testing the recipe at home, I marveled at how bold Naomi Pomeroy’s sensibility is: for most people, pancetta alone would be enough to enhance a pot of lentils. But that’s just the starting point here.

Pancetta is the base flavor (you could use slab bacon for a similar effect). Once the pancetta’s crisp, you remove it and add mirepoix to the fat — your carrots, onions, and celery — and suddenly the aroma changes, giving off wafts of vegetal goodness. But, oh, there’s so much more in store.

In goes the red pepper flakes and the maple sugar (I substituted brown sugar). Then sun-dried tomatoes, that most maligned ingredient from the 80s that I still adore (see: my favorite pasta.)Then comes the anchovies and garlic. And finally, par-cooked green lentils.

Chef Pomeroy has you “fry” the lentils in the remaining fat for a few minutes, before you add the cooked pancetta and the chopped cooked kale back to the pot. It’s a step that feels very cheffy. We mostly think of lentils as a stewy, sloshy, often muddy preparation of legumes. Here the lentils take on a little color as you let them sizzle at the bottom of your cooking vessel.

Once you stir in the pancetta and kale, you turn off the heat and you can let it all sit until your guests arrive. Then you stir in some lemon juice and olive oil and you’re done.

These lentils, in and of themselves, are a showstopper. The secret’s in the umami: you get it from the pancetta, you get it from the sun-dried tomatoes, and you get it from the anchovies. They’re so packed with flavor, they’re good enough to stand on their own. But I served these up with Sam Sifton’s mustard brown sugar salmon and it was a perfect dinner, if I do say so myself.

(The salmon recipe is beyond easy: mix equal amounts of brown sugar and Dijon mustard. Season your salmon with salt and pepper, place it on a foil lined sheet skin-side down, and slather with the mustard mixture. Roast in a 425 oven for 10 minutes or until a thermometer says 145. Voila.)

So the next time you’re making lentils, channel your inner Naomi Pomeroy and be bold. It’s meek chefs who give lentils a bad name. Time to set things right.

Lentils with Pancetta, Anchovies, Sun-Dried Tomatoes, and Kale

A shocking combination of flavors from Chef Naomi Pomeory that enhance lentils beyond anything you’ve ever experienced before.

Ingredients:

• Kosher salt

• 1 bunch Tuscan kale, stemmed

• 1 carrot, plus 2 carrots finely chopped

• 1 celery stalk, plus 2 stalks finely chopped

• 1/2 medium yellow onion, plus 1 medium yellow onion cut into 1/4-inch dice

• 2 cups dried green lentils, picked over and rinsed

• 1/4 cup olive oil

• 1/2 cup diced pancetta or slab bacon

• A pinch of crushed red pepper flakes

• A pinch or two of maple sugar, muscovado sugar, or brown sugar

• 6 sun-dried tomatoes packed in olive oil, sliced

• 3 anchovies, chopped

• 3 cloves of garlic, sliced

• A squeeze of fresh lemon juice

• A splash of good-quality finishing olive oil

Instructions:

1. Bring a pot of water to a boil and season it well with salt (a few tablespoons). Add your kale and blanch for two minutes, then use tongs to remove it to a bowl to cool before chopping it up. Set aside.

2. In that same pot of water (I’m saving you a dish), add your single carrot, celery stalk, and 1/2 yellow onion, plus the lentils. Lower to a simmer and cook until the lentils are just al dente, 15 to 20 minutes. Drain, discard the vegetables, and set the lentils aside.

3. In a large pan or Dutch oven, heat the olive oil with the pancetta over medium-high heat until very hot and the pancetta starts to render. Allow it to cook until the pancetta is crisp and has released most of its fat, 4 to 5 minutes.

4. Remove the pancetta to a plate and add the chopped carrot and celery and the diced onion. Sprinkle with the red pepper flakes and the maple sugar; cook, stirring, for 1 to 2 minutes.

5. Add the tomatoes, fry for a minute, then add the anchovies and the garlic. Cook until the anchovies dissolve and the garlic just starts to brown, another 2 minutes or so.

6. Pat the lentils dry and add them to the pan, frying them in the hot oil until they start to crisp up a bit, 3 to 4 minutes.

7. Add the pancetta and the kale and cook, stirring, for another 2 minutes. If the lentils are getting too brown, you can add some water at this point.

8. Taste for seasoning, squeeze the lemon juice over everything, and drizzle with the finishing oil. Serve hot.

Related Posts:

• Red Lentil Soup with Harissa and Lime

• French Green Lentils with Bacon, Red Wine, and Mushrooms

• Spicy Black Lentils with Charred Eggplant and Urfa Chili

• Curried Lentil Soup

Most cakes tell you what they’re going to look like before you put them in the oven. If you make a flourless chocolate cake, it’s going to be the same color going in as it is coming out. Same for an almond cake, a coconut cake (pre-icing), a hummingbird cake, etc.

Upside-down cakes are different. You put them in the oven and then you wait 40 or 50 minutes until the cake is ready to reveal itself. Even when you take it out, you have to let it cool for fifteen minutes before you flip it on to the cake stand and behold your creation. It’s the culinary equivalent of your spouse getting plastic surgery and then slowly unraveling the gauze.

This upside-down cake comes to us from our most right side-up food writer, Melissa Clark, who starts out by telling you to slice the bananas “lengthwise into half-inch planks.” Unfortunately, my knife skills were no match for these flimsy bananas which broke in half the second I attempted to dissect them.

No matter! As you’ll soon see, upside-down cakes can be forgiving because caramel covers a multitude of sins. Here you make a caramel using brown sugar, butter, and lemon juice. You arrange the banana pieces on top and then add chopped nuts — either walnuts or pecans — neither of which I had, so I used hazelnuts.

The trickiest step here is coating the bananas and nuts in the goo without breaking them up too much more. My parents, who wanted me to go to medical school, will be proud of the surgical skills I employed here

As for the batter, it couldn’t be easier. Bring on the melted butter, the eggs, the sugar, the sour cream (I used yogurt), and flour. I also added a teaspoon of cinnamon for good measure.

The batter goes on, you spread it out with an offset spatula, and into a 350 oven it goes for 35 to 45 minutes. When it comes out, it’ll smell divine, but reveal nothing about itself. Have you succeeded in upside-down cake making? Or will this cake make a mockery of you and all of your culinary ambitions?

The moment of truth comes after you slice around the edges to make sure it detaches and flip it on to a cake stand.

Is the cake beautiful or an abomination? A feather in your cap or a thorn in your side?

Behold!

Just a little stuck to the pan, but it was no problem to detach it and reapply it like the plastic surgeon my parents wanted me to be. And if you unwrapped the gauze after a face lift and saw this cake on your neck, you’d be a very happy patient indeed.

So the next time you feel like rolling the culinary dice, melt some butter and sugar in a skillet, add some fruit, top with cake batter and say your prayers. Chances are you’ll be happy with the results, and if not, there’s always ice cream to cover your mistakes.

BAnana Upside-Down Cake

My take on Melissa Clark’s excellent recipe, with cinnamon and hazelnuts shaking things up a little.

Ingredients:

For the topping:

• 4 tablespoons unsalted butter

• 1/3 cup light brown sugar

• 2 teaspoons freshly squeezed lemon juice

• 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt

• 3 large bananas (just getting ripe; too ripe and they’ll fall apart like mine did), sliced lengthwise into 1/2-inch planks

• 1/2 cup coarsely chopped hazelnuts (skins rubbed off), or walnuts, or pecans

For the cake:

• 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled (tip: melt it in the 10-inch cast iron skillet that you’ll be making the cake in, tilting the pan to grease the sides, before pouring out into a bowl… that’ll grease the pan for you)

• 1 cup granulated sugar

• 1 tablespoon vanilla extract (if you don’t have vanilla, Bourbon might be nice)

• 2 large eggs, room temperature

• 1/2 cup sour cream or whole-milk yogurt

• 1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder

• 1/4 teaspoon baking soda

• 1 teaspoon kosher salt

• 1 teaspoon cinnamon

• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

Instructions:

1. Heat oven to 350 F.

2. Make the topping first. In your 10-inch cast iron skillet, melt the butter over medium heat, add the brown sugar, lemon juice, and salt, and whisk until the brown sugar melts… one or two minutes.

3. Keep cooking for another minute or two until it starts to smell like caramel. Don’t take it too far or your caramel will burn. Turn off the heat, add the bananas and nuts, coat them carefully in the goo, and then arrange it so that it looks nice enough to be the top of your cake when you flip it out.

4. Make the cake: whisk together the melted butter, sugar, and vanilla until thoroughly combined. Whisk in the sour cream or yogurt, then work in the baking powder, baking soda, kosher salt, and cinnamon. Add the flour and using a rubber spatula, gently fold in without over working the batter.

5. Pour the batter over the fruit in the pan, using an off-set spatula to spread it to the edges without disturbing the fruit too much. Pop into the oven and bake for 35 to 45 minutes until it’s golden brown on top and a toothpick comes out clean.

6. Use a paring knife to cut around the edges right away to make sure it doesn’t stick. Let cool for 15 minutes and then, very carefully, place your cake stand upside-down on top of the pan and flip both over so the skillet is face-down on top. Your cake should slide right out. If any bits remain behind, don’t freak out: use an off-set spatula to surgically reapply them to the cake.

7. Allow the cake to cool completely and serve by itself or, even better, with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

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• Citrus Upside-Down Cake

• Pineapple Upside-Down Cake with Toasted Coconut Ice Cream

• Banana Cake with Rum

• The Ultimate Chocolate Banana Bread

Some day I’ll write a book about dinner parties, assuming books still exist and AI hasn’t cast writers into outer space like HAL in 2001: A Space Odyssey. In that book, I’ll talk about balancing out a meal; how if you have a heavy main course, you’ll want a lighter first course, and a refreshing dessert. That was my line of thinking, last night, when I was serving up one pound lamb shanks with Basmati rice and homemade flatbread (more on that soon), plus a walnut cake for dessert. We needed vegetables. Preferably raw ones.

That’s when I opened the fridge and saw, staring right back at me, a wedge of Stilton that I bought to put on salads. The salads never happened. But the Stilton was ready for its moment in the spotlight.

This is less of a recipe, and more of a technique. Start by crumbling your Stilton (you could also use Roquefort or any other impressive-sounding blue cheese) into a bowl. I won’t give you an amount because it’s all proportional. Put a big spoonful of mayo in there. Then add an even bigger spoonful of whole-milk yogurt or sour cream. Grate in a garlic clove, shake in some Tabasco, maybe a tiny sprinkling of salt. Go on and squeeze in some lemon.

Then it’s all about mushing. Smashing. Smushing. I started with a spoon and when that proved ineffective, I switched to a potato masher. You want to do this by hand so you still have some texture in there. (In a food processor, you’d basically have blue cheese-flavored yogurt.) You’ll know you’re done smashing when your dip looks like a dip. If it’s too solid, add more yogurt and keep working it together. Taste for lemon, salt, Tabasco, etc. Sprinkle in some hot paprika if you have it, and then sprinkle some more on top.

I served this with Persian cucumbers, celery (leaves still attached, for prettiness), radishes, and little cherry tomatoes. Right before presenting it, I added some finely minced chives which helped everything pop. Our dinner guests, Ryan and Treg, were delighted: they came hungry and were happy to have something to snack on. As the host, I was glad that their snacking wouldn’t make them too full for the lamb shanks to come. As the bartender, Craig was glad to have something to pair with the Last Words that he made.

Some of you may laugh at the idea of a blue cheese dip being a “light beginning” to a meal, but this is a dinner party after all and we’re not going to serve people protein powder dip, are we? Give it a try, the next time you’re having people over.

We all have embarrassing things that we do in our lives where, if there were a documentary crew following us around, we’d ask them to leave the room while we engaged in our secret behavior. Such would be the case had anyone been watching me plan my birthday dinner this week in New York. I spent hours — days, even — on Resy making reservations, second guessing reservations, recalculating goals, reconsidering aesthetics, until I’d booked and unbooked about seven different places before settling on Claud in the East Village.

The inspiration came from David Lebovitz, who raved about his dinner there when we had lunch at Fish Cheeks a few months ago. Looking at the menu, I liked that it was eclectic, somewhat upscale, without being over-the-top fancy. (My first dinner choice, Le Coucou, where I went back in 2017, seemed a bit too lavish for a Monday night.) Claud, on the other hand, has a modest, sophisticated feel to it. It reminded me of some of the cooler bistros I went to in Paris.

Our seats were at the bar and it was a great spot to watch all of the action. We’d pre-gamed at The Clover Club in Brooklyn (a bit too enthusiastically: I was two cocktails in) yet we still felt obligated —okay, inspired — to order a bottle of wine. The bartender/waiter heard what food we were going to get and suggested this Spanish red because it was “fun.” We like fun! And indeed it was simultaneously lightly textured and boldly flavored, acidic enough for food but fruity enough to dazzle on its own.

As for the food, we started with kampachi which was clean-tasting and perfectly sliced, but not something I’d write a sonnet about or anything. However, I would write a sonnet about these squash fritters which came out piping hot and dusted with copious amounts of Pecorino.

In Chinese cooking, there’s the concept of “wok hay” — or the breath of the wok — and I think the same thing happens with a deep-fryer. It’s that sensation that you get when the food immediately leaves its cooking vessel and enters your mouth. There’s an energy to it and an excitement that’s impossible to replicate if any extra time passes. If you ordered these fritters to-go, they wouldn’t be nearly as praise-worthy when you got them home.

My favorite dish of the night was one of Claud’s signature dishes: the chicken liver agnolotti.

Though some people squirm at the idea of liver, it’s one of my favorite cooking ingredients because it’s so naturally rich and intensely flavored. Imagine chicken liver mousse, then, stuffed into pasta, tossed in butter, and then drizzled with reduced balsamic and you’ll get what all the fuss is about here. This is one of those restaurant dishes that you could ostensibly make at home, but never would because it would take so much time… this is why we’re lucky to have chefs.

For our main course, we shared the duck which came with a fruit that I’m 90% sure was cherries? (I can’t find the menu online, just the wine list. Did I mention that I was two cocktails in + wine?)

I hemmed and hawed over my birthday dinner, but that single slice of cake — an event in and of itself — was proof that I absolutely made the right decision. The sea salt on there? And those layers of ganache? A dream come true. Thank you Claud for making my 45th (gulp) birthday so special. Now where to go for my 46th?