I’d say it’s better late than never, but even this first installment in my cookbook chronicles is kind of a cheat—I made this dish in 2011.

As a card-carrying member of the tribe, it’s in my DNA to crave Chinese food at Christmas time. So, for Christmas Eve (do Jews really celebrate Christmas Eve? We do, it turns out, when Christmas Eve falls on the fifth night of Hanukkah) dinner, my mom and I put together a winter-holiday mashup of a feast: Peking chicken (who has time for duck?) and latkes.

The latkes were the only immutable menu selection—it’s not often that I’m home for the holidays, and I dream of my mother’s potato pancakes—but we hadn’t yet chosen an accompaniment. Inspiration struck while flipping through my newly acquired copy of Essential Pepin, a holiday gift, given with the ever-so-slight fear of enabling my cookbook-hoarding tendencies, from my mother. A short list of ingredients and the opportunity to dovetail two Jewish traditions? I was sold.

While I was whisking together the four ingredients (balsamic vinegar, honey, soy, and Tabasco) that would be the basting sauce for the chicken, Mom did the hard work. Using the ingredient list from her mother’s recipe (straight from that classic Jewish cooking bible) and the methodology from a recipe clipped, years ago, from the Washington Post, potatoes were boiled and grated, batter was mixed, oil was heated, and batter was fried.

Per tradition, the first batch wasn’t quite right—or so we told ourselves as we broke off a bite or two, just to make sure.

Even given the oil splatters and ensuing kitchen mess, it’s a wonder that we don’t think to eat latkes year-round. There’s nothing like a fresh-out-of-the-pan fried potato.

They stole the show, in fact—the chicken turned out to be something of an afterthought. A word of warning: Low-sodium soy sauce is not the way to go here. Though the meat was juicy and moist, it practically begged for more salt.

Luckily, the latkes were more than willing to take center stage. Best supporting player, hands down.

Peking-Style Chicken
By Jacques Pepin, from Essential Pepin

1 chicken, about 4 pounds
1½ teaspoons honey
2 tablespoons dark soy sauce
1 teaspoon Tabasco sauce
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
12 ounces small button mushrooms, cleaned
½ cup water

1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees. Bring 10 cups of water to a boil in a large pot.

2. Meanwhile, remove the wishbone from the chicken. Fold the wings of the chicken under its back and truss it with kitchen twine to help maintain the bird’s compact shape.

3. Lower the chicken breast side down into the boiling water. Return the water to a boil over high heat (this will take about 3 minutes). As soon as the water is boiling, reduce the heat to low and simmer the chicken gently for 2 minutes. Drain and place the chicken breast side up on a rack in a roasting pan.

4. Mix the honey, soy sauce, Tabasco, and vinegar together in a small bowl. Brush the chicken on all sides with some of the mixture. Roast breast side up for about 30 minutes.

5. Brush the breast side of the chicken again with the honey mixture, then roast for another 30 minutes.

6. Arrange the mushrooms in one layer under the rack in the pan and add the water. Brush the chicken with the remaining honey mixture and roast for 15 minutes longer.

7. Transfer the chicken to a platter. Pour the accumulated juices and the mushrooms into a saucepan. Let stand for 2-3 minutes, then spoon off as much fat from the surface as possible, and reheat if necessary.

8. Cut the chicken into pieces and serve with the juices and mushrooms.

Mom’s Latkes
Adapted from The Washington Post and The Settlement Cook Book

2 cups potatoes, grated
2 eggs
A pinch of baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 tablespoons flour

1. Place potatoes in a medium saucepan and barely cover with cold water. Turn heat to high and allow to come to boil. As soon as potatoes are boiling, put a kitchen timer on for 10 minutes.

2. When timer rings, remove potatoes from stove and cover with cold water. Drain immediately, then cover again with cold water. Let sit five minutes. Then remove and pat dry.

3. Using a hand shredder or food processor fitted with a medium disc, shred potatoes (with skins on). The potatoes should be slightly softened, but still firm enough to produce shreds. (If the peel separates from the potato, discard it. If the peel gets grated in with the potatoes, incorporate it into the mixture.)

4. In a large bowl, blend shredded potatoes, grated onion, beaten eggs, flour, salt, pepper and baking powder.

5. Place newspaper on work surface (near frying area) and cover with a few paper towels. [We use a layer or two of paper towels on a baking sheet.]

6. In a large deep skillet (you can use a Dutch oven to avoid splatters), pour in enough vegetable oil to about half to two-thirds filled. If using an electric fry pan, set the temperature to 350 or 375 degrees, depending on how fast you want the pancakes to cook.

7. Drop potato batter by teaspoons (for small ones) or soup spoonfuls in dollops, flattening slightly with a metal spatula if desired. Brown one side, turn once, and complete cooking on other side. (These cook remarkably quickly, so take care not to overbrown them.) Try to achieve a puffy center while retaining some crisp shreds of potato on edges. Eat right away or freeze. To reheat, place latkes on a large wire cake rack on a cookie sheet. Warm at 250 degrees until crisp.

This? It’s the opposite of the near panic attack I had on an over-crowded, over-heated Picadilly line where I accidentally stepped on a woman’s foot before hitting her head with my bag. And, happily, it’s only about an hour and a half from my house. In recent experiences, a trip to the destinations within the Hocking Hills of Southeast Ohio can seem like a trip to Disney World, with lines of crying children and gossipy octogenarians. And to be honest, Cedar Falls (which incidentally, has no cedars nearby), was no different.

The rest and relaxation came in form of the Inn. Thanks to a generous gift card from Ben’s grandparents, our two evenings in one of the cottages were completely comped, allowing us to splurge at the restaurant across the street.

Of all of our meals at the restaurant — five in total — our Friday night dinner was my favorite. I’ve known Chef Schulz for several years, through cooking classes with my day job, and was excited to try his seasonal and local selections on his own turf. Roasted chicken is not a flashy dish; in truth, it’s one of the first things I learned to make. But his was memorable, even months later. A mixed rice blend and chopped root veggies enveloped by citrusy and buttery chicken broth gave the dish multiple flavors and textures. I literally sucked the final bits of chicken off the bone and by the end of my devouring the dish, there was just bread to soak up the rosemary-kissed juices.

Ben’s filet was just as good. In fact, it caused fights. (Not very relaxing, but fun, nonetheless.) I wanted another bite and he refused me. I joked with our server about ordering this dish for dessert, and seriously considered doing so. (I think the fact that the chef knew me caused me to refrain from this decadence.) Ben announced that it was the best steak that he can ever remember having.

Both breakfasts featured a special (usually a baked dish that could be easily kept warm and served to many guests), a granola bar and meaty side dishes. Our server was also pushing some of the Inn’s homemade muffins, which had an orange-flavored overtone to them. It may be a controversial topic, but I’m not into orange baked goods. The second morning I skipped them all together. As a whole the breakfast was nice — and a million times better than I’ve had at a hotel.

Our other meals were solid, as well, and it was clear we weren’t being served straight-from-the-distributor foodstuffs. At lunch, the tomato soup actually contained traces of tomato, the potato salad had potato skins.

And although our favorite dishes were primarily meat-centric, a chickpea-based appetizer (served with saffron aioli) showed creativity and a willingness to experiment with flavors outside of generic steakhouse finds.

After a weekend with a Jacuzzi, a massage, homemade granola, decadent dinners, woodsy views and no cell phone coverage, we had a new first world problem: we didn’t want to go home.

Inn at Cedar Falls
21190 State Route 374
Logan ,Ohio 43138
1.800.653.2557

My first cultural food shock came in the form of fish sauce. Cambodian cuisine and I were already on shaky grounds (based on the dubious absence of cheese) when I passed a fish sauce factory. My olfactory senses singed for hours; one simple, clear and well-reasoned thought resonated: There is no possible way that anyone in their right mind would eat the stuff.

It didn’t take long for me to adapt to the cuisine and its beloved fish sauce (which tastes infinitely better than it smells). By the end of the trip, I’d almost forgotten about dairy products. Almost.

While it’s acceptable to (temporarily) question other cuisines, my own American-bred eating habits have never come under fire. Until my recent trip to England, when my choice of ordering bacon, of all things, proved to be somewhat of a cultural snafu.

It’s not like I was in Israel or something. I was in Patisserie Valerie in Leeds. They had bacon on the menu. It turns out that it wasn’t the ordering of a side of bacon that gave my server pause. It was that I ordered it to accompany a scone. Sweet and savory. “Are you sure?” she asked in amazement. In my years of eating (and ordering way too much), I’ve never actually caused the waitstaff to openly question my choices. Both the server and I were equally confused. “Yes, I want the bacon and the scone.” She shrugged and processed my weirdo order.

A few days later, in a pub in London, I brought up the situation to my friend Sam, who spent a year living in Ohio. He sided with the server in finding my savory-meets-sweet breakfast choice incredulous and started ranting against the combination with more passion than my short-lived distaste of fish sauce could ever engender. Realizing that I’d struck true food journalism gold, I recorded our conversation.

Jill: What’s so wrong about a scone and a side of bacon? It’s just savory and sweet. Like chicken and waffles.

In what was to become a tradition in our London dining experience, our initial goal (in this case, pizza) was just out of reach. (This happened several times during the trip; we’d get to a bistro that a friend recommended and find that the kitchen had closed seconds prior to our arrival, or we’d arrive at our destination restaurant to learn that they could only seat us at their second location, thirty minutes away.) Camden Bar and Kitchen had changed menus and its beloved stone-baked pizzas weren’t available for brunch on Sundays. Our server—who did not approve of this very recent change in operations—tried to talk the kitchen into serving us pizzas, to no avail. Brunch it would be.

And it was good. Had Sarah not talked up the pizza, there would have been no disappointment. First up: Elen’s savory goat cheese souffle. Topped with pesto and arugula (or, as the Brits call it, rocket), it was light and tangy with a fluffy texture. A perfectly-balanced dish.

Ben and I both ordered variations of eggs benedict: mine, with ham; his, with salmon. I have an aversion to smoked salmon paired with eggs, and declined an opportunity to taste his dish. Mine, however, was spot-on version of the classic brunch selection. It was the first time that I noticed the English egg yolk. It seems to be smaller and perkier than those I see stateside, which are wider and more shallow. I tried to bring this up various times throughout the trip, but my companions did not notice a difference. As it stands, I’m alone on this observation.

Sarah’s falafel burger rivals any non-vegetarian burger I’ve encountered. If given an opportunity to brunch again at Camden Bar and Kitchen, this would be my choice.

Not satiated with the goat cheese souffle (perhaps because I ate half of it), Elen chose a second course of spinach sauteed with garlic and chili. A simple side that allows the ingredients to stand alone without any embellishments, the trio demonstrates the chef’s willingness to let produce take the spotlight.

The busy restaurant cleared out as we enjoyed our leisurely brunch, providing the antithesis of Camden Market: elbowroom and pause.

We followed brunch with a walk in the quiet and spacious Regent’s Park, which provided the best dessert of all: the opportunity to see our friends become friends. Sometimes these things just need a little room to grow.

Camden Bar and Kitchen
102 Camden High Street,
London, NW1 0LU
020.7485.2744

I knew that in the eleven years since I’d worked at the Soho restaurant, things had changed. For one, Mezzo had become Meza, and the place had changed ownership. Despite this knowledge, I couldn’t not visit it in my recent trip to London. On the first night in the city, I showed up on the doorstep of the restaurant, sans reservations and sans club attire. My super-duper fancy dining establishment had turned from the place that introduced me to mis en place and fruits de mer to what was essentially a club, a place that as a civilian, I would never enter. Instead, I was a woman on a mission: to touch base, at least emotionally, with twenty-one year-old me.

Once we walked in and looked at the menu, I had to have a stern conversation with myself: absolutely nothing would be the same and I could either enjoy my dining experience or lament the changes. The former would be way more interesting for my dining companions, so I tried to keep my commentary to a minimum. (This, of course, did not stop me from informing my first-day-on-the-job server that I once was in her shoes, but that on my first day, the building was on fire.) (True story.) (I’m sure that she didn’t care.) (I’ve turned into one of those people, the ones who show you pictures of their pets or grandchildren or announce that in this very building, eleven years ago, I ate a bowl of crème bruûlée in a stall in the server’s restroom so that the security guards wouldn’t see me stealing from the company.)

I seem to be doing it again. Right here.

Anyway, pictured above is fried calamari strips (the real thing; no frozen rings here) served with what could have very well have been a pepper jelly from Ohio’s Robert Rothschild Farm. Not life changing. And not anywhere close to something we would have served… Yeah.

Next up, a pizza-like flatbread that does not seem to currently be on the restaurant’s menu. Pizza? Mezzo would have frowned at pizza.

I do not recall serving burgers, either. But you’ve got to give these guys points for a dramatic presentation.

Crispy chicken and curry-seasoned prawns came together to become my (very messy) main course. I’m not very well practiced at head removal, but managed to salvage whatever meat I could from both options.

The cuisine and atmosphere have changed dramatically, but there was one consistency: detailed service. While I could have done without the restroom attendent giving handing me a towel (and expecting a tip for doing so), I appreciated the discard bowl for bones and the small bowls of lemon water placed on the table so that while I disassembled sea and land creatures for dinner, I could have remain (sort of) clean.

All in all, the meal wasn’t very memorable. With this in mind, I wonder — were the meals that I served eleven years ago also not that memorable? We were just as flashy (in a flaming drink and cigarette girl way), and back then, I was operating with a juvenile palate. It’s something that I don’t want to think about too much. While my present day experiences with the place aren’t life-changing, I still have my memories. And I’m not ready to alter those.

1. Bronx pork-a-palooza.

In October, I capped off a wholesome trip to the Bronx Zoo with the amazing — and decidedly unwholesome — lechón at El Nuevo Bohío. The crackling skin alone made the train ride uptown worthwhile.

2. Brooklyn pork-a-palooza. 

One of the hardest parts of saying goodbye to Bed-Stuy was moving away from that neighborhood’s burgeoning dining scene; I’ve only been gone a few months, and I already miss SCRATCHbread‘s walk-up window. Where else can you get brunch in a cup, with crunchy-sweet-salty bacon candy on the side? And while I’m asking the big questions, what wouldn’t I give for a Crown Heights outpost?

3. Manhattan pork-a-palooza.

Heartache, frigid temperatures, and a head cold to boot? Ippudo‘s Hakata classic ramen—hold the pickled ginger, add kakuni—may not cure all, but it sure tries. Temporary relief in bowl form.

4. Queens pork-a-palooza.

Kidding! Lest I give the impression that I eat nothing but swine, rest assured I do occasionally consume other sources of protein. I particularly loved Legend‘s mapo tofu, meltingly silky and searingly hot, with Sichuan peppercorns, leeks, and—fine, I admit it—a little bit of ground pork. New rule: It doesn’t count if you can’t taste it.

5. Tofu, again. 

A perfect high-low combination, this innocuously named “tofu with ginger-scallion sauce” at Danji takes the health benefits of bean curd and tosses them right into the deep-fryer. A crispy crust masks a creamy interior; shards of more fried goodness are sprinkled on top for added crunch. Ask for extra sauce on the side, and get to dipping.

Bonus round: 6. High-falutin’ fare. 

A free meal at Gramercy Tavern offered a respite in the midst of personal turmoil, and gave Jill an excuse to come visit. The second course, this lobster salad, was fairly amazing; you’ll be hearing all about it soon enough.

But a new year, a new start, and all that nonsense.

When I moved into my new apartment, one of the first things I did was organize my books. I love my books; alphabetizing and arranging my shelves is one of those little things that brings me an inordinate amount of nerdy pleasure, but this time around, I felt a little twinge of guilt. I’m a compulsive cookbook collector—thanks to two new holiday-gift additions, my  tally is now an even fifty, and I have my eye on a good thirty more—but I’ve cooked from just fifteen of the titles in my possession.

As a result, I’ve amended my list of perennial resolutions (to put in more time at the gym, spend less money on eating and drinking, and lose twenty pounds or so—and yes, I’m well aware that all of those just maaaay be intertwined) to include one more. Once a week, for the rest of the year, I’ll attempt one recipe from one virgin book, and, of course, document the results on these pages. Other blogolutions: more content for my much-neglected Freelance Diet ”series,” a New York–based entry or two for Behind the Scenes, and a revamped outlook—more fun, less frustration—on the whole endeavor.

I have a good feeling about 2012.

Cambridge had their Christmas decorations up in October. (In comparison, the Newark airport was just putting up their pink and green Christmas balloons sixteen days ago.) It seems that the British are serious about the holiday.

I’m not sure a tourist is allowed to visit Cambridge without punting on the River Cam. (Nor is she allowed to ride in one of these boats without singing, “I’m on a boat.”) More punting pics in a few…

No surface in the city is free of bikes.

I thought about starting a tumblr account called “British People Eating Sandwiches.” Sandwiches are the fast food of Britain. I’m sort of jealous, actually. Pret A Manger needs to start branching out in the United States.

Harry Potter’s dining hall! Sorry. Had to get that out of the way. One of the colleges allowed folks like us to wander around for free. While normal people headed to the gardens and the courtyard, I hovered near the dining room door.

So, we went punting. With about ten strangers and a guide who reminded me of Captain Jack Sparrow. Best in shallow water, punting is the act of moving a flat-bottomed boat along by pushing a pole to the river bed. (I apologize if that sounds too wikipedia-ey for you; I’m not a great technical writer and I haven’t had my coffee yet today.)

Our punting adventure turned into a game of bumper boats at one point, and I found the most British-looking kid ever. (He’s probably from Norway.)

And now, what you’ve all been waiting for: Gift Ideas for Itinerant Foodies.

- All the Le Creusets
- Frequent Flier Miles
- Prosecco

Cheers!

While seeing Nate was the purpose of our one-day visit to Cambridge, we found ourselves wishing we’d scheduled more time to see the city, itself. It was pure joy to see history coinciding with every day life. Just one walk through made me want to spend days exploring every college, every path along the canal and, of course, every restaurant on its stone streets. (Stay tuned for a picture-only post of the sights of Cambridge.)

Nate planned our gastronomic itinerary by promising a trip to his favorite pub, a short drive away in Trumpington. (Feel free to repeatedly repeat the word Trumpington in a fake British accent for the rest of the day; I will be.) I tried not to pout at not being able to stop in for snacks at all the adorable restaurants along our walk, but I trusted Nate to bring us to quality cuisine. And, of course, real ale.

I may have insinuated that seeing friends was our primary reason for the trip. This is not true. We were in England to drink real ales: unfiltered and unpasteurized beers conditioned and served from casks without additional nitrogen or carbon dioxide pressure. Otherwise known as flat beer that Queen Victoria drank. Prior to the trip, Ben asked me to download the CaskFinder app so we could find every pub in England with real ale and clean, serviced casks. This was, it turned out, not necessary. We spotted the Cask Marque seal of approval on pub doors almost everywhere we went. Knowing Ben’s obsession, Nate made sure that we’d find the best of the best at the Green Man. Ben was in heaven.

While I appreciated the taste and history of these niche beers, my interest almost always swayed the way of the food. It was at the table that I most missed Maya on this trip. Normal people order a main course, perhaps a starter to share, and, on an extraordinary day, dessert. Maya and I order everything. With hopes not to seem like a crazy woman in front of Nate, I grudgingly opted for the Normal People Route, starting with baked brie. Not just about beer, the Green Man boasted its own pastry chef and thus, the best bread I’d had in a long time. We ordered a second loaf and made sure every crumb was gone.

I did not get to try Nate’s main (see above about not looking crazy), but I appreciated its beauty and noted the use of multi-colored vegetables, something we didn’t see very often in pubs in England. (Chips and peas, chips and peas, chips and peas.)

Ben ordered the quintessential British dish, shepherd’s pie. Enveloped by a flaky crust and rich gravy, tender chunks of beef, potatoes, carrots and peas, it was the ultimate comfort dish (and my favorite of the two entrees I tried.)

I ordered a British dish I’d never heard of before: gammon steak. I’d see this on menus a few more times before we left. Essentially, it was salty ham topped with a free-range egg and served with potatoes and peas. It was, perhaps, the strangest of all of my meals. I found myself jealous that I didn’t order the shepherd’s pie.

Although our British fare (and accompanying ales) were filling, Nate demanded that we order one of his favorites for dessert: strawberries, cake and cream colliding in a sundae glass. I did not argue.

I somehow determined that I had enough room for a second dessert, as well: a simple custard accompanied by a melange of berries, including a red and black currants.

Our cozy meal ended all too soon, as did the Cambridge leg of our trip. Happily, it wasn’t the last we’d see of Nate, who trekked back to London to spend time with us later in the week. It’s not a coincidence that the dinners I enjoyed the most during our trip were the ones with good friends; they’re the best seasoning to any meal.

The Green Man
55 Trumpington High Street
Trumpington, Cambridge, CB2 1HZ
+44.1223.844903

In what’s becoming something of a November tradition, I threw a soiree shortly after Thanksgiving. Borrowing from a friend of Maya’s, I loosely termed it “Friendsgiving.” I’d cook a turkey dinner that would be outside of the constraints of family Thanksgiving. My inspiration with a list of recipes compiled by Saveur.  As is my habit when cooking for large parties, I made sure that each menu item was something I’d never made before and that I’d employ at least one or two new techniques. Just to add a little pressure to the event. (Why make it easy?)

The menu consisted of cheese puffs and olive and anchovy tarts for appetizers, oysters in Champagne sauce, roasted radishes, potato gratin, turkey confit, and a fennel and apple salad. The whole oysters-in-the-shell thing paired with the confit process scared me enough to abandon all the listed desserts and breads, as well as ask for help on the green beans, roasted squash and cranberry sauce. Even then, the meal was an undertaking.

Some things, such as blanching the spinach, were simple.

But the oyster process involved additional tools and an outside expert. My roommate, Laddan, is queen of the bivalves, and after patiently showing me how to shuck two or three of the thirty I brought home with me, she finished off the batch using a pair of rubber gloves meant for people with two left hands.

In the process, she discovered a tiny crab. And another. And another. She unearthed a total of eight live crabs while I did the same with a New York Times article from 1913 declaring the specimen an “Epicure’s Delight.” Ever the hayseed, I tossed the delicacies in the trash and held on to the experience as an after-dinner story for my guests.

While the end result was lovely, the process (which involved making the sauce twice after scrambling the eggs the first time) was way too detailed for a repeat performance. Next time, I’ll eat ‘em plain.

Happily, the vegetable dishes were simple, as they should be. I’ve begun to appreciate the vegetable side dish’s role on a dinner party menu. Not only are they inexpensive and low maintenance, but they cut through the fat of my omnivorous dishes, creating a more balanced menu.

This salad, laden with fennel and apples, was amazing and will have a recurring place in my winter diet. (I substituted water chestnuts for the hard-to-find sun choke in this version. Next time, I’ll just omit it completely.)

The most difficult part of any dinner party is managing the oven time, and this is what killed my main couse, the turkey confit. I generally sit down and time out all of my dishes early in the day, working backwards from my A.S.T. (Approximate Serving Time). Because I needed my oven to bake off my hors d’oeuvres as the guests arrived, I decided to use my cast iron on the stove top to crisp up the duck-fat enveloped turkey parts, rather than stick them under the broiler. This decision resulted in less-than-crispy poultry. Had I actually practiced the technique in advance, I would have found a different solution. But practice before the main event? Moi? Never!

My anchovy, onion and olive tarts were nice (and, happily, simple), but late out of the oven.

The winner of the evening (with the exception of that salad) were the cheese puffs. I’d totally make them again. And again. And again. The comments on the recipes page indicate that it’s absolutely necessary to follow each and every step, and I cannot agree more. My first set came out flat (because I’d temporarily removed them from the oven); the second set, perfect.

We strayed from Saveur’s menu for dessert, as I was absolutely terrified to attempt this. Instead, we chowed down on a homemade pumpkin pie, a lemon tart from Pistacia Vera (as French as you’ll get in Columbus, Ohio) and these port-soaked grapes recommended by a customer. The recipe was simple: poke toothpick-sized holes in grapes, soak them in port for a few hours and roll them in raw brown sugar.

The table was filled edge to edge with endless dishes that night. And as I struggled to try just a bite or two of every dish, I was grateful, both for the family who equipped me with the surface to eat upon and the friends who helped to provide the food, narrative and laughter to bring my sometimes-table to life.

Onion and Anchovy Tarts
from Saveur, Issue #134

Makes 32 mini tarts

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 teaspoons minced fresh thyme
2 large red onions, halved length-wise and thinly sliced
2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoons red wine vinegar
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
10 salt-cured black olives, pitted and minced (I used a Mediterranean mix)
2 9″ x 11″ sheets frozen puff pastry, thawed
8 oil-packed anchovy filets, drained, cut into 4 slivers each
Minced chives or flat-leaf parsley, for garnish

1. Heat oil in a 12″ skillet over medium heat. Add thyme and onions and cook, partially covered, stirring occasionally, until very soft, 30 minutes. Increase heat to medium-high, add sugar and vinegar, and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring, until caramelized, 12–15 minutes. Stir in olives, remove from heat, and set aside.

2. Meanwhile, heat oven to 400°. Roll out puff pastry to 1/8″ thickness. Using a 2 1/2″ cookie cutter, cut out 16 circles from each sheet. Transfer pastry circles to 2 parchment paper—lined baking sheets and prick each circle all over with tines of a fork. Cover circles with a sheet of parchment and another baking sheet; bake until light golden brown, 15–18 minutes. Uncover and bake until golden brown, 2–3 minutes more. Transfer circles to a large serving platter, spoon about 1 tsp. onion mixture over each, and top with a sliver of anchovy. Garnish with chives.

French Cheese Puffs
from Saveur, Issue #30

Makes 3 dozen

8 tablespoons butter, cut into pieces
3/4 cup milk
Salt and freshly ground white pepper
1 cup flour
4 eggs, at room temperature
1 1/2 cups grated comté or gruyère cheese

1. Preheat oven to 400°. Combine butter, 1/2 cup milk, and 1/2 cup water in a medium saucepan over high heat. Season generously with salt and pepper. Bring to a boil; when butter has melted, remove pan from heat. Add flour all at once and stir vigorously with a wooden spoon until mixture forms a thick dough and pulls away from the sides of the pan, 1–2 minutes. Return pan to heat for 1 minute, stirring constantly. Remove from heat.

2. Let dough cool to room temperature, then beat in eggs, one at a time, making sure each egg is completely incorporated into mixture and dough is smooth after each addition. Dough should be thick, shiny, and smooth. Add 1 cup of the cheese and beat in until well combined.

3. Spoon tablespoon-size mounds of dough on nonstick baking sheets, leaving about 1” between each. Brush tops with remaining 1/4 cup milk, then sprinkle with remaining 1/2 cup cheese. Working in batches, bake in lower third of oven until doubled in size and golden, 20–25 minutes. Serve warm or at room temperature.

Oysters in Champagne Sauce
from Saveur, Issue #12

Serves 4-6

3/4 lb. fresh spinach
24 large oysters (about 3”) such as bluepoint
Rock salt
3/4 cup champagne (or white wine)
3/4 cup fish stock
3/4 cup heavy cream
3 egg yolks
Salt and freshly ground white pepper

1. Trim, wash, and blanch spinach. Squeeze dry; set aside. Shuck oysters, then place in a medium saucepan with oyster liquor, cover, and simmer over medium-low heat until oysters are opaque and slightly firm, 1–3 minutes. Remove oysters with a slotted spoon. Strain liquor through a fine sieve, return to pan, and set aside.

2. Wash and dry half the shells; discard the rest. Pour about 1/2” rock salt onto 4 or 6 ovenproof plates; divide shells between plates, arranging them in a circle in the salt on each plate.

3. Bring champagne to a boil in a small saucepan over medium-high heat. Cook until reduced by half, 8–10 minutes, then set aside to cool.

4. Add fish stock to oyster liquor. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, cook until almost syrupy, 12–15 minutes, then add cream and cook, stirring, until reduced by two-thirds, 10–12 minutes.

5. Transfer reduced champagne to the top of a double boiler over simmering water over medium-low heat. Whisk in egg yolks and cook until thick and shiny, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and fold in stock mixture. Season to taste with salt and pepper.

6. Preheat broiler. Spread a thin layer of spinach in each shell and top with 1 oyster and 1–2 tbsp. sauce. Broil for 3–5 minutes. Serve hot.

Roasted Radishes
from Saveur, Issue #126

Serves 2-4

3 bunches assorted radishes (about 1 1⁄2 lbs.)
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
6 sprigs fresh thyme
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Potato Gratin
from Saveur, Issue #98

Serves 6

5 tbsp. butter
2 garlic cloves
Salt
6 large waxy potatoes (about 2 1⁄2 pounds), such as red bliss, peeled and sliced about 1⁄8″ thick
2 cups half-and-half
Freshly ground black pepper
Fresh nutmeg
1 cup grated gruyère

1. Preheat oven to 400°. Rub the inside of an 8″ × 8″ baking dish with 1 tbsp. of the butter. Smash garlic with the side of a knife and sprinkle generously with salt. Chop and scrape the garlic into a mushy paste.

2. Combine garlic paste, potatoes, half-and-half, and remaining 4 tbsp. butter (cut into 1⁄2″ pieces) in a pot; stir. Season with salt and pepper and taste the creamy liquid—it should be seasoned generously. Grate in a hint of nutmeg. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat while stirring the mixture with a wooden spoon. After 8–10 minutes the potatoes will be a little tender, and their starch will have thickened the liquid considerably.

3. Transfer the mixture to the prepared dish; smooth the top as much as possible. Cover the gratin with gruyère and bake until deeply golden brown, about 20–30 minutes. Let gratin cool and set a little before serving.

Turkey Confit
from Saveur, Issue #115

Serves 4-6

Legs and wings of a 12-lb. turkey
1 teaspoon rubbed sage
1 teaspoon dried thyme
2 dried bay leaves
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
4 quarts rendered duck fat

1. Pat dry the legs and wings of the turkey. Transfer turkey to a baking sheet.

2. In a spice grinder, finely grind sage, thyme, and bay leaves. Rub turkey with herbs and sprinkle generously with salt and black pepper; chill overnight, uncovered.

3. Heat oven to 325°. Heat duck fat in a 6-qt. pot over low heat. Transfer turkey to a 13″ x 16″ x 3″ roasting pan; pour fat over turkey. Cover pan with foil; bake until very tender, about 3 hours. Let cool; refrigerate for up to 1 week.

4. When ready to serve, place pan of confit in a 500° oven and bake until fat is just liquefied. Remove from oven and transfer turkey parts (without fat) to a baking pan, skin side up. Roast until browned and crisp, about 20 minutes. (Reserve fat for another use.)

Fennel and Apple Salad
adapted from Saveur, #110

1⁄2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons rice vinegar
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons chopped fresh chives
2 tablespoons. chopped fennel fronds
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper  to taste
8 radishes, trimmed and very thinly sliced
6 sunchokes, peeled and very thinly sliced (optional)
2 gala or fuji apples, cored and very thinly sliced
2 fennel bulbs, trimmed, cored, and very thinly sliced

1. In a bowl, whisk together oil, vinegar, lemon juice, chives, and fennel fronds to make a smooth vinaigrette. Season vinaigrette with salt and pepper to taste.

2. Add radishes, sunchokes, apples, and fennel. Toss well, cover, and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes or up to 1 day, to allow the flavors to come together. Season with salt and pepper before serving.