Beef bourguignon? Deviled duck legs? Dazzling halibut? There's still time to pull together a festive NYE dinner

We couldn’t be happier to say goodbye to 2020. Why not ring in the new year with something delicious?

Don’t worry — even you’re not thinking about it till this afternoon, there’s still time to pull together a great dinner. Small gathering? If you’re two or three or four, a delicious braised dish like beef bourguignon will fill your living space with wonderful, warm aromas, and even probably leave you with fabulous leftovers.

Though it’s luxurious, the ingredients are not terribly expensive (chuck roast, mushrooms, pearl onions, bacon). If you’re a meat-lover, it’s one of the most glorious dishes you can make.

RECIPE: Beef Bourguignon

Prefer something super-easy? Deviled Duck Legs Provençal is another French dish that will delight.

Of course it depends whether you can get duck legs; they did have them at my local Whole Foods yesterday). Once you have them in your hot little kitchen, the rest is easy. All that’s required to prep them is a dusting of herbs, a smear of Dijon mustard and a coat of panko bread crumbs — shove them in the oven, and 90 minutes to an hour 45 minutes later, you’ve got these beauties.

Deviled Duck Legs Provençal with braised lentils

RECIPE: Deviled Duck Legs Provençal

In our photo, the duck leg is served with saucy braised French green lentils. To make the lentils, chop half an onion (or a shallot or two), a carrot and two stalks of celery, cook them in olive oil or duck fat until tender (about 7 minutes), add a pound of French green lentils and enough water or red wine to cover by an inch or so, plus maybe a bay leaf and/or a branch of thyme and simmer until the lentils are tender, about 20 or 25 minutes. Add more liquid if necessary to keep them very saucy.

Like the Beef Bourguignon, the duck and the lentils are also excellent the next day.

Seared halibut on ginger vinaigrette: a 10-minute dazzler!

Finally, here’s a light, quick and easy ginger vinaigrette that turns any piece of fish — or shrimp, or a grilled or sautéed chicken breast — into a 10-minute dazzler.

Here’s the vinaigrette recipe, sized for two portions (you can double or triple it for more servings):

RECIPE: Ginger Vinaigrette

And here’s the recipe including instructions for halibut:

RECIPE: Seared Halibut in Ginger Vinaigrette

Wishing you and yours a wonderful New Year’s Eve, and a happy, healthy and prosperous 2021! May we all enjoy better times ahead!

Mini-Thanksgiving for a maxi-weird year: Keeping it small, delicious and stress-free

Who says a Thanksgiving turkey has to be ginormous? This roasted beauty is less than 8 pounds.

Think small.

This year’s Thanksgiving mantra often leads to suggestions of roasting just a turkey breast, or skipping turkey in favor of a jazzy autumn vegan centerpiece, or ordering a complete Thanksgiving menu from a local restaurant.

All wonderful ideas! But if you can’t help but feel that Thanksgiving isn’t Thanksgiving without a turkey, and that leftovers are the best part of the holiday, consider this: You can roast a small turkey. How small? I found a flock at Whole Foods a couple weeks ago that were around 8 pounds, and less. A 10-pound bird may be considerably smaller than what you’re used to; you should be able to find that size pretty easily. You can make just one of two sides. You can skip the cranberry sauce, if you think it clashes with the wine.

Roasting a whole small (or smallish) turkey gives you the luxurious freedom to contemplate that monumental white-meat-vs.-dark-meat decision. (Have both!) You can gnaw on that wing bone, with all that fabulous crispy skin. You can wake up the next morning and eat leftover turkey for breakfast. You deserve it, as this epic annus horribilis crawls to a close.

Another thing you and your family or small party of pod-mates deserve: All the dark-meat-lovers at the table can treat themselves to an entire thigh or drumstick. When has that ever happened?

Then, in the days that follow, you can all enjoy turkey tetrazzini, or turkey soup — or use leftover turkey meat to make turkey enchiladas verdes (swap the turkey for chicken in this recipe). Or do all three, or a combination of endless other possibilities.

As long as there will be eat least two or three people eating that bird, it’s a fabulous (and even thrifty) way of keeping you all fed for a week.

About that crispy skin: I read somewhere this year that no one wants the skin, and that it’s never crispy. Perhaps they’ve never invited a dry-brined bird to the table!

Go ahead — help yourself to a drumstick! You deserve it.

Using the dry-brine method — rubbing it with salt two or three days in advance of roasting — leads to juicy, delicious meat and beautiful crisp skin.

[Hey, are you thinking of dry-brining for the first time? We just created a free mini-course to help you. ]

Another way to think small: You can make just one or two sides. Maybe one fancy, and one super-simple. Skip the made-from-scratch Parker House rolls and buy some frozen ones. Frozen peas are legit. Order a pie from a local bakery that’s struggling, or a pastry chef that’s launched pandemic pie pop-up.

This year, I made some tweaks to a savory sweet potato gratin I’ve been enjoying every Thanksgiving for ages, and I love it even better. The original version was layered sweet potato slices baked in lots of thyme-infused cream; I pulled back the cream a bit, set the slices on their side, rather than laying them flat – for more interesting texture and visual appeal – and added sage butter to the equation. It’s a pretty fabulous indulgence, one that’s just as spectacular the next day. And the next.

Of course we have other recipes for you. Here is a chestnut-porcini stuffing that you can customize as you like.

Here’s my favorite recipe for Brussels Sprout Leaves with Mirepoix and Pancetta, adapted from a Paul Bertolli recipe in Chez Panisse Cooking. This year, I tried slicing the Brussels sprouts thin instead of separating every leaf — way less time-consuming, and almost as good.

Here is our recipe for dry-brined turkey, for which you can use a small bird (or large).

And here’s a recipe for dry-brined turkey that includes a really good Cognac sauce.

Happy Thanksgiving. Stay healthy and safe.

And remember that holiday is a time for reflection and redress; the story about Native Americans celebrating joyfully with friendly pilgrims is a myth and a lie, as Brett Anderson’s excellent New York Times story explains.

Head over to our Cooks Without Borders Community Forum with any questions about Thanksgiving cooking; we’ll be happy to answer them.

RECIPE: Chestnut-Porcini Stuffing

RECIPE: Savory Sweet Potato Gratin with Sage-Butter and Thyme

RECIPE: Brussels Sprouts Leaves with Mirepoix and Pancetta

RECIPE: Roasted Turkey (Dry-Brined)

RECIPE: Dry-Brined Roast Turkey with Really Good Cognac Sauce

Shrimp and grits from Marcus Samuelsson's new 'The Rise' is the best we've ever eaten. Ever.

I’ve eaten my share of shrimp and grits in my time. OK, maybe more than my share. As a longtime newspaper food editor, then a restaurant critic for 8 years, I’ve eaten more than my share of everything.

Among all those shrimp and all those many grits, the best rendition I’ve ever eaten — by far — was one I prepared in my own kitchen just last week. The credit goes to Marcus Samuelsson, in whose new cookbook — The Rise — I found the awesome recipe.

I’m in process of cooking my way through the book in order to write a review, but I wanted to share the dish with you while okra is still in season (it will likely end very soon). The recipe — which Samuelsson calls “Papa Ed’s Shrimp and Grits” — was inspired by, and serves as an homage to, Ed Brumfield, executive chef of Red Rooster, Samuelsson’s restaurant in Harlem.

Most of the shrimp and grits I’ve eaten have been a basic low-country style, the shrimp poached in a rich gravy and spooned over cheesy grits. Toni Tipton-Martin sheds valuable light on the history of the dish and its styles in her much lauded (and wonderful) book Jubilee: Recipes from Two Centuries of African American Cooking:

“Shrimp and grits are everywhere on restaurant menus, but harder to find in African American cookbooks unless you know what you’re looking for: The historian Arturo Schomburg called it ‘breakfast shrimp with hominy.’ In Gullah-Geechee parlance, it’s gone by names like shrimp gravy or smuttered shrimp. Casual Louisiana Creoles might call it breakfast shrimp with tomatoes.”

It is the more tomatoey, Creole direction Samuelsson takes for the dish in The Rise; it includes a small dice of okra, as well. The lively sauce, smoky with paprika and spicy with cayenne, is bright and piquant enough to beautifully balance those cheesy, rich grits. (Are you hungry yet?) It’s much like a quick shrimp gumbo served on grits.

My favorite shrimp and grits ever is not difficult to make. It calls for fish stock (we used shrimp stock, a substitution that’s acknowledged in our adaptation of the recipe). Because we’re in the habit of buying shrimp in the shell and freezing the shells for the purpose, we were able to whip up a quick shell stock before making it; you’ll find the method toward the end of our shrimp, andouille sausage and gumbo recipe. I suspect purchased low-sodium chicken broth would also work, as would clam juice diluted in with water and chicken broth in a 2:1:1 proportion.

Though I used fresh okra, as the recipe specifies, if you can’t find fresh, I also suspect frozen would work fine. (I like to buy an extra pound of beautiful okra during the season, which I trim and freeze in a zipper bag, just to have for such moments. It freezes beautifully, so if you do see it, consider grabbing some extra.) Just let it thaw before you dice it.

If you make this dish, I hope you enjoy it as much as we did. I could even imagine, if okra is still around then, making it the centerpiece of a Black Food MattersThanksgiving dinner.

RECIPE: Papa Ed’s Shrimp and Grits

What to make this weekend: world-class Beef Bourguignon. You and your family deserve it!

When the weather starts to cool down, there’s nothing as appealing as a living space filled with gorgeous cooking aromas — the kind that come most easily from long-braised dishes. And if you are an omnivore, it’s hard to imagine anything more alluring than the aroma of beef bourguignon, France’s classic stew, simmering in the oven.

In normal times, I think of the dish as something celebratory, or as a dish to enjoy with great friends on a weekend evening with a good bottle of wine.

But during The Great Confinement, we need ways to make family dinners feel special — and now that there’s a nip in the air, this classic fits the bill sumptuously. As Julia Child wrote in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, “Carefully done, and perfectly flavored, it is certainly one of the most delicious beef dishes concocted by man.”

Though you see it done many different ways in the United States, in France the dish is straightforward: It’s cubes of saucy wine-braised beef garnished with mushrooms, pearl onions and lardons (small bars of bacon). Though carrots and celery add significant flavor in the braising, they get strained out before giving the dish its finishing touch: that garnish.

There are no potatoes in the dish (ever), though beef bourguignon is usually served with potatoes — boiled is traditional (toss them with butter and parsley), though many (including some French people) prefer mashed. Buttered noodles are a legit choice as well, according to Child, though my French husband disagrees.

Don’t be in a rush when you make this; once the meat is brown and the thing is assembled, it braises for about an hour and 45 minutes. But as long as time is on your side, it’s not nearly as demanding to put together as you might think.

“Carefully done, and perfectly flavored, it is certainly one of the most delicious beef dishes concocted by man.” — Julia Child

I used to think the peskiest part was browning the cubes of beef: It takes forever to brown them on each side. But inspired by a 2016 story by Serious Eats’ Daniel Gritzer, I started playing with the browning, and agree wholeheartedly with him that in fact it’s best not to do so much browning. My solution is a little different than his: Brown each cube well on one side, then give another side just a quick sear. Compared to the old way, it goes very quickly, and the result is much more tender.

Since publishing our story about it a few years ago, I’ve discovered another time-saving innovation: Rather than blanching and peeling a pound of pearl onions, pick up a pack of frozen ones, which will be already peeled. There might be a teeny, tiny deficit of flavor in the onions themselves, but honestly, it’s barely discernible, and worth it if you want to save a little time and effort. (I can usually find them at my local Trader Joe’s.)

It’s not hard to find the main ingredients: beef chuck, button mushrooms, slab bacon (thick-cut will do in a pinch), pearl onions, red wine, beef shanks. If you don’t find shanks, just buy extra chuck.

Don’t spend much on the wine; use an under-$12 bottle. (Save your wine dollars for whatever you’ll drink with it.) Enjoy the aromas while it cooks, enjoy the dish with your family — and raise a glass to the day we can gather safely with friends once again. I’ll bet you’ll like this dish so much you’ll repeat it for them.

RECIPE: Beef Bourguignon

Celebrate World Butter Chicken Day with the real thing — made quicker, easier and lip-smackingly delicious

Earlier this year — just before The Great Confinement — I became obsessed with butter chicken, and in April tracked down the Delhi-based chef, Monish Gujral, whose grandfather invented the dish.

Since then, I’ve normalized my relationship to the dish, which has taken its place in our home as a favorite for those times when we crave easy-to-conjure comfort that also transports.

READ: “Obsessed with butter chicken: Our recipe follows the world’s favorite Indian dish faithfully back to its origin”

Following the conversations chef Gujral and I had about the dish and its history in April, we have stayed in touch, and in September he texted to say that Moti Mahal — the restaurant where Kundan Lal Gujral invented butter chicken — would soon be celebrating its 100 year anniversary. It opened in October 1920.

I suggested he proclaim the appropriate date in October to be World Butter Chicken Day, to be celebrated every year. After all, butter chicken is no doubt the most popular Indian dish in the universe. It needs a food holiday! The exact date of Moti Mahal’s founding is unknown, so Gujral chose October 20, the birthday of his own son, who Monish says “looks like his great-grandfather,” Kundan Lal.

Monish Gujral, with tandoori chicken — which his grandfather, Kundan Lal Gujral, invented | Photo courtesy of Moti Mahal

So there you have it: this coming Tuesday, October 20 will be the first-ever World Butter Chicken Day. (A bit of research led me to understand that’s how these food holidays get created: Someone simply creates them, and they either catch on or they don’t.) 

#WorldButterChickenDay is an auspicious day, of course, to enjoy murgh makhani (butter chicken in Hindi), salute its origin — and (it struck us both) make a tax-deductible contribution to the United Nations’ World Food Programme or other nonprofit organization fighting global hunger.

With all the excitement around murgh makhani and its origins, it has also felt like the moment to revisit our Ultimate Butter Chicken recipe, my adaptation of Gujral’s original. Keeping as close as practicable to his recipe, published in his 2009 book, Moti Mahal: On the Butter Chicken Trail (later re-published in as On the Butter Chicken Trail, Ultimate Butter Chicken has been the gold-standard murgh makhani in our kitchen. However, it requires four hours of marination, leading me on occasion to reach instead for Urvashi Pitre’s excellent Instant Pot version.

That said, for all the ease and quickness of Pitre’s recipe, which gets to the table in 30 minutes, it sometimes leaves me missing the depth of flavor that marinated-then-roasted chicken — more like tandoori chicken — brings to the dish. (For the Instant Pot version, raw chicken is pressure-cooked in the sauce components.)

Back into the test kitchen I went, playing with murgh makhani, and I’m excited to debut a new, greatly simplified version: World Butter Chicken. It’s much much quicker to execute than Gujral’s excellent version, and if my extremely critical family is to be believed, it’s every bit as wonderful.

The secret of the recipe is compressing the original two-step, four-hour marination into a one-and-a-half step one-hour marination. The resulting chicken tandoori thighs are perhaps even better than the first iteration; I’d be thrilled to eat them even without the sumptuous butter chicken sauce.

Nipping three hours out of the marination time means it’s on the table in 90 minutes or less, an hour of which is unattended marinating time. That’s when you can make the cucumber raita and coriander chutney that are great to serve with it, and get basmati rice ready to cook. While the chicken thighs roast (20 to 35 minutes depending on their size), you can make the sauce and the rice. 

Congratulations to Moti Mahal on its first hundred years, and many thanks to Monish Gujral and his family for the gift of murgh makhani.

Happy World Butter Chicken Day!

RECIPE: World Butter Chicken

What to make this weekend: Baked kofta with eggplant and tomato from Sami Tamimi's 'Falastin'

Autumn is my favorite time of year to cook. The kitchen feels cozy (even if it’s still hot outside, as it is here in North Texas), and the ingredients speak to my soul.

It feels like the perfect time — while tomatoes are still happening — to make these baked kofta from Sami Tamimi and Tara Wigley’s recent book, Falastin.

Each kofta is a meltingly tender, intensely flavorful package made by stacking ingredients: a slice of roasted eggplant; a kofta patty made from lamb, beef, onion, garlic, tomato, herbs and spices; a slice of tomato, some rustic tomato sauce.

The aroma as they roast is intoxicating.

Garnished with fresh herbs and toasted pine nuts, it’s a dish that’s at once homey and sophisticated, comfortingly familiar yet gorgeously spiced.

Served with rice, couscous, roasted potatoes or a root-vegetable purée, it makes a smashing fall dinner.

If by some miracle every kofta is not gobbled up, they reheat brilliantly.

RECIPE: ‘Falastin’ Baked Kofta

Inspired by Diana Henry, this ridiculously easy autumn fruit-and-almond cake is a show-stopper

This time of year, when late-season plums are offering one last chance, and black Mission figs beckon plumply, I love to throw them together with juicy blackberries and bake them onto an absurdly easy-to-make cake.

The Autumn Fruit and Almond Cake was inspired by a summer fruit and almond cake from the 2016 cookbook Simple: Effortless Food, Big Flavors by the British author Diana Henry.

Although it bakes for quite a long time (an hour and a half to an hour and 45 minutes), the actual work involved is minimal. For the fruit topping, slice figs in half, slice two plums, toss with berries and a little sugar. For the cake, dump all the ingredients in a food processor and blitz them. Pour and spread the batter in a parchment-lined springform pan. Arrange the fruit on top. Bake, cool, remove pan ring, sprinkle with powdered sugar.

Not overly sweet, it’s a spectacular treat for lovers of fruit desserts. Almonds in the form of marzipan adds a wonderful toothsome texture, and the almondy flavor marries beautifully with the figs and other fruit. Sour cream keeps it super-moist.

RECIPE: Autumn Fruit and Almond Cake

Deviled Duck Legs Provençal: a rich, herbal, piquant and crunchy example of how recipes evolve

Recipe provenance is a hot topic among food writers at the moment, as efforts to avoid cultural appropriation and give creators their proper due is top-of-mind. In his “What to Cook” column last week, New York Times food editor Sam Sifton announced changes to the way that important publication will be acknowledging provenance in its recipes henceforth. 

We applaud the Times’ new focus on transparency. Here at Cooks Without Borders, we’ve always tried to be mindful of crediting creators whose recipes we’ve adapted. And now, as we are in the process of adding recipe cards to each of our recipes (yaaas!), we have been simultaneously taking stock of our own acknowledgement of provenance — fine-toothing our recipe archives to shine the spotlight a bit brighter on recipes’ originators. 

Sometimes it even results in a name-change for a dish, usually one we’ve adapted from a cookbook. Raw Zucchini Salad with Green Olives, Mint and Pecorino, for instance, is now A16’s Raw Zucchini Salad with Green Olives, Mint and Pecorino. Although we had previously acknowledged Nate Appleman and Shelly Lindgren and their 2008 cookbook, A16 Food + Wine, as the source of the recipe, we thought it would be even better to commemorate the provenance directly in the dish’s name. 

Still . . . the whole issue of who actually creates recipes is often much more complicated than who wrote them down and got them published in a book, or served them in a restaurant. The truth is that dishes generally evolve over time — getting tweaked, changed, added to, zhuzzhed and riffed on by cooks around the world, in the course of years and decades and centuries. Occasionally a brand-new dish springs fully realized from the head of a creator, but that’s the exception rather than the rule. 

Deviled Duck Leg Provençal served with saucy braised lentils

So, if we adapt a recipe for, say, moussaka from a cookbook author who learned that recipe from a home cook in Greece, how should we handle that? It’s not as simple as it might seem. Certainly we credit the cookbook author in the headnote, but probably not in the name of the recipe. It’s totally a judgement call, and we try to err on the side of too much credit rather than too little. That said, it’s the home cook back in Greece who gets the short end of the wooden spoon, which is not ideal. 

Now and then, we’re able to trace the evolution of a dish — at least somewhat — and I always find it uncommonly satisfying.

Deviled Duck Legs Provençal is a case in point. I was introduced to it by a Los Angeles Times story by Regina Schrambling back in 2003, shortly before I joined the staff of the Times. In the story, Schrambling explained that she found the basis for the dish — duck legs rubbed with Dijon mustard and coated with bread crumbs — in Madeleine Kamman’s book In Madeleine’s Kitchen. Shrambling’s own touches were adding herbes de Provence and swapping panko for regular bread crumbs. 

Now that that’s straight, consider the dish itself: slow-baked duck legs, rich and meaty, with a bright tang of Dijon, lovely herbal notes and the delightful crunch of panko. For something so easy to achieve, it’s pretty damn fabulous. 

Serve it on undressed spring mix, as Shrambling suggested lo those many years ago, or on arugula or frisée, and let the salad sop up the duck’s juices.

Or go the lentil route, and simmer up a saucy batch of French green lentils braised in red wine with mirepoix. We haven’t put together an actual recipe for those lentils yet, but they’re a snap to make. Cut a carrot, a stalk of celery and about an equal amount of onion or shallot into small dice, sweat those in a little olive oil with a branch or two of thyme, add French green lentils, coat them with the mirepoix mixture and let them cook a minute. Add some red wine to cover, bring to a boil, let the alcohol cook off, then lower the heat and simmer till the lentils are just tender, about 20 or 25 minutes depending on the lentils, stirring now and then. Add more wine as necessary to keep the lentils happy (you can also add water or chicken broth if you prefer). Keep it a little wet and saucy at the end: You’ll want that winey sauce.

Want to make it even more luxurious? Whisk in a little butter at the end.

Aw, go on — you deserve it.

RECIPE: Deviled Duck Legs Provençal

Glorious and festive, Moroccan-ish couscous with chicken, lamb, chickpeas and veg exuberantly celebrates autumn

My version of Chicken and Lamb Couscous — one of my favorite things to eat in the fall (and into the winter) — is absolutely unpedigreed; I didn’t turn it up from a Moroccan cookbook; it wasn’t taught to me by a Tunisian friend.

Rather, way back when I was 20 or 21, a friend gave me a copy of one of the awesome Time-Life The Good Cook cookbooks — the one titled Pasta, which had just been published. Tucked between sections about rolling out fresh pasta dough, stuffing and cutting ravioli and layering lasagnas was one called “Couscous: A Full Meal from One Pot.” Couscous was included because couscous grains, made from semolina flour, are technically pasta. Pictured and explicated was the process of achieving a magnificent-looking platter of couscous topped with a saffron-and-cinnamon-scented stew of lamb, chicken, vegetables and chick peas.

I was instantly captivated. My only experience with such a dish at that point was feasting on it at two then-well-known Los Angeles restaurants, Dar Mahgreb and Moun of Tunis. The book showed how to dampen the grains, rake the moisture through with your fingers, steam them in a couscoussier (real or improvised), make the stew and serve it with harissa and a tureen of broth.

As anyone who has ever used the books in that (long out-of-print) Time-Life series knows, they are technique-based, with lots of step-by-step photos, and recipes only at the end. So literally for decades, I’ve made this couscous by following that rough guide, guessing at the amounts of ingredients, tweaking and changing things over the years, without looking at an actual recipe. I followed brief and sketchy instructions in a sidebar to make harissa.

When you think about it, it’s actually the way you learn to cook at home, if you have a parent who cooks teaching you: a little of this, some of that, until it looks like this. It’s why I treasure the series, a project that was overseen by Chief Series Consultant Richard Olney.

What I love about this chicken and lamb couscous is that you can make it as simple or as complicated as you like. Make your own harissa — soaking and grinding dried chiles and spices — or buy a tube (it’s really good). Go through the extraordinary process of moistening and rubbing and steaming couscous grains two or three times, or make a box of instant couscous in five minutes flat. Soak dried chickpeas overnight and simmer them for hours with the lamb and chicken, or add a couple cans of chickpeas toward the end.

You can buy harissa — the fiery North African chile sauce — in a tube, can or jar — or make your own.

And you know what? No matter how many shortcuts you take, the dish is always glorious — even if it isn’t faithful to any particular traditional recipe.

So why would anyone go through the trouble of making the couscous the longwinded traditional steamed way? Because it’s much lighter and flufflier. (More about that in a future story.)

Our recipe is a two-fer, offering the easiest possible version and a more elaborate one. Go either route — or choose the elements from each that appeal. Most often, I use dried chickpeas, but take the quickie route with the couscous grains, using instant. Every couple of years I make a batch of homemade harissa, which I use if I have it. (We’ll feature a recipe here soon!) Otherwise, I’m happy to use store-bought, a condiment I always like to have around. My preferred brand is one that comes in a tube, Dea from France; I also like one Trader Joe’s sells in a jar, from Tunisia.

The stew itself is made by simmering lamb and chicken pieces with onion, carrot, spices (including harissa), tomatoes and cilantro, then adding turnips, more carrots, zucchini and roasted red pepper. As mentioned, the chickpeas get simmered with the meats (if they’re dried) or added with the zucchini (if they’re canned). Optional roasted winter squash is added on top, along with grilled merguez sausages (also optional).

Stick with the amounts of vegetables or meats I suggest, or adjust them up or down, depending on what you have on hand. Do you prefer white meat chicken to the legs and thighs the recipe suggests? Swap ‘em. Want to toss in some yellow crookneck squash? Do it.

One moving target for me over the years has been winter squash. I’ve never been crazy about the boiled pumpkin The Time-Life book suggested. At some point I started roasting acorn squash, adding that at the end, but lately I’ve been using delicata squash — which I love because the flavor’s beautiful and the skin is very tender. Other times I do without.

To serve the dish, pass the platter of couscous piled with meats and vegetables around the table, along with a separate pitcher of extra broth, and a dish of harissa. Diners help themselves to the grains and stew, pouring on as much extra broth as they like. Pro tip: place a small dollop of harissa in your soup spoon, stir in some broth to liquify it, and sprinkle it over the stew.

Honestly, it’s pretty dreamy. The batch is gigantic, which is great if you’re feeding a big crowd. Use less meat and water, if it sounds too big for your crew. That said, it is just as delicious the next day. Or two. Or three. I enjoy the leftovers as much as round one.

Hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

RECIPE: Chicken and Lamb Couscous

Cookbooks We Love: Camille Fourmont’s ‘La Buvette’ lets you live (and eat!) the vibe of Paris' 11th

La Buvette: Recipes & Wine Notes from Paris, by Camille Fourmont and Kate Leahy, 2020, Ten Speed Press, $24.99

Backgrounder: Camille Fourmont opened her cave à manger (wine bar with snacks), La Buvette, in 2013 in a dull stretch of what was rapidly becoming a hot Paris neighborhood, the 11th arrondissement. It was an instant hit: called “hyper-fashionable” by the New York Times and named Wine Bar of the Year in 2014 by Le Fooding. A buvette is a refreshment stand, and La Buvette is tiny; Le Fooding calls it “about the size of a sardine tin.” It’s a good metaphor, as there’s no kitchen — just a fridge, a wooden cutting board and a portable burner. What Fourmont serves (she’s cook, sommelier, bartender, etc.) is smart little bites put together from great ingredients, including some that come from cans, like her famous gros haricots blancs au zeste de citron — gigante beans with lemon zest.

Why we love it: La Buvette is a modest book of small ambition, great charm and a sweet foreword by co-author Kate Leahy. Fourmont, who describes herself as an “untrained cook,” shares stories that make you feel part of the intimate little scene and recipes that come from what’s obviously her great palate. Most of them are perfect for “apéro” — France’s version of happy hour, which involves an apéritif or glass of wine and a little bite to go with it. Many are super easy to put together, really more ideas than recipes — like those beans, which “people come from all over the planet to eat,” as her headnote explains.

La Buvette’s ‘Famous’ Gros Haricots Blancs au Zeste de Citron made using dried gigante beans in the Cooks Without Borders kitchen.

The dish was born early on when Fourmont opened a can of giant white judión beans imported from Spain and seasoned them with olive oil, Maldon salt and bergamot zest. “The key to this very simple dish,” she writes, “is the fresh citrus grated on top, which brightens the flavor of the beans.” She changes citrus according to the season, “from bergamot to mandarin to lemon or citron,” and sometimes decorates the beans with a few edible flowers, such as chive or garlic blossoms.

It’s not so easy to find plain canned giant white beans stateside (most I find are swimming in tomato sauce), but if you can put your hands on dried gigantes, you can cook them up. Then, following Fourmont’s instructions, put them on a plate, drizzle them with your best olive oil “until the beans look shiny, add a good pinch of salt and grate zest directly over the top to finsh.” That is literally it for the recipe. I have made gigante beans a bunch of different ways, and as simple as this one is, it is my hands-down favorite.

Besides the dishes she serves at La Buvette — which include pickles, flavored butters, things to do with cheese and some simple charcuterie — there are also “Anytime Recipes” Fourmont puts together at home. They’re the kind of “imprecise recipes that allow freedom to add more of a favorite ingredient or to be flexible with what you do have on hand.” In other words, perfect for cooking from a pandemic pantry. There are things to do with sardines (serve them with flavored butter and halved seared-till-caramelized lemons), unusual salads (like green bean, white peach and fresh almond), a “really buttery” simplified croque monsieur and an anchovy, egg yolk and hazelnut pasta that’s a riff on carbonara. We haven’t made these yet, but have our eye on that croque monsieur.

You’ve gotta try this: Another chapter, “Le Goûter,” offers treats for afternoon snack, which in France usually means something sweet. It’s here we found Fourmont’s recipe for Rose, Cumin and Apricot Sablés. Tender, buttery and savory from the cumin — with a lovely sandy texture and a beautiful whisper of dried rose petal (sounds like a wine description!) — they’re one of the best cookies ever to come out of our kitchen.

Rose, Cumin and Apricot Sablés from Camille Fourmont’s ‘La Buvette’ cookbook

From the “At La Buvette” chapter, we got a kick out of making cured magret — duck breasts — which is so much easier and quicker than you’d think. Besides the duck breasts, only salt and pepper are involved, and they’re ready in two or three weeks. Just bury the breasts in salt, leave in fridge 12 hours, wipe them off, add pepper, loosely wrap them in a kitchen towel and let them cure tucked away in the fridge till firm and dry to the touch. Slice and serve: The result is pretty stunning.

Slices of Cured Magret

I couldn’t resist trying a “classic chocolate mousse,” which Fourmont and Leahy adapted from Trish Desein’s Je Veux du Chocolat! It was very good and easy to achieve, but much denser than what I think of as a classic mousse. In fact it was so dense and rich none of the three of us could eat more than half a serving — which felt like a miracle, considering we enjoyed it so.

I was torn about whether to offer the recipe, as it’s so dense and intense (definitely for serious chocolate lovers), and in the end decided to skip it. We’d happily reconsider, though, if there is interest — do let us know.

Still wanna cook: Rillettes! Our favorite sandwiches in France, filled with the potted pork spread known as rillettes, and accented with cornichons, have become harder and harder to find there in the last 10 years. (According to Fourmont’s headnote butchers at Rungis, the wholesale market outside of Paris, pack into a cafe called Le Saint Hubert to eat sandwichs rillettes at 4 or 5 a.m.) Fourmont’s recipe, adapted from Terrines by Le Repaire de Cartouche’s Rodolphe Paquin, looks approachable and easy. If it’s as good as it looks, we’ll be slathering baguettes with it sooner rather than later.

RECIPE: Rose, Cumin and Apricot Sablés

RECIPE: Cured Magret

Classic cookbook review reprised: ‘Lidia's Mastering the Art of Italian Cuisine’

EDITOR’S NOTE: We reviewed this book shortly after it was published, on February 28, 2016. We have come back to it again and again since then; it has very much shaped up to be a classic. Here’s our 2016 review.

"Everything you need to know to be a great Italian cook." That's the subtitle of Lidia Bastianich's Lidia's Mastering the Art of Italian Cuisine. Hard to resist, right? 

Here's the short review: Bastianich's book is a new classic – something you'll want on your shelf as a reference, a manual and (perhaps to a lesser degree) a source of inspiration. Want to hear more? Read on.

The book is particularly strong on technique, and on offering thoughtful variations on basic recipes, like ragù alla Bolognese. And it's comprehensive: I found every classic recipe I sought, including saltimbocca. The recipes work, and they're generally delicious – as wonderful as they look in the photos.

You may know Lidia Bastianich from her PBS show, Lidia's Italy, or from one of her New York restaurants, Felidia, or Esca, Becco or Del Posto (which she co-owns with her son Joseph Bastianich and Mario Batali).  She's also one of the forces behind the Eataly empire.

If you're an American home cook who has been in the game a long while, Lidia's Mastering may remind you of another classic: Marcella Hazan's The Classic Italian Cookbook, or her the Essentials of Italian Cooking (The Classic Italian Cookbook and More Classic Italian Cookbook together in one volume). 

Both are encyclopedic works that take a no-nonsense approach. Both do without photography, relying instead on black-and-white drawings as illustration. I have to admit I'm a wee bit disappointed in the antipasti offerings in Lidia's Mastering, just as I've always been with Hazan's book. I do want to make Bastianich's chicken liver crostini sometime soon, though, and once summer rolls around, I'll definitely turn to her zucchini blossoms filled with fresh ricotta perfumed with lemon zest (doesn't that sound good?).

I've tested six recipes from the book, and loved five of them.

One of my favorites is rabbit in gremolata. A few weeks before I made it, I'd noticed some nice-looking frozen rabbits at Whole Foods, so I picked one up. I had no idea what I'd do with it, so I was happy to find, when this cookbook landed in my mailbox at work, not one but three recipes for rabbit. Besides the gremolata, there's also rabbit with sage and rabbit stew with mushrooms and pine nuts (both sound delicious, too). 

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It's easy to put together: Brown the rabbit, braise the legs in white wine and lemon juice, then add the rest of the rabbit plus some potatoes, cook some more, add parsley and serve. I had one small issue with the recipe: not quite enough liquid; I added half a cup of chicken broth about halfway through the cooking.

Friends came to dinner that night, and we all loved it. My friend Habib loved it so much he bought the book the very next day. 

Want to try it? Here's the recipe:

Dinner started with a salad, then we had Bastianich's spaghetti alla carbonara as a middle course. No foolin' around when I'm testing recipes: You must come hungry!

Spaghetti carbonara, the pasta coated in a silky sauce of eggs, bacon and cheese, is a great dish to make at home, because when made right, it's so wonderful, and it's so often botched in restaurants. (Dudes – there is no cream in carbonara!) You want the egg yolks to cook just slightly, and very evenly; you don't want to end up with spaghetti and scrambled eggs. Bastianich has a good way to achieve a wonderful, silky sauce: she has you whisk a little hot water into the egg yolks, which ensures even, slight cooking. Her technique is easy, and the recipe – which includes sliced scallions (unconventional!) – turned out perfect. It's killer comfort food.

I haven't yet tried any of Bastianich's appetizers, but there are quite a few wonderful-sounding salads, like one with dandelion greens, almond vinaigrette and ricotta salata (I'll definitely be making that soon – maybe even tonight!). Roasted beets with beet greens, apples and goat cheese sounds nice; I love the idea of using the beet greens. A shrimp and mixed bean salad sounds wonderful, and so does lobster salad with fresh tomatoes – something to make us wish for summer.

I didn't, alas, love the one I wound up making: radicchio salad with orange, radishes and oil-cured black olives. It struck me as so perfect for a wintry day. 

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It was OK, but the radicchio was unrelenting; there was just too much of it.

But that was the only dish I didn't flip for. I loved that Bastianich offers three versions of Bolognese sauce – including one with milk (I'll try that next!) – plus an Italian-American meat sauce. I went for one she called, simply, meat sauce Bolognese (sugo alla Bolognese). It calls for half pork and half beef and two to three hours of simmering time – "the longer you cook it," she writes, "the better it will become."

I cooked mine about two hours and twenty minutes, and it was superb. This, too, I served with spaghetti. Not the same night! This one I made for Wylie and his friend Michael, who's half-Italian. Michael gave it the stamp of approval.

Feeling like I had hit the basics pretty well, I thought I'd stop there and write the review.

But then I thought I should try cooking something that really required technique. I've made fresh pasta a jillion times; while it's labor-intensive, there's nothing tricky about it. But what about gnocchi? I attempted potato gnocchi once or twice a hundred years ago, but definitely didn't master it. If Bastianich could teach me to make great gnocchi, that would be something. 

My friend Shaun was coming over for dinner. She loves to cook, so I thought she'd enjoy helping me make them. We had a great time: The dough – basically boiled potatoes you put through a ricer then combine with eggs and flour – came together quickly and beautifully. We rolled it into half-inch ropes, cut them into half-inch pieces, rolled them over the tines of a fork (though we also tried using a little wooden gnocchi paddle I had in my drawer – we liked the fork better). They were beautiful, as you can see. They seemed to be perfect! How exciting! And then how disappointing when they nearly dissolved in the boiling water. I dropped them into butter-sage sauce. Great flavor, but they were soft as mush. 

 Hm. What was the problem?

Aha. It was sort of my fault, and sort of the book's fault. The recipe called for six large Idaho or russet potatoes, "about 2 1/4 pounds." I had six, but I hadn't weighed them – my bad. The proportion was way off: I had far too much potato for the amount of flour called for, three cups.

A few nights later, I rolled up my sleeves and attempted the gnocchi again: This time going by the potatoes' weight rather than the number of potatoes. Six large russets weighed a whopping five pounds! That was the problem. I used 2 1/4 pounds, as Bastianich called for – which was a little less than three large russets. (And these were the smallest ones I could find, not whoppers by any stretch!). Once again, the dough came together beautifully, but this time, they held together. 

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In fact, they were wonderful, light yet firm. Tossed in the butter and sage sauce with plenty of grated parm, oh, man — that's comfort food. It involved some work, for sure, but rolling out those puppies was soothing, even therapeutic. Definitely fun to make with a friend. Or a child learning to cook.

RECIPE: Rabbit in Gremolata

RECIPE: Spaghetti alla Carbonara

RECIPE: Meat Sauce Bolognese

RECIPE: Potato Gnocchi with Butter and Sage Sauce

Lidia's Mastering the Art of Italian Cuisine by Lidia Matticchio Bastianich and Tanya Bastianich Manuali, Knopf, $40.

Summer vacation in your backyard: 7 dishes that can make this weekend feel like a delicious Mediterranean getaway

We have heard that there are people who get to go on actual vacations (wow, what a thought!). We see some of them frolicking on sunny beaches; others revel in leisurely strolls up high-altitude meadows dotted with flowers with stunning views in the background. Yes! We know this is true because we see it on Instagram. Unless maybe some of it is fake.

In any case, the rest of us are stuck at home, and so we cook as a form of escape. The thing is, it works pretty well!

Whether or not you have a backyard and the ability to grill, or you’re just relying on your trusty stove, you’ll find something delicious among these 7 treats that can bring a bit of summer vacation to your little piece of permanent paradise this weekend.

1. Grilled Artichokes with Aïoli

Don’t have a grill? They’re great boiled, as well.

2. Classic Gazpacho Sevillano

The most refreshing way to celebrate tomato season. Prefer green gazpacho? We’ve got the Greenest.

3. Grilled Butterflied Leg of Lamb

It’s simple, and it’s fabulous. Throw some vertically halved zucchinis on the grill next to them for a summery accompaniment.

4. French Lentil Salad

Super-easy to put together, this is wonderful warm, room-temp or even a bit chilled.

5. Deviled Duck Legs

These may roast for nearly two hours, but prep time is 10 minutes, max. Payoff is huge.

6. Kafta — Lebanese Lamb Skewers

Serve them on pita with hummus (O.G. or cheater) and a lovely parsley and onion salad.

7. A Showstopper Stone-Fruit Tart with Thyme

To spotlight all that great summer fruit! Want something easier and more casual? You’ll love this peach (or nectarine) and berry crisp.

RECIPE: Grilled Artichokes with Aïoli

RECIPE: Gazpacho Sevillano

RECIPE: Grilled Butterflied Leg of Lamb

RECIPE: French Lentil Salad

RECIPE: Kafta (Lebanese Lamb Skewers)

RECIPE: Deviled Duck Legs

RECIPE: Stone-Fruit Tart with Thyme

Exuberantly delicious and beautifully told, 'Falastin' is one of those life-changing cookbooks

My cookbook shelves are lined with hundreds of earnest volumes filled with culturally faithful recipes for legions of traditional dishes. Usually the recipes work and the dishes are correct, often they’re pretty good, occasionally they’re very good. But rarely, when cooked as written, are they so delicious that they make me want to cry.

Sami Tamimi and Tara Wigley’s Falastin: a Cookbook, which Ten Speed Press published last month, is bursting with recipes from Palastine that do just that.

Because it’s described in the headnote as “the hugely popular national dish of Palestine,” I stuck a Post-It on the page with Chicken Musakhan on my first pass through the book, as a reminder to cook it soon. But it looked so simple, like there was nothing to it — just some cut-up chicken rubbed with spices and roasted, served on flat bread with cooked onions (how great could that be?) — so I kept passing it by.

Until one evening I didn’t.

It was gobsmackingly, soul-stirringly fabulous. The chicken, a whole quartered bird, gets tossed with a lot of cumin and sumac, plus cinnamon, allspice, olive oil, salt and pepper, then roasted. Once out of the oven, it gets layered on crisped pieces of torn flatbread with a lot of long-cooked, sumac-and-cumin-loaded sliced red onions, fried pine nuts, plenty of parsley and spooned over with the roasting juices from the chicken. More olive oil gets drizzled on, and more sumac. It’s a stunning, fragrant centerpiece. Before serving it, you pull apart the chicken pieces with your fingers into two or three piece each. Put it in the middle of the table, and have everyone dive in, pulling the chicken apart with fingers, grabbing some soaky, juicy, crispy bread and sumac-ky onions, and groaning with pleasure, and diving back in.

When can we have this again??!!

I went back and reread the headnote. The dish was traditionally made during olive-oil pressing season to celebrate the freshly-pressed oil, but now it’s enjoyed year-round. “Growing up, Sami ate it once a week,” goes the headnote. “It’s a dish to eat with your hands and with your friends, served from one pot or plate, for everyone to then tear at some of the bread and spoon on the chicken and topping for themselves.”

Traditionally, taboon bread is used in the dish. Baked on pebbles in a conical oven, the bread has a pock-marked surface that are great for catching the juices. But the recipe calls for any Arabic flatbread (we used pita from a local Lebanese bakery that I’d stashed in the freezer), or naan.

I can see why Tamimi’s mom, Na’ama, made it once a week: It’s fun and easy to make, probably no more than an hour from start to finish, and a great crowd-pleaser. I’ll be buying sumac futures this week: A full three tablespoons of the spice (a powerful anti-oxidant) go into the dish.

If you’re not familiar with Tamimi, some context may be helpful. Chances are you do know of Yotam Ottolenghi and his cookbooks. Tamimi is head chef for and a founding partner in Ottolenghi’s namesake London restaurant empire. He co-authored Ottolenghi’s first cookbook (Ottolenghi: the Cookbook, 2008). Together the two — led by Ottolenghi — created a style of produce-forward, Levant-accented, slouchy-chic improvisational cooking. In other words, what they did powerfully influenced the way so many of us cook now, and the way food looks on blogs and on Instagram — seductively dissheveled, vegetable happy and casually strewn with tons of herbs.

The two chefs went on to co-author Jerusalem: a Cookbook (2012). Both had grown up in Jerusalem in the 70s and 80s — Ottolenghi, who is Israeli and Italian, in the Jewish west part of the city and Tamimi, who is Palestinian, in the Muslim east. They didn’t know each other back home; they met in London, where they were both living in the 1990s. To the Jerusalem project, each brought his delicious perspective, and they wove together a gorgeous, deep, inspired, cookable portrait of their hometown. The book didn’t shy away from politics, but its explorations managed to unify rather than divide.

With Falastin, Tamimi explores the cooking of his beloved Palestine. “There is no letter ‘P’ in the Arabic language,” begins the introduction, so ‘Falastin’ is, on the one hand, simply the way ‘Falastinians’ refer to themselves.’”

Of course there is an “on the other hand” — and that’s the substance of the book, which Tamimi co-authored with Tara Wigley, a cook and writer who also co-authored Ottolenghi’s most recent book, Ottolengi Simple, and who is an integral part of the Ottolenghi family.

Cilantro-crusted roasted cod with tahini sauce

Beautifully photographed by Jenny Zarins, it’s a wonderful read that conveys so much about the culture that you might feel you’ve been there, and fallen in love with its people. A visit to the apartment-house kitchen of the “yogurt-making ladies of Bethlehem” gives richness to a recipe for balls of labneh (thickened yogurt) marinated in olive oil then rolled in dried herbs or spices. A trip to the Jerusalem shop where Kamel Hashlamon produces tahini that’s “somewhere between a paste and a liquid and truly good enough to drink” makes us understand what separates great tahini from all the bitter crap we get stateside (Humera sesame seeds from Ethiopia, bespoke millstone made by a master Syrian stonemason, cold-pressing at 140 degrees).

The authors, refusing to tip-toe around the politics, address head-on the difficult questions that arise as they tour us around. For instance, it becomes clear that because Kamel sells to a largely Israeli (but also Palestinian) market, some feel he has “sold out.” When Kamel justifies his position by saying “We are all living in the result of the game,” Tamimi doesn’t let him off easy. In the end, though, the last image of his “small stunning shop,” with its irresistible product, is of Israelis and Palestinians standing “side by side at the counter, looking through the glass, debating little more than which halva to buy.” Complicated, uneasy, but what what a privilege it is to be let in on it in a cookbook.

From a culinary point of view, Falastin is also a rare gift: a cookbook filled with exuberantly delicious recipes, each with the special flair of a super-gifted chef, but without the ridiculous, long lists of obscure ingredients and sub-recipes that you needed to start preparing three days ago. These are approachable, thoughtfully crafted and apparently carefully tested recipes that are easy to follow, simple enough to execute and clearly designed to work for a moderately capable home cook.

If the aesthetic driver of the Ottolenghi books is herbs, with Falastin it is spices — lots of spices, aromatic, dreamy and unapologetic. Flavors in all the dishes are dialed way up. (One touch I really appreciate: Tamimi and Wigley never leave us guessing about how much salt to use — they always specify, and it’s always right on or close.)

Back to my bookshelves and all those earnest volumes. Among all the serious Middle Eastern, Levantine, Mediterranean and North African cookbooks, I hadn’t been able to find an appealing recipe for ful medames — the traditional fava bean dish that’s mostly closely associated with Egypt. There were recipes, sure, but none found any joy in the dish — which is, after all, really just doctored canned fava beans.

Tamimi has a wonderful way of elevating the ordinary. His version of ful starts by ridding the beans of their canned taste — by draining, rinsing, then simmering them in water, a five minute process that makes all the difference. Once they’re drained again, cumin is invited to the party, along with the lemon, garlic and chile. A delightful salad of red onion, sumac and parsley goes on top, along with tomato; avocado adds cool and creamy depth. Soft boiled egg, which is optional, adds another dimension.

Finally, the ful medames I dreamed of — so good I will make sure to keep canned favas stocked, so I can whip it up on a regular basis. (This is what I mean by life-changing.)

Not surprisingly, there’s a little overlap with the dishes in Jerusalem: It would be odd for this book not to include hummus, for instance, or tahini sauce. But the books complement each other really well: While Jerusalem gave us Maqluba, a one-pot layered dish of eggplant, chicken thighs and rice inverted onto a plate to serve, Falastin gives us Maqlubet el Foul el Akdhar — Upside-Down Spiced Rice with Lamb and Fava Beans. (Will be making that soon as I can source some Iranian dried limes!)

And while Jerusalem proposes Kofta B’siniya (seared lamb-and-beef patties in tahini sauce), Falastin offers Kofta Bil Batinjan — Baked Kofta with Eggplant and Tomato. Another major crowd-pleaser!

Kofta Bil Batinjan — Baked Kofta with Eggplant and Tomato

For the three of us, this was a fabulous dinner two nights running — the leftovers were every bit as delectable.

There are so many recipes I still have marked to try. Preserved Stuffed Eggplants; Cauliflower and Cumin Fritters with Mint Yogurt; Shatta (an exciting looking red or green chile sauce); Na’ama’s Buttermilk Fattoush; Roasted Eggplant with Tamarind and Cilantro; a zucchini, garlic and yogurt dip called M’tawaneh; Buttery Rice with Toasted Vermicelli; Eggplant, Chickpea and Tomato Bake (Musaq’a); Pomegranate-Cooked Lentils and Eggplants; Lemon Chicken with Za’atar.

There are baked treats that look incredible, too: Sweet Tahini Rolls, and the triangular spinach pies called Fatayer Sabanekh; Warbat — filo triangles filled with cream cheese and pistachio and doused in rose syrup, and definitely a Chocolate and Qahwa Flour-Free Torte, flavored with lots of cardamom and espresso (Qahwa is coffee in Arabic).

I love this book. I’m happy to think of its treasure-filled pages, and it gives me hope for the future — in more ways than one.

RECIPE: Chicken Musakhan

RECIPE: Cilantro-Crusted Roasted Cod

RECIPE: Ful Medames

RECIPE: Baked Kofta with Eggplant and Tomato

Falastin: a Cookbook, by Sami Tamimi and Tara Wigley, Ten Speed Press, $35.

One of our 5 (five!) fabulous potato salads is sure to make your Fourth phenomenal

Our ‘Best Potato Salad Ever’

My family has put me on a potato salad time-out.

That’s because I’ve made so much potato salad during The Great Confinement that we’ve each gained about 9,000 pounds. OK, I’m kidding — but it’s surprising we haven’t, considering the carbo count these past few months.

In more normal times, I try to avoid potatoes in favor of lower-carb vegetables — and when I eat them, they’re a rare treat (like sweets for some people). But in confinement, I’ve given myself license to eat them at will. After all, they’re so delicious. And comforting. And affordable. And available. You get my drift. If ever we deserved to indulge in a potato fancy, it’s now!

Plus, it’s great to have potato in the fridge. We have to cook every night, and it goes with most everything. It’s great with a work-at-home lunch. And it can even be a dazzling little stand-in for boiled potatoes in a main-course niçoise salad.

It’s been so omnipresent in our kitchen these months that one day we’ll probably describe something that’s everywhere as “ubiquitous as potato salad in a pandemic.”

Herb-Happy Potato Salad

Potato salad is an ideal vehicle for a garden’s-worth of herbs, as in the Herb-Happy Potato above. With its vinaigrette dressing, this is the sole vegan entry in our bunch; it’s also gluten-free.

An old-fashioned one, such as Toni Tipton-Martin’s from her Jubilee cookbook, can take you all the way back to childhood. (Both are super-quick and easy to make.)

I love the Jubilee one because it’s rich in hard-boiled eggs, whose yolks blend lusciously into the mayo-based dressing, there’s a hint of sweet pickle relish and a nice celery crunch. If you’re going all-American classic with your July 4 menu, this is the one for you.

On the other hand, if you want to play it a little more exotic, consider a Japanese potato salad — we have two to choose from. One is from Sonoko Sakai’s Japanese Home Cooking (which we recently reviewed); the other is the one chef Justin Holt serves at his Dallas ramen hot-spot, Salaryman. (And that one sports a prize on top: halved ajitama marinated eggs — like the ones you find garnishing bowls of ramen.)

Each serving of Salaryman Potato salad is topped with half an ajitmama marinated egg.

Oh, man — I’m getting a starch high just revisiting them in my brain!

Finally, there is the one that predates the other four on Cooks Without Borders — the one we named Best Potato Salad Ever before we knew there’d be such heavy competition.

That’s Wylie holding a batch of it, before he and Thierry put me on potato salad time-out.

What makes it so good? It gets a luxurious richness from soft-boiled eggs, delightful tang from cornichons and shallots and lift from an array of herbs, all in the form of a New-Wave Gribiche.

I think any one of the fiHve would be a welcome guest at your picnic or party tomorrow. You can make them ahead, or not. Oh, and by the way, they’re all easy-going — in case you want to swap potato types, or swap shallots for scallions, and so forth. Whichever you choose, enjoy. I’ll be jealous.

Happy Fourth!

[RECIPE: Herb-Happy Potato Salad]

[RECIPE: Jubilee Country-Style Potato Salad]

[RECIPE: Salaryman Potato Salad]

[RECIPE: Sonoko Sakai’s Potato Salada]

[RECIPE: Best Potato Salad Ever]

Say hello to the green gazpacho of your dreams

There are a grillion versions of green gazpacho out there — many of them likeable, some (like Yotam Ottolenghi’s in Plenty) lovable. But I’ve never found one that made me stop and say, OK, you are the green gazpacho of my dreams.

I enjoy versions with yogurt, but the green gazpacho of my dreams is vegan. And even though a gazpacho without bread is technically not a gazpacho, the green gazpacho of my dreams is gluten-free. That’s because when I crave green gazpacho, I’m craving something very clean and pure. I’m wanting something intensely chlorophyllic, and herbal — but also tangy.

The green gazpacho of my dreams is something I can throw together in a flash, as a satisfying and energizing lunch, or a refreshing prelude to a lovely summer or late spring dinner. It should be basic enough to make for myself and family on a weekday, but gorgeous enough to start off a celebratory dinner party with friends (if we are ever able to do that again!).

It has to have body, and a little richness. I’ve seen recipes for versions involving avocado, but I’m nor looking for that kind of unctuousness. (Though I do adore diced ripe avocado as a garnish on classic Gazpacho Sevillano.)

Sometimes the way out of a culinary conundrum like this is to go back to the basics. I looked to traditional ajo blanco, the cold almond and garlic soup from Malaga, Spain that’s also known as gazpacho blanco, white gazpacho.

Yes! Raw almonds add just the right body to this soup, without the tannic bite that’s so nice with the walnuts in Ottolenghi’s Plenty version. If almonds work here, perhaps raw cashews would as well. I tried that on round two, and liked it even better — it imparted a little more roundness and depth. But either works great.

You’ll want to use your best sherry vinegar and olive oil in this soup; they are more than just supporting players.

Here is your ticket to summer-long green greatness:

As you can see in the recipe, the ingredients are basic, easy to keep on hand for when a craving comes knocking. No need for advance planning, as you don’t need to chill it; just plop two or three ice cubes in each bowl before you serve. Or make it ahead, and chill it in the fridge. For maximum delight, garnish it with a flurry of soft herbs — any combination of dill, chervil, parsley, cilantro, basil, mint, chives, tarragon, celery leaves and sliced scallion greens (OK, those last two are not technically herbs, but you get the idea). Or just add a swirl of your best olive oil on top.

RECIPE: The Greenest Gazpacho

Our Cluckin' A List: Cooks Without Borders' 5 most popular chicken recipes

For poultry-lovers, it probably comes as no surprise: The most clicked-on stories and recipes on Cooks Without Borders are those that celebrate chicken.

This all came home to roost last week, when a fried chicken recipe by one of our favorite L.A. chefs easily and quickly smashed all our records.

Without beating around the hen-house, here are the Top 10:

#1: Fried Chicken LudoBird Style

Crunchy, craggy and preternaturally juicy — with a delightful whiff of the South of France via herbes de Provence — chef Ludovic Lefebvre’s take on fried chicken broke the popularity index the very day it was published. If you’ve never made fried chicken before but always wanted to, this is the recipe for you. Here’s the story, and here’s the recipe.

#2: Lucky Peach’s Lacquered Roast Chicken

This is the chicken that changed our lives a few years ago — and then inspired a duck. You can see it before it was carved up at the top of this story.

#3 The Ultimate Butter Chicken (Murgh Makhani)

An infatuation with Urvashi Pitre’s viral InstantPot version of the popular Indian dish got us wondering about murgh makhani’s origins — which led us to the Butter Chicken King, Monish Gujral. Gujral’s book On the Butter Chicken Trail unlocked some secrets, and an interview with Gujral helped put everything in perspective. Our recipe (adapted from Gujral’s and approved by His Highness) was born.

#4 Chicken Chile Verde (Quick and Easy Pressure-Cooker Version)

We loved J. Kenji López-Alt’s astonishingly easy chile verde on Serious Eats, and felt a few minor tweaks could make it even better. Doing so proved to be a bonding experience for a stodgy boomer and a plucky Gen-Z’er. We’re currently working on an old-fashioned, slow-cooking, aromatic and soul-stirring stove-stop version.

Here’s the quick-and-easy miracle recipe.

#5 Crispy-Skinned Southeast Asian Grilled Chicken Thighs

Our easy-going soy-based marinade is the ticket to fabulously flavorful grilling all summer long.

Is there a chicken dish or technique you’d like us to tackle? Let us know in a comment!

RECIPE: Fried Chicken LudoBird-Style
RECIPE: Lucky Peach’s Lacquered Roast Chicken

RECIPE: The Ultimate Butter Chicken (Murgh Makhani)

RECIPE: Chicken Chile Verde

RECIPE: Crispy-Skinned Southeast Asian Grilled Chicken Thighs

Quarantine special: Marcella Hazan's ragù bolognese meets luscious handmade pappardelle

Last year, when L.A.’s handmade pasta genius Evan Funke published his cookbook American Sfloglino: A Master Class in Handmade Pasta, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it. His then two-year-old Venice pappardelle palace, Felix, had pasta-loving Angelinos swooning. Chef Funke was getting big-time buzz with the book, whose forthright hashtag, #fuckyourpastamachine, said everything you needed to know about its handmade approach.

The book has since been nominated for a James Beard Award for its gorgeous photography, by Eric Wolfinger — whose beautiful how-to shots are at once sensuous and highly instructive; the pics of Funke’s finished plates are almost painfully attractive.

Wylie had just moved in with us post-college to start a job search, and when the book arrived in the mail, we devoured it together. If ever there was a book to appeal to the current Gen-Z zeal for extreme DIY immersion, this was it.

We knew immediately what we had to do. We had to attempt the book’s two holy grails: sfloglia all’uovo (egg dough, for pasta) and ragù della Vecchia Scuola, the old-school meat sauce bolognese that, once you have procured all the ingredients and equipment, is a seven- or eight-hour project.

We blocked off not just a Saturday, but the whole weekend. For the ragù — which Funke learned at La Vecchia Scuola Bolognese in Italy (which is also where he learned to make pasta) — we had to purchase a meat grinder. (We bought an inexpensive cast-iron manual, hand-crank number.) I already had a food mill, suggested to make the passata di pomodoro (tomato sauce) that is another ingredient in the ragù. So a half-hour plus for that before you can even start the ragù. 

The ragù recipe calls for grinding together beef chuck, pork shoulder, pancetta, prosciutto and mortadella — nearly four pounds in total. Plus five ounces of strutto, which is pork fat. It yields two and a half more quarts of sauce than you need for the recipe, which is a good thing, as the recipe is so time consuming. 

Gathering the ingredients was its own adventure, and then the grinding, etc., followed by five to seven hours of cooking time. We had a grand time in the kitchen, Wylie and I.

The sauce was outrageously good, profoundly delicious. The transformation — after hours and hours and hours of simmering — was so striking, its depth extraordinary. At some point, it seemed like it all just melted together. It wasn’t ready, and then it was. Patience was an important ingredient.

It was also so rich that when we looked at what was left over in the fridge the next day, we were shocked by the white of all that strutto. Incredible that we had ingested that much fat. No wonder it was so good. Round two, the leftover ragù with dried pasta, was also profoundly delicious, but frankly, I wonder how long it’ll be before I’m moved to devote another weekend to making that sauce again.

As the ragù simmered that Sunday we made the pasta. I’ve owned a pasta machine — the old-fashioned, hand-cranked Atlas-type — since I was 19, and used it regularly for years, so the prospect of making dough and rolling and cutting pasta was not daunting. I’ve long understood that the dough requires a half-hour or 45-minute rest before rolling so the glutens relax, in order to get tender noodles. 

With Funke, the only equipment requirements are a rolling pin, a knife and a scale; a bench scraper and a spray bottle of water are handy. You also need a very large board for rolling out the dough into an immense, round sfoglia. 

Once you dive in, there is a lot of kneading and shaping and several hours of resting, and quite a lot of super-precise rotating and rolling of dough — whose desired thickness Funke measures in the thickness of a stack of Post-It notes (9 Post-It notes for pappardelle, 4 for tagliatelle). And then curing, which is more resting, and then cutting. We probably should have attempted pappardelle first, but we wanted to make Tagliatelle al Ragù della Vecchia Scuola, the book’s flagship recipe. 

Pappardelle made from a simplified method inspired by American Sfloglino

The resulting pasta, I have to say, was outstanding. Was it blows-it-away better than what I’d always made with my machine? Um, no. Better, but not that much better. If we are going to be painfully honest.

However, I really enjoyed the process. It’s just wonderful to knead the dough by hand, and roll it out into a beautiful, thin, giant round (even though it takes forever). Few cooking projects I’ve attempted have been that satisfying. So you know what? It has now become my preferred way to make pasta. I’m sure I’ll use my machine again, but only if I’m short of time. 

Too late to say long story short, but here comes the payoff. When the Covid-19 crisis first struck, and there was a run on dried pasta, I wrote a story for my local paper, The Dallas Morning News about how to make fresh pasta without a pasta machine — using a much simplified version of Funke’s method. We couldn’t tell the difference on the plate; it was wonderful. 

I wanted to offer a recipe for a ragù bolognese as well, but now was not the time for Funke’s Vecchia Scuola sauce, for many reasons — prime among them the long list of special ingredients, which were just not possible to procure. Instead I turned to the late great Marcella Hazan’s seminal 1973 The Classic Italian Cookbook, to page 127, to be precise: Meat Sauce Bolognese Style. 

Hazan’s ragù differs from Funke’s in a few ways. First, Hazan’s calls for nothing more exotic than ground lean beef; its other ingredients are staples, easily gotten. Second, one of the ingredients is milk, so it’s a different type of ragù bolognese. Third, Funke has you put the celery, carrot and onion through the meat grinder. And finally, Hazan’s requires only 3 ½ to 5 hours of simmering, compared to Funke’s 5 to 7. 

I tweaked Hazan’s just a little, for convenience and yield’s sake; notably Hazan’s called for ¾ pound of ground beef, which I upped to 1 pound, and she called for 2 cups of canned tomatoes, which is slightly more than a regular can and a lot less than a large can; I evened it out to one 14.5-ounce can for my adaptation.  

The recipe, striking in its simplicity, doesn’t look like much. But putting it together is just the kind of lazy, laid-back slow cooking that seems so soothing right now, and enveloping the tender, floppy handmade pappardelle in Hazan’s ragù — deep and soulful and tender as well — was a pure and profound pleasure. I highly recommend it.

RECIPE: Fresh Handmade Pappardelle

RECIPE: Pappardelle with Marcella Hazan’s Ragù Bolognese

Quintessential Tex-Mex in your own kitchen — from Margarita to rice and beans (plus a bonus dessert!)

Everyone’s craving comfort during The Great Confinement. We’re also starved for the kinds of foods we love to eat out. If you happen to live in Texas, the idea of Tex-Mex hits all those emotional notes like a gorgeous, plaintive minor-scale chord. And if you don’t live in Texas, a soulful plate of cheesy, tangy chicken enchiladas verdes with rice and beans — and an icy Margarita to go with it — probably sounds pretty good to you too. (Right?)

But hey — we don’t have to dream. It’s not difficult to make all those Tex-Mex specialties at home. And during this time of cooking three meals a day, seven days a week for most of us, the idea of the leftovers involved are pretty attractive too.

I must confess, though I cook a lot of Mexican dishes, I don’t usually mess with Tex-Mex — that’s because it’s so much easier to go out for good Tex-Mex in our neck of the woods than it is to make Mexican rice and refried beans. But the craving got to me, so I dove in — and wrote a story for The Dallas Morning News, because I know others in my city are craving these things too. (If you hit the paywall and live in Dallas, subscribe! If you hit the paywall and don’t live in Dallas, just keep reading — you’ll find all the recipes here as well.)

In case you’re not a Texan, I’ll tell you what you need to put together to experience Tex-Mex nirvana. Unless you abstain from alcohol, you’ll want to start with a round of Margaritas. In Texas restaurants, you’d have a whole list of them, often including frozen ones. Partly because I’m prone to brain freeze, I personally skip those and go for a classic one, on the rocks with salt.

I put Wylie in charge of crafting the perfect Margarita (only natural, as he used to work as a bartender). In restaurants, Margaritas tend to be super sweet (even “skinny” ones). We favor and old-school style that balances the sweetness of orange liqueur with enough tart lime juice. Wylie experimented (and we tasted and tasted and tasted) until he came up with the perfectly balanced Classic Margarita on the Rocks. Recipe below.

Queso is the second order of business for most Texans who find themselves in a Tex-Mex situation. Though I’ve lived here more than a decade, I’m still more of a Californian, so I go for guacamole. If you want to make queso, Lisa Fain, a.k.a. The Homesick Texan, author of Queso!, has you covered recipe-wise.

If it’s guac you’re after, we’ve got your back. Ginding ingredients like cilantro, serrano chiles and onion in a molcajete before adding the avocados results in something much more compelling that what you get in most restaurants. And even if you don’t have a molcajete, you’ll be able to knock it out of the park.

Now to the main course: enchiladas, rice and beans. Who could argue, right? There is always at least one person at every Tex-Mex table who goes for some kind of enchiladas, which always come with that fantastic Mexican rice and sumptuous refried beans; chicken enchiladas verdes are pretty universally adored.

They’re a snap to put together using leftover chicken or a supermarket roast chicken and salsa verde from a jar, but SO much better if you roast your own bird and make your own roasted salsa verde: The deeper flavor and juicier meat take the enchiladas to another level.

Chicken enchiladas verdes are a crowd-pleaser.

Tortillas are another story entirely: Store-bought corn tortillas work better for this than hand-made ones. Dip each one in hot oil to make them pliable and help them soak up flavor. That’s a worthwhile upgrade from the easy alternative, zapping them in the microwave to soften them.

Here’s our recipe, which also gives basic chicken-roasting instructions. Alternatively, you could roast some chicken thighs — just season with salt and pepper, and roast at 425 for about 25 minutes.

To go with those luscious enchiladas, you’ll want rice and beans. Hopefully, you can get your hands on dried pinto beans. If so, cook up a pot of frijoles de olla the day before your Tex-Mex feast. No soaking necessary; just pour 10 cups of boiling water over a pound of beans, add a sliced onion and a few cloves of garlic, simmer till tender then add salt. It’s weird how insanely delicious they are just like that; and you’ll have some extra to enjoy as the refried beans (frijoles refritos) recipe doesn’t use the entire amount. Let them cool overnight in their liquid and they’ll be waiting for you. You’ll need lard or bacon fat to fry them, along with a little more white onion.

Meanwhile, there’s something deeply satisfying about making this Mexican Rice. It feels like a weird and silly recipe while you’re executing it (it is adapted from Diana Kennedy’s out-of-print classic The Cuisines of Mexico). But the result is wonderful. We added more tomato and simplified the recipe a bit.

That’s our basic package for the quintessential Tex-Mex experience.

Strawberry-Mezcal Ice Cream

Hopefully we can get a flan recipe together soon; that would be a fitting ending. In its stead, consider Strawberry-Mezcal Ice Cream. It’s one of my favorite dessert recipes we’ve done here at CWB, and I’ve been thinking about it every time I open the fridge and see strawberries. I thought the likelihood of scraping together the rest of the necessary ingredients was slim, but then I realized if I made half a batch I could do it: with 3/4 pint strawberries, 3/4 cup cream, 1 1/2 egg yolks and a tablespoon of Mezcal (someone was being polite as we drink ourselves out of house and home — there were two tablespoons left!). Maybe you’ve got access to those things too.

Want to add other Mexican touches to your Tex-Mex party? Our Mexican Cuisine page has much more — including a recipe for tangy Taquería Carrots that would be great with the Margarita and guac.

Let us know how your feast turns out. Send pics! Leave comments! Until then, be safe and healthy.

How to make the most of asparagus: Dress it up with a glamorous new-wave gribiche

If asparagus might be destined for your Easter or Passover table, I can’t think of a more spectacular way to serve it than dressing it with a new-wave gribiche. Based on the classic French gribiche, which is an herbal, shalloty mayonnaise, this fresher version was inspired by a 2015 cookbook from one of my favorite restaurants in L.A. In Gjelina: Cooking from Venice, California, chef Travis Lett dressed some gorgeous fat asparagus with a sort of deconstructed gribiche and grated bottarga. Fantastic.

A few nights ago it struck me that this kind of new-wave gribiche is not only a glorious way to feature asparagus, but also to honor the egg — as eggs have become so precious these days. The recipe calls for just two of them, really spotlighting their gorgeousness when cooked just three minutes.

It’s also a great way to spotlight beautiful soft herbs — dill, chives, chervil, parsley, tarragon (whatever you’ve got).

Want to know more about gribiche? We took a deep dive into it a few seasons back.

This new-wave take on it is also wonderful served with simple fish preps, boiled shrimp or roasted vegetables, or stirred into a bowl of boiled-then-sliced red potatoes. Find more ideas here.

Here’s the asparagus recipe.

Wishing you all a wonderful Passover or Easter. Stay safe and healthy, everyone.

Obsessed with butter chicken: Our recipe follows the world’s favorite Indian dish faithfully back to its origin

The ultimate murgh makhani — also known as butter chicken

Several months before The Great Confinement, I became obsessed with butter chicken.  

It began with a problem I needed to solve for a client, for which an Instant Pot seemed like a possible solution. Never having used one, I Googled — and found a nearly two-year-old New Yorker profile of one Urvashi Pitre, “The ‘Butter Chicken Lady’ Who Made Indian Cooks Love the Instant Pot.”

Butter chicken? I’d never given the dish much thought — always assumed it was an Indian dish concocted for American tastes, as chicken tikka masala is for the Brits.

How wrong I was. And how silly I felt, and still feel — mostly because of the missed opportunities to indulge in murgh makhani (butter chicken’s proper name) during a lifetime enjoying Indian food. 

Meanwhile, if exemplary butter chicken could be easily achieved at home in less than a half hour using an Instant Pot, well, then, I had to get an Instant Pot.

My young-adult son Wylie was living with us at the time. Though suspicious of the plug-in-pot contraption, he’d always been partial to the charms of butter chicken, so he was keen to give the recipe a whirl for dinner one weeknight. It was remarkably easy: You put nearly all the ingredients — chicken pieces, a can of diced tomatoes, spices and salt — in the Instant Pot and turn it on. Then you pull out the chicken, use a stick blender to blitz the sauce, swirl in butter, cream, more spice and cilantro, put the chicken back in, and that’s it. Wylie started prepping everything just as I was leaving my office to head home; when I walked in 20 minutes later, he was swirling in the cream.

Wylie’s first (Instant Pot!) butter chicken. Delicious — and so easy!

The Instant Pot butter chicken was astonishingly good: rich, nicely spiced, altogether satisfying. And in so little time, with so little effort. Bravo Urvashi Pitre! 

Urvashi Pitre, a.k.a. the Butter Chicken Lady, with her instant pot murgh makhani in Southlake, Texas

Now I wanted to meet the famous Butter Chicken Lady — who happens to live not 25 minutes from me. I had the perfect opportunity. Another one of my clients, in process of opening a new store and cafe in Southlake, Texas, asked me to recommend a local cooking personality for the store’s inaugural Supper Club series. The Butter Chicken Lady! The event was an instant sell-out, and the guests (some of whom flew in from other states) loved it. What a kick to dine on delicious murgh makhani seated literally next to the extremely delightful Butter Chicken Lady. (Check out her excellent blog, Two Sleevers, where you’ll find hundreds of quick-and-easy recipes.) 

Meanwhile, I was getting curiouser and curiouser about murgh makhani. What were the origins of the dish? Were they knowable, or, like most dishes, something with hazy beginnings, a dish that evolved over eons? Would other versions include onions, which were conspicuously absent from Urvashi’s version?

The simplicity of the answer to the origin question threw me for a loop: Butter chicken — murgh makhani — was created, according to a 2018 Washington Post story, in the late 1920’s or early ‘30s in Peshawar (then India, now Pakistan) by a chef named Kundan Lal Gujral. It’s exceedingly rare that a dish has origins so precisely knowable, but butter chicken’s origin story is uncontested, the smart story by Andreas Viestad asserted.

I found the piece just as I was headed to Massachussetts to visit Juliet, a brilliant web designer (and gifted cook) who is now my partner in Cooks Without Borders. As we drove from the airport to her house, I told her about the Post piece, which profiles Monish Gujral, the grandson of Kundan Lal — who also created (incredibly!) tandoori chicken. His grandfather had wanted to create a dish for his mentor that was lighter than the usual dishes of the region, so he had the wacky idea of roasting a chicken in a tandoor oven, which at the time had normally only been used for baking bread. Tandoori chicken was a hit that put the restaurant — Moti Mahal — on the map, and later Kundan Lal created butter chicken as a way to use leftover tandoori chickens. Bathed in a rich, tomatoey, buttery, beautifully spiced sauce, murgh makhani made Moti Mahal famous throughout India. After partition in 1947 (when Pakistan and India were separated), Kundan Lal moved to Delhi, where he opened his own Moti Mahal. His grandson Monish apprenticed with him, becoming a chef at Moti Mahal after graduating university, and eventually taking over the family business — now an empire of some 250 restaurants.

Having eyeballed the WaPo adaptation of Gujral’s recipe, I thought it looked remarkably quick and easy — maybe even as quick to put together as Urvashi’s Instant Pot version. “Let’s make it!” said Juliet. Leave it to my friend to have all the ingredients already on hand.

The WaPo adaptation had us quick-roast pseudo-tandoori chicken pieces in the oven, having slathered on a yogurt-and-spice coating, but not leaving it to marinate before roasting. The sauce came together quickly on the stovetop.

The butter chicken Juliet and I made from the Washington Post story.

Again, this was delicious — perfect for a flavor-happy weeknight dinner.

But I couldn’t help but wonder how close this was to the original; the tandoori-approximation seemed a bit quick and clipped, and did the dish maybe want a little more depth?

Monish Gujral’s book, On the Butter Chicken Trail, offers a recipe slightly different than the adaptation in the WaPo piece. It calls for making an actual tandoori chicken first, marinating a skinless chicken first in lime juice, chile powder and salt, and then in a yogurt-spice blend — for at least four hours altogether, so all those flavors soaked in — then skewering the soaked bird and roasting it in a tandoor oven or grill.

Most cooks I know do not have a tandoor, and grilling isn’t always an option, but those two marinades seemed very worthwhile, and I wanted to do something a bit closer to the original than the WaPo recipe. Chicken thighs strike me as more practical for most American cooks, always flavorful, of course, and easier to cook evenly in high oven heat than a skinless whole chicken. Our recipe calls for roasting the thighs on a rack over a baking sheet so the pieces don’t braise in all the juices that collect otherwise.

[EDITOR’S NOTE Oct. 19, 2020: In honor of the first-ever World Butter Chicken Day, October 20, 2020, commemorating the 100-year anniversary of Moti Mahal, we have published a new story and created a new, streamlined version of our recipe. The new version is called World Butter Chicken.]

I also adapted the wonderful garam masala Gujral uses, which gives the dish a gorgeous aromatic underpinning. (The recipe for garam masala in Gurjal’s book yields nearly a pound of spice mix — more than most cooks I know would use in a lifetime; I scaled it down to a twelfth of that.)

Kundan Lal Gujral, the creator of murgh makhani — a.k.a. butter chicken. Gujral also is credited with with creating tandoori chicken. Photo courtesy of Monish Gujral.

Finally, while Gurjal’s recipe calls for 14 medium-sized ripe red tomatoes, that is an awful lot of tomato for one chicken; one 14.5-ounce can of diced tomatoes seemed and tasted like the right amount, and canned tomatoes are more practical outside of tomato season.

That left me with one question: While the WaPo recipe called for Kashmiri chili powder, with 2/3 paprika and 1/3 cayenne offered as a sub, the recipe in the book called for “red chilli powder” without specifying a type. I tested it with the paprika and cayenne combo, and that seemed perfect. But what was ideal — and how much does it matter?

I went straight to the source, and asked Gurjal, whom I had no trouble finding through Facebook.

Now I was just beside myself — first I got to meet the Butter Chicken Lady, and now I was corresponding with the Butter Chicken King himself! Juliet pointed out that he was really more like the Butter Chicken Prince, as he was descended from the dish’s creator, but to me the fact of his world-wide murgh makhani empire makes him the Butter Chicken King.

Gurjal clarified the red chile powder question: Kashmiri chile powder, or a commercial blend called Deggi Mirch (a powder of Kashmiri chiles and red bell peppers), or the paprika-cayenne alternative work well. I sent him my adaptation of his recipe pre-publication, we discussed the switch to canned diced tomatoes and my adaptation of his garam masala, and he approved of the whole package. He was careful to add that you don’t want to blend the sauce too fine; you want it to have a bit of nice texture.

When we chatted later on the phone, he told me about his two grown children (his daughter is a lawyer at the High Court in Delhi; his son is in law school in London). “When they’ve been away and they come home,” he said, “right away, they always want butter chicken.”

Of course they do. It may well be the world’s most beguiling comfort food.

RECIPE: The Ultimate Butter Chicken