Appetizers

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When heirloom tomatoes meet nuoc cham, outrageously good salads happen

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By Leslie Brenner

Kitchen memory from when I was a wee thing: My mom biting into a large, ripe farm-stand tomato she held in her hand. She sprinkled a little salt on its exposed flesh before taking the next bite, then the next, and the next. Tomato gone. Bliss on my mom’s face. That was the most important lesson I’d ever learn about seasonal produce.

This was in the mid-1960s, in Los Angeles’ San Fernando Valley. Farmers markets hadn’t yet taken hold of Southern California, but there were occasional farm stands scattered throughout the big valley. Ours, which we called “the corn stand,” was a couple miles away from our house. The way I remember it it was kind of a summer pop-up, bursting with stone fruits, corn. zucchini and yes, glorious tomatoes.

In those days, most Americans didn’t know how to zhuzzh ingredients just enough to make them sing and set them confidently on the table. The only basil in our houses was dried, probably ancient, and lived in a jar on the spice rack.

For my mom, that kind of simple, intuitive “cooking” only took place in the kitchen, around noon. Her favorite summer lunch was a tomato sandwich: slice of Wonder bread spread with mayo, slices of ripe tomato on top, sprinkle of salt, topped with another mayo-ed Wonder slice. When she cut it in half, you could see the juices of the tomato running pink into the mayo and white bread. It was not sophisticated, but it made the most of the tomato in a way that moved her. Both the sandwich and the tomato eaten out-of-hand dated back for her to the days when she was a kid in New Jersey during World War II, and her family had a victory garden. I can almost smell those Jersey tomatoes on their vines.

Only last year did I learn — from a New York Times Magazine story by Eric Kim — that a similar sandwich is classic in the American South. Kim had the brilliant idea to amp up the savoriness of the sandwich by sprinkling a little furikake (Japanese seasoning) on its mayo. Of course: As Kim explained in his accompanying recipe, the umami-rich furikake helps the tomatoes “taste even more of themselves.”

Wow — tomatoes are already high in umami (the fifth taste, often described as “savory”). Amping that up is such an interesting idea.

Inspiration in a bowl

That got me thinking about a salad I’d recently fallen in love with at Loro, a restaurant near my home in Dallas, Texas: cantaloupe, tomatoes, arugula and cucumber dressed with a tangy, lightly sweet, chile-inflected lime vinaigrette that sung with umami — maybe from fish sauce?

I had to figure out how to achieve something like this at home, and on a regular basis.

A dressing assist came from cookbook author Andrea Nguyen, who had put out a call for ideas for her to tackle in her Substack newsletter, Pass the Fish Sauce. Andrea conjured a wonderful Nước Chấm Vinaigrette — which I tweaked a little to get a dressing that works brilliantly in tomato salads.

Tomato, Cantaloupe and Cucumber Salad with Nước Chấm

A jar of it in hand, and lucky enough to be in possession of a beautifully ripe cantaloupe and some gorgeous heirloom tomatoes, I pulled together a salad: chunks of the melon and tomato, plus avocado, smashed cucumber, a few mint leaves plucked from a pot on my patio and a happy dose of that dressing. And yes, Vietnamese fish sauce. Easy-to-find Red Boat, especially its less-easy-to-find Phamily Reserve, is probably my fave.

It was as captivating as I’d hoped.

Next day, I made another — no melon this time; this was tomatoes, cukes and avocado, with cilantro instead of mint and that same Nước Chấm Vinaigrette. Also wonderful! (That’s the one pictured at the top of this story.) The basic recipe lends itself to endless variations.

Now that tomatoes are back in season, I know what I need to do: Mix up a jar of the Nước Chấm Vinaigrette. That way when gorgeous tomatoes come my way, I’ll be ready to pounce.

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Paris Summer Food Games: An artichoke vinaigrette puts France at your fingertips

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is one in a series of articles about dishes suited to watching and celebrating the 2024 Paris Summer Olympics.]

The French aren’t famous for eating with their fingers, but their approach to artichokes is a notable exception. Pull a leave off, dip the base in sauce (if the sauce is served on the side), scrape the base with your teeth and eat — that’s as French as it is American.

And because artichauts à la vinaigrette can be made ahead, chilled and then eaten cold (with your fingers!), they’re perfect for so many summer endeavors, from picnics and potlucks to having friends for drinks and apps, to snacking in front of the TV during the Paris Summer Olympics.

Our recipe has you pour the vinaigrette over the artichokes while they’re warm, but you could just as easily chill the boiled artichokes unadorned, and serve the vinaigrette separately, for dipping.

Need a quick primer on how to trim them for cooking? Find it in this article. And here’s the recipe:

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Leeks Ravigote, trending in France, belongs on your TV table this Olympic summer

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is the first in a series of articles about dishes suited to watching and celebrating the 2024 Paris Summer Olympics.]

Before we know it, all eyes will be on Paris for the start of the Olympic games, and likely as not that will put many of us in the mood for a French TV dinner or lunch.

One dish I know will be on my Olympic team is poireaux ravigote — poached leeks dressed in an herb-packed, caper-happy, shallot-y vinaigrette with boiled egg. The snazzy salad-like starter has been showing up on fashionable tables all around France. It’ll shine on your table, too, whether it happens to be the one in your dining room or the coffee table in front of your TV.

Here’s a little background. The French love leeks, and a similar dish, poireaux vinaigrette, has long been one of the country’s most popular bistro dishes.

A few years back, restaurants started giving their poireaux vinaigrette (and their asparagus vinaigrette, and their artichokes vinaigrette) a lovely flourish of chopped hard-boiled egg: Mimosa is what that’s called. Before long, poireaux mimosa, asperges mimosa and artichaut mimosa were everywhere.

Then, last fall, a new leek prep started popping up here and there: poireaux ravigote. The effect is tangier and much more herbal than a straight-ahead vinaigrette, with lots of punch from those capers and shallots; the tang and punch are balanced by the soft richness of egg. Somehow, leeks, with their gentle allium lusciousness, are the perfect vehicle.

Will ravigote be the new mimosa? Who knows?! But I couldn’t wait to replicate it when I came home.

Origin of the dish

As it turns out, sauce ravigote goes way back — at least as far back as Auguste Escoffier’s 1903 bible Le Guide Culinaire, in which Escoffier describes the sauce as “suitable for calf’s head or foot, mutton foot, etc.” Escoffier’s ravigote is a type of vinaigrette that includes capers, parsley, chervil, tarragon, chives and minced onion, along with olive oil, vinegar, salt and pepper. Egg doesn’t appear; otherwise its very similar to what we’re seeing these days on leeks.

As for that calf’s head, in France that’s known as tête de veau. It’s a boiled dish with a long and treasured tradition — in fact, there are still tête de veau festivals all over France. And where there are tête de veau festivals, the boiled calves head inevitably is served with, you got it, sauce ravigote. Tête de veaux with sauce ravigote is also sometimes served in very casual restaurants known as bouchons. A restaurant in Paris, La Ravigote, reinvigorates the tradition.

Tête de veaux is so rich it wants a tangy sauce to balance it; look at it that way, and it’s easy to understand why the original version didn’t include something like egg. And why you might want it with something lean, like leeks.

I don’t know when or why chopped egg made it into ravigote, but I do know that Daniel Boulud included it in a recipe for sauce ravigote he published eight years ago in Saveur magazine. He mentioned in the headnote to that recipe that the sauce may be prepared hot or cold.

The Wikipedia entry for Sauce ravigote echos the idea that it could be hot or cold, adding that the hot version is “classically based on a vegetable or meat broth, or a velouté,” and that the cold sauce is based on a vinaigrette.

Boulud’s version — a cold one — incorporates both ideas: It’s based on stock, but then vinegar and seasonings get blitzed in, followed by sunflower oil. A vinaigrette built on a stock base. He suggests serving it with fish, grilled meat or — “if you’re feeling gutsy,” tête de veau. No mention of leeks.

There are recipes for leeks ravigote all over the French reaches of the internet, though many — such as those published by the magazine Marie Claire and Femme Actuelle — are undated, so who knows how long they’ve been floating around. Dating back to 2010, there’s a recipe from a site called Marmiton for a terrine of skate with leeks and sauce ravigote; interestingly, it’s rated as “très facile” (very easy). Following the eight steps to make the terrine, it tells us to serve the terrine chilled with a sauce ravigote — the only guidance for the sauce offered parenthetically, as “vinaigrette + échalotes ciselées + câpres.” (Translation: vinaigrette + minced shallots + capers.) No mention of herbs, and definitely no eggs.

The earliest recipe for poireaux sauce ravigote I have found is from 2013, by chef Jean-Pierre Vigato, posted on his personal website. His post comes with the title “Une façon amusante de préparer les poireaux vinaigrette!” — an amusing way to prepare leeks vinaigrette. It’s all there, with a vinaigrette that includes herbs, shallots and capers, along with a few cornichons — and egg. For the egg, he has us coddle four eggs, and whisk the coddled yolk of one of them into the sauce, before roughly chopping the other eggs and adding them in as well.

Choose slender leeks, if you find them, with long pale parts. Fatter ones can be halved vertically. Be sure to keep part of the root intact so they don’t fall apart.

Our version of sauce ravigote

When I started playing with the dish, I found I preferred adding the chopped egg last, finishing the dish with it rather than incorporating it into the sauce, so the bits of it stay more distinct.

But let’s back up and talk about leeks; you’ll want to choose them carefully. In France, where people are accustomed to cooking with them, it’s easy to find nice ones, but in the United States, depending on where you live, it can be challenging.

Choose slender ones, if possible, and definitely those that halve long whitish parts — it’s the light part that simmers up nice and tender. If all you find are leeks that are mostly dark green, with maybe only an inch or two that’s whitish, just skip it: Those leeks are better suited for flavoring a stock. (And if you’ll notice, those dark green parts are often very thick — they’ll be tough.)

Last time I made leeks ravigote, I found a few lovely slender leeks, and a few that had nice white parts but were much thicker. I bought them all and cut the thicker ones in half vertically.

Start by trimming them: Slice off the bottoms, but be sure to leave a small part of the root. That keeps them attached so they don’t fall apart when you cook them. For the slender one’s you’re leaving whole, slice those vertically almost all the way through — again, leave them attached at the bottom — and then rinse them carefully, separating the layers gently with your fingers so you can rinse out any soil. Cut them off at the top where the pale part ends; hopefully you’ll have leeks that are at least 7 inches / 18 cm or so, and maybe as long as 12 inches / 30 cm. (which is even better). Use kitchen shears to snip off any dark green parts that creep down on some of the layers (as shown in the photo above).

After that, it’s smooth sailing. Simmer them in salted water till they’re tender. While they’re cooking, boil an egg for exactly 9 minutes, and make the vinaigrette — with Champagne vinegar (or white wine vinegar), Dijon mustard, olive oil, shallot, capers and herbs (parsley, chives, dill and tarragon). Chop the egg, drain the leeks, dress them with the vinaigrette and finish with the chopped egg.

Ready? Set? Ravigote!

RECIPE: Leeks Ravigote

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Recipe of the Day: Shrimp Gỏi Cuốn (Summer Rolls)

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By Leslie Brenner

When we’re craving something fresh and herbal, shrimp summer rolls — gỏi cuốn — always hit the spot.

Lay out the fillings — poached shrimp, raw herbs, lettuce and boiled rice stick noodles — in the middle of the table, and let everyone dip their rice paper wrapper in water and roll their own. Serve them with peanut dipping sauce (tương chấm gỏi cuốn); the recipe for that follows the summer roll recipe.

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Cacio e pepe cheese coins may be the dreamiest aperitivo snack ever

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By Leslie Brenner

Tender and buttery as shortbread cookies, but savory, cheesy and rolled in cracked pepper, these “cheese coins” are the brainchild of Nancy Silverton. I found the recipe in her new cookbook, The Cookie That Changed My Life and More Than 100 Other Classic Cakes, Muffins and Pies That Will Change Yours.

Technically, the coins are probably cookies, and yes, I do feel the recipe has changed my life. Meaningfully. Aperitivo hour will never be the same — especially if it involves white wine.

They’re not hard to make if you don’t mind grating cheese; you’ll need Pecorino Romano, Parmigiano-Reggiano and white cheddar. Pulse flour in the food processor with cold butter, along with quick-to-make confit garlic cloves and garlic oil. Add the cheeses and crème fraîche, smoosh with your hands and a dough comes together. Roll into a log, chill, brush with garlic oil, roll in cracked pepper, slice and bake.

What could be more rewarding? Who needs spaghetti?

The recipe makes two logs. The cookbook says they each make a dozen coins, but in fact each makes two dozen. For me that meant one for slicing and baking right away, and another for stowing in the freezer. Just the thing for a rainy or snowy day.

Aperitivo lovers, you’re in for a treat.

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Summer of ceviche: Two ways to let umami take your ceviches to the next level

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Snapper Ceviche with Dashi and Seaweed

By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is Part 2 of a multi-part series. Here’s Part 1.]

If you’ve eaten ceviche in Peru, or dined anywhere in the world with a serious ceviche program, you’ve probably heard of leche de tigre — “tiger’s milk.” A marinade and sauce that can also be sipped after you’re done eating the ceviche, it’s one of the most delicious tricks up the sleeves of the Peruvian ceviche masters — Peruvians even spike it with pisco (Peru’s national liquor) and drink it as a cocktail.

Leche de tigre is brilliant for introducing umami into a ceviche, while at the same time smoothing out the harsh acid of the lime juice. You’ll see it as an ingredient in many ceviche recipes, along with a sub-recipe, as it’s not something you can buy: It’s fish broth combined with lime juice, fish trimmings and cilantro, maybe garlic and/or chile. Perhaps some red onion, which is also used in the fish broth. Oh, yes — first you’ll need a recipe for fish broth. And in order to make fish broth, you’ll need fish frames and heads.

In other words, most home cooks will skip that recipe.

It’s easy to see how restaurants can manage to make fish broth for leche de tigre; they can start their ceviches from whole fish and use those heads and frames for big batches of broth. But for most of us at home, part of the appeal of ceviche is that it’s not just fresh, cool and expressive, but also relatively quick and easy.

So how to add umami into the equation without going to all that trouble? Two interesting — and very different — ways to go are dashi or tomatoes.

Ingredients for dashi (kombu and katsuobushi, or dried bonito flakes), and the finished stock

A Japanese touch

I thought about dashi, the simple, easy-to-make stock that’s the foundation of Japanese cooking, because it’s packed with umami, redolent of the sea, and quick and easy to make. In fact, it only involves two ingredients besides water: kombu (a type of seaweed) and bonito flakes. You can keep both on hand in the pantry, and it only takes 10 or 15 minutes for a batch. You can freeze the leftover dashi, or use it later to make a quick miso soup.

Dashi as a ceviche ingredient makes sense culturally, because there’s a strong Japanese influence in Peruvian cooking — known as cocina nikkei — thanks to Japanese immigration to Peru beginning in the late 19th century. And dashi’s ingredients — seaweed and bonito — are both found in Peru’s Pacific.

While I’ve seen various ceviches that use Japanese ingredients — including shaved bonito (or katsuobushi) as a garnish — I haven’t seen any recipes that use dashi in the marinade.

It works beautifully, imparting a gentle sea-kissed umami to the fish. I chose red snapper from the Gulf of Mexico for this ceviche because that’s what looked beautiful that day, but you could use sea bass, or any firm-fleshed white fish. Wakame seaweed and cucumbers play nicely with the fish, and you can finish it with furikake — the Japanese condiment that includes sesame seeds, salt, red pepper and nori seaweed.

Tomato power

Taking advantage of tomatoes’ awesome umami power feels just right for the season. Sure, you can dice tomatoes and toss them in with whatever fish or seafood you’re using, or use halved cherry tomatoes, which also add pretty color. But why not include some puréed tomato in the marinade?

In Central Ecuador, there is a tradition of including puréed tomatoes in the marinade for a ceviche of blanched shrimp.

Here I poached the shrimp in a quick broth made from their shells, along with cilantro and red onion. I strained the broth, combined it with chopped tomato, lime juice, salt and arbol chile, then blitzed it for the marinade/sauce. Slivers of red onion and sliced cucumbers garnished the ceviche — which I served with tostadas. (In Ecuador, it would be more likely to be served with plaintain chips, but the tostadas are really nice.)

The sauce, meanwhile, is so delicious my husband and I drank every drop.

RECIPE: Ecuador-Inspired Shrimp Ceviche

Finally, here’s an easy raw-fish ceviche that requires no cooking except zapping an ear of corn in the microwave for 60 seconds (or giving it a quick dunk in boiling water). Starring tomatoes, avocado, yellow bell pepper, scallions, cilantro and barely-cooked corn kernels, it’s a full-on celebration of summer. The tomato takes two forms: It’s puréed in the marinade as well as diced with the other garnishes.

This time it was rockfish that spoke to me from the fish case: it was fresh and gorgeous. Snapper or sea bass would be fabulous, too; choose what looks most appealing.

RECIPE: Rockfish Ceviche with Tomato and Corn

Note about the safety of raw fish

FDA guidelines stipulate that any fish other than tuna species (including bigeye, yellowfin, bonito/skipjack and bluefin) and farmed salmon must be frozen before it’s safe to consume raw; freezing it kills any possible parasites. However, as this excellent Serious Eats article explains, the risk of infection from raw fish is very low. Personally, I would never eat raw farmed salmon, because of well documented problems in their feed (and I don’t like their flavor.) The phrase “sushi-grade” is meaningless. If you’re nervous about the safety of eating raw fish, it’s best to choose something that’s been frozen.

READ: Summer of Ceviche, Part 3

Curious about how this article came to be? Check out our weekly Substack newsletter where we develop ideas and deliver extra recipes. Here’s the issue that birthed this ceviche series.

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It’s the summer of ceviche! Here’s how to mastermind a great one

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is the first installment of a multi-part series. Updated June 22, 2023.]

There’s nothing more enticing than a gorgeous ceviche.

Maybe it’s one starring satiny sliced scallops, bathed oh-so-briefly in coconut and lime, consorting with velvety avocado slices. Or maybe it’s luscious bonito, with cancha (toasted corn nuts), sweet potato and cucumber. Or vermilion snapper, with flecks of tomato and cilantro and slivers of red onion. Or a vegan one, featuring hearts of palm, chile threads and radishes.

At their best, ceviches are cool, vibrant, alluring and expressive. The fact that they’re so exciting and inventive in their ostensible birthplace, Peru, is arguably the reason Lima has become such a culinary hot spot over the last decade. Peru’s northern neighbor, Ecuador, is all-in with ceviche culture, too, as is Mexico — including with aguachile, a type of ceviche. As chef Douglas Rodriguez pointed out in The Great Ceviche Book (2003, revised 2010), variations are also enjoyed in coastal towns throughout Central America, South America and the Caribbean.

Dazzling ceviches have broken out of Latin America in recent years. They first started appearing in the U.S. in the late 1980s, and they had some time in the spotlight when Rodriguez opened Patria in New York City in 1994, followed by Chicama in 2000. Now, once again, ceviches and aguachiles are having a major moment. (Not in your town or country yet? Let’s talk again in a month or two.)

On the other hand, there are legions of lesser versions rattling around in the world. At their most careless, ceviches can be pretty awful — too harsh, too acid, too relentlessly twangy. That’s because the basic recipe is raw fish plus lime juice (with some chile and salt). The lime juice, which is intensely acidic, “cooks” the fish by transforming its proteins, thereby firming up the flesh.

So what do the Peruvians and Ecuadorians know that most of us don’t?

They know how to tame the lime juice.

Here’s the great thing: If you understand how to do that, you can throw together incredibly elegant starters that’ll wow your friends and family with very little effort, usually without even turning on the stove. Perfect for summer! They can star raw fish or other seafood “cooked” with (tamed!) lime, but seafood that’s been literally cooked (maybe shellfish, squid or octopus) is welcome, too. There are even duck ceviches, and versions starring beef. Meanwhile, plant-based ceviches are happening — including in Peru. Gastón Acurio, the country’s most famous chef, gives recipes in Peru: The Cookbook for Artichoke Ceviche, and Ceviche de Champiñones (mushroom ceviche). “You can make ceviche with button mushrooms or any other type of vegetable,” he writes. “Ceviche is a blank canvas, not just a recipe.”

Ceviche’s canvas is open to all kinds of cultural inspiration and improvisation, thanks to the dish’s origin story and evolution.

In Peru, citrus-bathed raw seafood cebiches (that’s the original spelling) were first eaten in the 16th century. According to Maricel E. Presilla’s authoritative Gran Cocina Latina, bonito and baitfish (such as anchovy) were marinated in juice squeezed from Seville (bitter) oranges, the first citrus to be brought to the New World from Spanish colonists. In the second half of the 19th century, Japanese immigrants brought their culinary ideas to Peru, resulting in today’s cocina nikkei, and Chinese immigrants contributed theirs, with la cocina chifa.

But there are antecedents elsewhere in the world, such as the Philippines, whose kinilaw is “cured” in vinegar. Catalan people in Spain were marinating fish and seafood in lime, orange and vinegar as far back as the 14th century (escabeche!). Presilla refers to pre-Inca archeological sites on the coast of northern Peru where passion fruit and tumbo seeds were excavated “side by side with hot pepper seeds and the remains of shellfish and fish bones.” Not a citrus-juice situation, but it suggests fruit-juice-and-chile-marinated fish; tumbo is an acidic fruit.

All of which is to say that with so much cross-pollination, ceviche is a culinary canvas on which cooks of every culture can feel comfortable painting.

You can certainly use the recipes that follow — one with this article, and others in upcoming installments of this series. I’m super excited about them, so I hope you do. But once you grasp the lime-softening principal and gain a sense of the possible range of ingredients (coming in future installments), you’ll also have what you need to improvise based on whatever fabulous seafood catches your eye and whatever other ingredients appeal. Stunning success is practically assured.

The principle

I had my first ceviche-taming lesson about 10 years ago, when my friend Bradford Thompson (a James Beard-Award winning chef) visited us at our home in Dallas. We’d invited him for dinner, and he showed up with ceviche components, including gorgeous diver scallops. I can’t remember what else was in the particular ceviche he threw together (he can’t either), except that it definitely relied on coconut water — yes, to soften the lime juice. The result was spectacular: suave, soft and lightly tangy, and tasting gently of the sea. And the texture of those scallops — which only got a quick coconut-lime bath — was magnificent.

It was an ocean apart from the usual white fish cooked in straight lime to toughness.

I adored that ceviche, but somehow it took me a decade to synthesize why it was so good: not simply because the coconut water made it nice, but because the coconut water diluted the lime.

My hunch was confirmed when I turned to the very first recipe in Acurio’s Peru — Ceviche Classico. It starts with white fish fillets (sole, croaker or grouper) cut into 3/4-inch cubes and seasoned with salt and pepper. They cure for one minute, then you add chopped garlic and chiles, lime juice and chopped cilantro — along with ice cubes. Ice cubes! What do the ice cubes do? They melt as you stir them into the ceviche, diluting the lime juice.

In Gran Cocina Latina, one of Presilla’s 10 ceviche tips is adding ice cubes “to tone down” lime juice’s acidity. Remove them, she advises, before the ice melts completely, “or it will water down the flavor.”

While you ponder the power of frozen water to finesse fabulousness, help yourself to a recipe inspired by Bradford’s scallop ceviche that leans into coconut water to tame the lime. While Bradford didn’t recall the other ingredients, he did remember that it used twice as much coconut water as lime juice. (That’s a ratio that chef Rodriguez also used in his signature Honduran Fire and Ice tuna ceviche at Patria, which appears in The Great Ceviche Book.)

If you can find fresh dry-pack sea scallops — the ones that have no chemicals or water added — this dish is a great place to start. As with all ceviche and other raw-fish recipes, make sure you’re buying the freshest possible product from a trusted purveyor, use it the day you purchase it, and keep it well chilled until you use it.

RECIPE: Scallop Ceviche with Coconut and Avocado

But wait — is it safe?

FDA guidelines stipulate that any fish other than tuna species (including bigeye, yellowfin, bonito/skipjack and bluefin) and farmed salmon must be frozen before it’s safe to consume raw; freezing it kills any possible parasites. However, as this excellent Serious Eats article explains, the risk of infection from raw fish is very low. Personally, I would never eat raw farmed salmon, because of well documented problems in their feed (and I don’t like their flavor.) The phrase “sushi-grade” is meaningless. If you’re nervous about the safety of eating raw fish, it’s best to choose something that’s been frozen.

Curious about how this article came to be? Check out our weekly Substack newsletter where we develop ideas and deliver extra recipes. Here’s the issue that birthed this ceviche series.

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Thanksgiving finger foods: 10 recipes for light and lovely pre-feast nibbles

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By Leslie Brenner

Let’s face it: You kind of have to have them, even if you know you shouldn’t eat them.

They’re the nibbles that inevitably kick off a Thanksgiving feast. Best to keep them light and fresh.

When I was growing up, my mom — whose late November birthday meant she ruled the holiday — believed no such thing. Every year she started the festivities with a platter heaped high with her famous chopped liver. Yep — the craziest thing you could possibly lead with, as it’s so rich and heavy. And yet we could never resist, helping ourselves to saltine after saltine heaped with the treat.

It’s the only part of our family tradition that I don’t follow when I host. Instead, I go full-on fresh with crudités — a huge platter of endive leaves, celery, carrot sticks, radishes, cauliflower florets and the like, usually with Red Pepper-Harissa Dip. From the crudités that don’t get eaten, I fashion a relish tray — always a Thanksgiving table fixture in our family. (For that I add giant black ceregnola olives and scallions with ice-water-curled greens, in honor of my mom, who had a special tool to fringe their ends.)

Please help yourself to my dip recipe — along with all the other light nibbles that follow. Although you want your crudités pretty freshly cut, the dip and everything else can be made well ahead.

Red Pepper-Harissa Dip

Smoked Trout ‘Rillettes’

Smoked Trout ‘Rillettes’ make a fine nibble as well — especially served with endive leaves to scoop it onto. It’s super easy to put together — just smash up a smoked trout fillet with a fork or your fingers, stir in crème fraîche or sour cream, season with grated lemon zest and fresh herbs, if you like, and there you go. It’s also really good smeared onto rounds of toasted baguette (but that’s for another day — too filling on T-Day!).

Pickled Veg: Choose Your Favor Profile

Pickled vegetables also work well — they’re great for waking up the palate and even making celebrants more hungry. You could skew them Italian-American, by making a bright and herbal giardiniera (we love the one shown marinating in the center above, from Alex Guarnaschelli’s book Cook With Me). Or put out some Mexican zanahorias escabeches, which we call Taquería Carrots. Or some Levantine quick pickles with turmeric and fenugreek, made with cauliflower and carrots.

Or hey — how about Spicy Pickled Okra? The recipe we adapted from Sweet Home Cafe Cookbook may be the best we ever tasted: crispy and tangy, snappy and spicy. In other words, perfect for this occasion. (Sweet Home Cafe is the restaurant in the National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C.) Okra is in season until the first frost, so Thanksgiving usually comes in just under the wire — a season’s last chance to celebrate it.

Chilled Shrimp — Pickled or Not

Nothing says “special occasion” like a display of chilled shrimp, and nothing’s more American. We love the pickled shrimp shown above, from Toni Tipton-Martin’s award-winning cookbook, Jubilee.

Alternatively, boil up some shrimp — the best you can find, preferable wild-caught from the Gulf — the day before the holiday. Of course you could serve them with cocktail sauce for dipping. Even more fun is Remoulade Sauce, the mustardy, mayo-y sauce from Louisiana, tangy with cornichons and capers. Making it a day ahead gives the flavors a chance to meld.

Mikie’s Marinated Olives

If you can get a nice assortment of olives, my friend Michalene’s marinade is a beautiful way to jazz them up. The combination of orange rind, fennel seeds, garlic, thyme and bay leaf really sings this time of year.

‘Wine Style’ Marinated Mushrooms

And finally, I love these marinated mushrooms from Wine Style, Kate Leahy’s wonderful guide to laid-back entertaining. You can make them a day or two in advance, store them covered in the fridge, and bring them to room-temperature before putting them out on the big day.

RECIPE: ‘Wine Style’ Marinated Mushrooms

Happy cooking, and best wishes for a marvelousThanksgiving!

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Our Moussaka for the Ages makes a delicious centerpiece for Greek Orthodox Easter

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Moussaka for the Ages from Cooks Without Borders

By Leslie Brenner

With its extravagant layers of lamb-y sauce, tender eggplant and potato, and luscious cheesy bechamel, a great moussaka is hard to resist anytime. And if you’re celebrating Greek Orthodox Easter, we can’t think of any more delicious way.

We gave the dish a makeover 16 months ago, and our Moussaka for the Ages has become a Cooks Without Borders readers’ favorite.

READ: “Moussaka, a spectacular dish with a curious history, gets a magnificent (and long overdue!) makeover”

We happen to think it’s stupendous, and it’s also easier and less messy to put together than most versions of moussaka, as we roast rather than fry the eggplant slices.

Here’s the recipe. Whether it’s for Easter or just a lovely Sunday supper, do enjoy!

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Fresh, light and hopeful: Here are 7 of our favorite starters for spring

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Sabzi Khordan, the herb platter that starts nearly every Persian meal. Here it is shown with a quickly made version of naan-e barbari (Persian flatbread) fashioned from frozen pizza dough.

By Leslie Brenner

As spring beginnings go, planet Earth has seen better. (Really — tornadoes just now??!)

Here’s to hope and renewal — and with that in mind, a few delicious ways to begin the meals of spring.

The Greenest Gazpacho

Vegan, gluten-free, easy-to-make (in a blender, no cooking) and finished with a handful of gorgeous fresh spring herbs, this is the soup I turn to when the sun warms the earth, but tomato season is still a ways off. It gets richness from raw almonds or cashews and optimistic tang from sherry vinegar.

Asparagus Gribiche

Inspired by a recipe in the Gjelina cookbook, this dish celebrates two of my favorite springtime treats: asparagus and eggs. It’s dressy enough for Easter or Passover, and a delightful treat any old time.

Pea-Ricotta Dip

Foolproof and addictive, this dip is made with frozen peas, swirled with ricotta and brightened with lemon zest. It comes together in a flash.

Ridiculously Easy Minted Pea Soup

Our spin on French potage Saint-Germain — fresh pea soup, served warm — this one’s also made from frozen peas, yet it tastes like you spent hours shelling fresh ones. Elegant and easy, it’s the perfect beginning to a spring dinner, or dreamy for lunch.

Sabzi Khordan — Persian Herb Platter

Sabzi Khordan is the platter of herbs and accouterments that appears on nearly every Iranian table. You can nibble on the herbs from the start of the meal and throughout, or wrap a small assortment in a piece of nan-e barbari, Persian flatbread. Our friend Nilou Motamed shared her super-easy recipe for the nan shown here, made from frozen pizza dough; find a link in our Sabzi Khordan recipe.

Vegan Spring Beauty Soup

Made with beautiful spring vegetables — asparagus, leeks, sugar-snap peas, young carrots, turnips and more — this plant-based soup is light and elegant.

Artichokes Vinaigrette

Spring begins artichoke season, and artichokes are a great thing to have in your repertoire from now through the end of summer. You can boil them and serve them with mayo to dip the leaves in, or open up the petals and drizzle on a shallot vinaigrette in classic French style. Our recipe links to a story that shows how to prep them.

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Recipe for Today: Heading toward the weekend, we’re thinking endless guacamole

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Guacamole, made the traditional way — with the same ingredients Diana Kennedy used in her recipe in ‘The Cuisines of Mexico,’ but in different proportions

By Leslie Brenner

Is there anything more festive than a molcajete filled with guacamole? As a party-starter — whether it’s a party of two or twenty — it can’t be beat.

Our friends who garden seem to all have cilantro that’s gardening at the moment, and its delicate lacy blossoms make the nicest garnish, if you can get them.

Of course you’ll need ripe avocados, which is why we’re talking about this now. Memorial Day weekend — summer’s unofficial kickoff — is just about here, and if you grab a few avocados that are not quite ripe, you can put ‘em in a paper bag and they’ll be ready to smash just when you need them.

Whether your Memorial Day festivities skew toward carne asada or burgers on the grill, or even a fabulous vegan mixed grill, you don’t need to overthink the party-starter. Haven’t made plans? Mash up some guac, tear open a bag of chips and invite a friend. See? The party’s here.