Holiday cooking

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Making out-of-this-world heirloom-corn tamales is totally within your power!

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This article was first published, in slightly different form, on Dec. 8, 2021.]

If you’ve always wanted to try making tamales for Christmas, but something inevitably got in the way (yep, it sounds pretty intimidating!), this is a great year to dive in with your maiden effort. It’s super fun, the rewards are great, and it’s easier than you might think.

Best of all, heirloom corn masa harina is now widely available. It makes tamales that are about a thousand times better than those made with Maseca or other commercial masa harina. I love the product from Masienda, which is now available at many fine supermarkets (including Whole Foods Markets), as well as through Amazon. Choose any color you like — yellow, white, blue, red, or more than one. King Arthur also sells an organic masa harina that’s much better than Maseca.

READ: “The Masa Life, Part I: How heirloom corn masa harina can transform everyday cooking”

How do blue corn tamales filled with duck in dark mole sound? Or vegan tamales filled with roasted sweet potato and vegetable picadillo — served with salsa macha? Yes, I thought so!

Why tamales, why now?

Until a few years ago, I thought that making tamales might not be worth the trouble. Most tamales I’d ever eaten — even those that came wrapped in great reputations — had just been OK at best. Usually the masa was not terribly flavorful, often on the heavy side, with not enough (or not delicious enough) filling.

Then I tasted Olivia Lopez’s tamales, made with masa fashioned from heirloom corn. (As you know if you’ve been reading Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican cooking features for any length of time, we are super fortunate to have Olivia as our resident Mexican cooking expert.) Of course much of her tamales’ lusciousness is thanks to her skill and palate — as chef and co-owner of Molino Olōyō in Dallas, the smashing tamales Olivia has been selling since last year through her Instagram feed quickly developed a cult following. (She doesn’t yet have a brick-and-mortar location.)

But another big part of the reason for Olivia’s tamales’ great flavor is the quality of the heirloom corn from Mexico that she nixtamalizes to make her masa.

For a story I published in The Dallas Morning News a few years ago, Olivia developed a recipe for a Sweet Pineapple Tamal using then-newly available heirloom masa harina from Masienda, and the tamales were spectacular.

And so (Christmas lightbulb illuminating — ding ding ding!) for the holiday season, Olivia developed and shared with us two savory tamal recipes using heirloom masa harina.

They’re out of this world — and believe it or not, not difficult to make.

First is the vegan tamal — one that gets its lushness from coconut oil, rather than the usual lard. It’s filled with roasted sweet potato and a vegetable picadillo. “That picadillo is inspired by the one my Grandma Margarita used to make,” says Olivia. The confetti-like sauté of onions, carrots, tomato, chiles, golden raisins and more is also versatile beyond tamales; if you have any left over, you can use it to fill tetelas, sopes or quesadillas. (I filled tetelas with a little extra picadillo and roasted sweet potato — fantastic.)

Sweet Potato and Vegetable Picadillo Tamales, prepared using Masienda heirloom masa harina, from Olivia Lopez’s recipe

In Mexico, Olivia tells us, tamales are usually eaten on their own, generally not with any salsa. “Usually you just have them with atole,” she says. “Masa on masa!” (Atole is a sweet, hot drink made with masa.) But she loves the late-autumn/early winter flavors of the vegan tamal with salsa macha — and we happen to have a great recipe for that, as well (Olivia’s!).

Our second tamal — blue corn filled with pato en mole oscuro (duck in dark mole) — has a saucy flourish as well: a quickly put-together chimichurri-like salsa made from dried tart cherries, chives (or scallion tops), parsley and lime. “It balances the rich, earthy mole,” says Olivia. Beautifully, I would add.

Tamales de Pato en Mole Oscuro (duck in dark mole), with Tart Cherry-Chive Salsa — prepared from recipes by Molino Oloyo chef and co-owner Olivia Lopez

The tamal’s filling is achieved by roasting duck legs (easy), then saucing the shredded duck in a dark mole that’s also easier to put together than I imagined. (Empowering!) You can use the duck fat that renders when you slow-roast those legs to enrich the masa, or use olive oil — again, no lard. Our instructions have you wrap the tamales in banana leaves before steaming, but corn husks work just as well. The vegan tamales call for corn husks, but they’re also interchangeable — as is the color of heirloom masa harina you use, yellow, blue, rose or white.

Don’t freak out when you see the long recipes — the reason for their wordiness is we’re holding your hand tight, to make sure you’re comfortable with what may be a new process, and to ensure you get great results. To that end, we put together a tip sheet.

And finally, here is the recipe for Olivia’s Sweet Pineapple Tamales. We love pineapple’s sunny and bright flavor during winter’s chill — makes us (almost!) feel we’re in Colima, Mexico, Olivia’s home town. If only!

Want to keep the Sweet Pineapple Tamal vegan? Easy to do — the crema garnish is optional. And all three are gluten-free.

Happy Tamalidays!

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Cinco de Mayo, long on the rocks, is now straight up — an appropriation-free cause for celebrating with chicken tostadas

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: A different version of this story was originally published last year at Cooks Without Border’s Substack newsletter. The newsletter won the People’s Voice Webby Award last month; this article, which was a post for paid subscribers, was included in its entry submission. Find a link to subscribe at the end of this story.]

If you know a little about Cinco de Mayo, but not a lot, you might feel conflicted about commemorating it. The holiday reeks of cultural appropriation, and for good reason: the Margarita-powered drunken revelry many Americans associate with the date isn’t exactly a celebration of anything truly Mexican.

But dive into the fascinating history, and celebrating the holiday with California-Mexican chicken tostadas and margaritas on the rocks suddenly makes a world of sense.

The history of El Cinco de Mayo

Perhaps you know that the holiday does not pay tribute to Mexican Independence Day. That’s Sept. 16. You might know that Cinco de Mayo is not widely observed in Mexico (where it’s not a national holiday). And that it’s more an American thing than a Mexican one. Maybe you even know what it does commemorate: Mexico’s surprising victory over the French in the Battle of Puebla in 1862. The French ultimately prevailed, which might be why El Día de la Batalla de Puebla is not generally celebrated in Mexico outside of Puebla.

But if it’s minor there, how did the holiday get so big in the United States?

Well, it may surprise you (it did me!) to learn that the celebration of el Cinco de Mayo actually began in California — by Mexican Americans who supported democracy and opposed white supremacy — in the year following the Battle of Puebla. Truly!

The context was the Second Franco-Mexican War, in which the French, backed by Mexican monarchists, had been attempting to overthrow the Mexican government led by democratically elected Benito Juárez. Their against-all-odds victory in Puebla was a powerful source of pride for Mexicans. Alas, as mentioned, the French eventually did succeed in their democracy-quashing exploits, installing Maximilian I as emperor — a reign that lasted five years. (Ever wondered how things like crepas — crepes — got to Mexico? That’s how.) The Mexican republic was ultimately restored, in 1867.

But during that year following the Battle of Puebla — 1862 — the victory captured the imagination of Latinos in California, who commemorated it with the first Cinco de Mayo celebration on May 5, 1863.

A fascinating story by Yvonne Condes published on KCET’s website explains how and why. At the time of the Battle of Puebla, Civil War was raging north of the border, and southern politicians wanted to extend the Mason-Dixon line all the way into California, making it into a state where enslaving people would be legal. Most Latinos in the state were against the Confederacy and for the Union, and saw the French-Mexican War and the Civil War as analogous.

According to Cynthia L. Chamberlin, a historian at UCLA Center for the Study of Latino Health and Culture (CESLAC) who was quoted in the article, "Latinos in California said these two wars are really the same war, in a sense.” Both, explained Chamberlin, were “about a democracy fighting against elite rule and white supremacy.”

And so Cinco de Mayo, said David Hayes-Bautista, CESLAC’s director, was “basically a civil rights commemoration, Latinos telling the world where they stood on the issues of the Civil War and the French intervention.”

That’s why, looking back to my Southern California upbringing — and feeling lucky to have grown up steeped in Mexican American culture — I’m suddenly feeling great about celebrating el Cinco de Mayo. In its purest form, it’s a celebration of Mexican culture, not a drunken revelry with sombreros and other offensive stereotypes.

What to cook?

You could key your celebration back to the historic Mexican victory in Puebla, and prepare one of Puebla’s greatest culinary contributions, such as mole poblano, made with chocolate and a wide array of dried chiles. It’s an amazing dish, though extremely labor-intensive, a bit challenging to put together for a laid-back Sunday celebration this evening. Ditto crepas a la huitlacoche, whose star ingredient (huitlacoche, or corn fungus, a prized delicacy) is not easy to come by.

Instead, why not celebrate those politically engaged California Latinos of yesteryear with tostadas and classic margaritas? One of the tostada components, traditional pico de gallo, includes the colors of the Mexican flag — red, green and white.

Classic Margaritas

The drink most closely associated with El Cinco de Mayo — the Margarita — had a major appropriation as well. For decades there was a story out there — perhaps conceived and perpetrated by one of the liquor companies — there that the Margarita had been invented in the early 1950s in my home town, Los Angeles, at a long-running “Restaurant Row” (La Cienega Blvd.) establishment, Tail o’ the Cock.

But according to a 1974 article published in Texas Monthly, Pancho Morales, a bartender in Juarez, Mexico, invited the drink in at a Juarez bar called Toommy’s in 1942. It’s a much more credible story — and the one we’ll toast to. Here’s our recipe.

RECIPE: Classic Margarita on the Rocks

California-style chicken tostadas

To me, nothing speaks of California Mexican culinary culture like a crunchy, sloppy, juicy, tangy chicken tostada. In other words, a crisp tostada (a corn tortilla that’s been dried, toasted or baked to crispness) slathered with warm frijoles de olla, piled with salad, generously strewn with shredded chicken and topped with a ridiculous amount of pico de gallo. Probably there are avocados involved, either diced in the salad or in the form of a scoop of guacamole on top. It’s my take on the big, salady chicken tostadas that were served in Mexican restaurants all over L.A. when I was growing up (just a hundred years or so after that first Cinco de Mayo, in the 60s and 70s!). You can also easily make these tostadas vegan, by leaving off the chicken and playing up the avocados or guacamole.

The tostadas come together really easily, once you have the key components prepared: beans, tostada bases, pico de gallo and roast or grilled chicken.

To make things simplest, you can pick up a rotisserie chicken at the supermarket or grilled chicken at a Pollo Loco-type take-out spot. Or make your own (see below.)

The game plan

Once you make your chicken decision, get a big pot of beans going — I favor mayocobas because they’re delicious and they cook pretty quickly. Bayo beans work great, as well.

RECIPE: Frijoles de Olla

Then make tostada shells. I use Masienda heirloom masa harina and crisp them in the oven rather than fry them. Of course you can also take a short-cut and purchase these.

RECIPE: Tostada Shells (Crispy Tortillas)

Making the chicken at home

If you’re roasting your own chicken, you can do that after or before crisping the tostadas. For a super-simple method, scroll to the bottom of this enchilada recipe.

Up to an hour or two before you want to serve the tostadas, make some pico de gallo — just diced tomato and white onion, plus cilantro, salt and finely chopped serrano chiles (I seed them first, but not everyone does).

RECIPE: Pico de Gallo

Now you’re ready to put the tostadas together.

Spoon a generous portion of beans onto each crisped tostada base, including some bean liquid, so part of the tostada will stay crisp, and part will get a little juicy-chewy. Add a heaping handful of salad greens on top of the beans. Next chunks of avocado that you’ve squeezed a lime over and sprinkled with salt, and some shredded chicken. Or skip that, and finish with a spoonful of guacamole.

Crumble a little queso fresco over all, if you’re feeling expansive, or squeeze on a little crema. (If you’re vegan, leave chicken and cheese or crema off, and up the avocado ante). Finally, spoon an outlandish amount of pico de gallo on top. Serve with a wedge of lime.

The pico is what makes the whole thing: Together with the saucy beans and that lime that you’ll squeeze over all, it turns into a dressing for all that lettuce. That’s why you can’t be stingy with the pico. It’ll get more and more delicious as we move into tomato season, but even with sad Roma tomatoes it’ll be pretty good. And of course, it represents the colors of the Mexican flag, so it’s ideal for this holiday.

RECIPE: Chicken Salad Tostadas

Having these components around — delicious beans, tostadas, chicken and pico — can set you up to feed a crowd, or to delight one or two for many days in various iterations and combinations. (The tostada bases keep surprisingly well and long, sealed in a zipper bag, unrefrigerated.)

With warmer weather on the way, it’s dreamy to know a salady tostada is always there for the assembling.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

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What to make for New Year's Eve: a procrastinator's recipe trove

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Duck Breast (Magret) with Red Wine Sauce

By Leslie Brenner

Whether you’re keeping things cozy and small with your spouse or best friend, or you’ve invited the gang over for a blow-out, you want something special to be the star of your table on New Year’s Eve.

Here’s a trove of delicious ideas that don’t require having shopped or prepped anything the day before.

Andrea Nguyen’s Mushroom Pâté Puffs

Easy and elegant, these hot hors d’oeuvres are made using frozen puff pastry. They go great with Champagne!

Cacio e Pepe Cheese Coins

Savory cheese biscuits with their edges rolled in cracked pepper: These little pre-dinner bites are insanely good. They’re also ideal for bringing to someone else’s feast. They’re adapted from Nancy Silverton’s new cookbook, The Cookie That Changed My Life.

Buckwheat Blini with Crab Salad

Another one that’s great with bubbles! These tender little blini are just incredible. If crabmeat is too expensive, you can top them instead with a smear of crème frâiche and a bit of smoked trout or salmon.

Kate Leahy’s Harissa Deviled Eggs

Who doesn’t love deviled eggs? These are spiked with harissa for extra pizzazz.

Ecuador-Inspired Shrimp Ceviche

A light, beautiful and festive party-starter.

Celery, Endive and Crab Salad

The perfect winter starter salad.

Crispy-Skinned Striped Bass with Tangy Green Everything Sauce

Packed with herbs and shallots, the Tangy Green Everything Sauce is fabulous with nearly every kind of fish you can think of — and it’s great with roast meats, as well.

Scallops Grenobloise

Sea scallops are smashing, and pricey — New Year’s Eve is a great excuse to splurge on them.

Coconut Milk Shrimp (Yerra Moolee)

This gorgeously spiced dish from Kerala is a snap to make. It’s from Julie Sahni’s Classic Indian Cooking.

Duck Breast (Magret) with Red Wine Sauce

France’s favorite dish makes a delightfully celebratory main course. Pull out your best bottle of red to pair with it.

Café Boulud Short Ribs with Celery Duo

Fork-tender and saucy, these wine-braised short ribs are set on a celery root purée and topped with braised celery. It’s one of my favorite dishes ever.

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Baba au rhum may be the most fabulous French dessert of them all

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By Leslie Brenner

“A forkful of rum-soaked baba and Chantilly is one of life’s great pleasures.” Coming from Aleksandra Crapanzano, that’s really saying something: The food columnist for The Wall Street Journal counts Gâteau, a volume filled with recipes for 117 French cakes, among the three cookbooks she has authored. She grew up in Paris and New York, and currently lives in New York, and no doubt she’s eaten some pretty delicious forkfuls.

Nor is she the only one who feels that way about baba: For eons, whenever I’d ask my husband Thierry what dessert he would like for various special occasions, he’d say “baba au rhum.”

If we were in France, fulfilling that wish would be easy: You find baba au rhum in just about every pastry shop, and pastry shops are everywhere. Chez nous, in the U.S.? Not so easy. I’d gladly have been baking babas all these years, but I didn’t have the requisite savarin mold — a speciality baking pan that’s not easy to source. Baba recipes aren’t exactly a dime a dozen, and one that read as legit never crossed my path. Until last year: For Christmas, Thierry finally got his baba.

I found the recipe in Crapanzano’s latest book, which had recently been published. (It is included in our Ultimate Cookbook Gift Guide.)

RECIPE: Baba au Rhum

It’s a splendid recipe, and Crapanzano solves the problem of the mold by calling for a Bundt pan. In fact, if you use a 6-cup Bundt pan, which I never knew existed, it’s the same size as a savarin mold. Eureka! I ran around the corner to the cookware shop and found one.

A year earlier, I spent many hours researching the history of the dessert, so that if one day I was able to make one I could provide background. I needn’t have bothered; Crapanzano supplies it:

“The history of this classic dates back to the early 1700s, when exiled Polish king Stanislas Leszczynski complained to his pastry chef, Nicolas Stohrer, that the kugelhopfs — the prized cake of Nancy, where he was living — were too dry. Stohrer responded by brushing his next kugelhopf with a rum soaking syrup, and a classic was born. Stanislaus named it baba after his favorite fictional character, Ali Baba, and the name stuck. When Leszczynski’s daughter married King Louis XV, she moved to Paris and brought Stohrer with her — smart woman. He went on to open what remains today one of the great pâtisseries of Paris.”

In case you’re wondering about the Chantilly part of the equation, the stuff that’s on Crapanzano’s happy forkful, that would be crème Chantilly — French for whipped cream. You can either serve each slice, as Crapanzano suggests, with an “excessive dollop” of it, or just before serving you can fill the center of the Bundt-shaped cake with a giant cloud of it.

This, of course, would be a delightful extravagance to finish any kind of holiday dinner. But you could also make a baba between the holidays — or on a dreary afternoon in January or February — and invite friends over to devour it.

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Want to make awesome tamales? Quick, order some heirloom corn masa harina, then follow our lead!

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This article was first published, in slightly different form, on Dec. 8, 2021.]

If you’ve always wanted to try making tamales for Christmas, but something inevitably got in the way (yep, it sounds pretty intimidating!), this is a great year to dive in with your maiden effort. It’s super fun, the rewards are great, and it’s easier than you might think. Christmas Eve falls conveniently on Sunday this year, so that can be a lovely day of cooking. More importantly, we home cooks now have heirloom corn masa harina at our disposal — which makes tamales that are about a thousand times better than those made with Maseca, or other commercial masa harina.

If you’re going to do this, you’ll need to quickly order some masa harina — we love the product from Masienda, which also now sells through Amazon and some Whole Foods Markets. Choose any color you like — yellow, white, blue, red, or more than one. King Arthur also sells an organic masa harina that’s much better than Maseca.

Got them ordered? (Or maybe you have some on hand because you’ve been living the masa life?) OK, good. Now let’s talk tamales.

How do blue corn tamales filled with duck in dark mole sound? Or vegan tamales filled with roasted sweet potato and vegetable picadillo — served with salsa macha? Yes, I thought so!

Why tamales, why now?

Until a few years ago, I thought that making tamales might not be worth the trouble. Most tamales I’d ever eaten — even those that came wrapped in great reputations — had just been OK at best. Usually the masa was not terribly flavorful, often on the heavy side, with not enough (or not delicious enough) filling.

Then I tasted Olivia Lopez’s tamales, made with masa fashioned from heirloom corn. (As you know if you’ve been reading Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican cooking features for any length of time, we are super fortunate to have Olivia as our resident Mexican cooking expert.) Of course much of her tamales’ lusciousness is thanks to her skill and palate — as chef and co-owner of Molino Olōyō in Dallas, the smashing tamales Olivia has been selling since last year through her Instagram feed quickly developed a cult following. (She doesn’t yet have a brick-and-mortar location.)

But another big part of the reason for Olivia’s tamales’ great flavor is the quality of the heirloom corn from Mexico that she nixtamalizes to make her masa.

For a story I published in The Dallas Morning News a few years ago, Olivia developed a recipe for a Sweet Pineapple Tamal using then-newly available heirloom masa harina from Masienda, and the tamales were spectacular.

And so (Christmas lightbulb illuminating — ding ding ding!) for the holiday season, Olivia developed and shared with us two savory tamal recipes using heirloom masa harina.

They’re out of this world — and believe it or not, not difficult to make.

First is the vegan tamal — one that gets its lushness from coconut oil, rather than the usual lard. It’s filled with roasted sweet potato and a vegetable picadillo. “That picadillo is inspired by the one my Grandma Margarita used to make,” says Olivia. The confetti-like sauté of onions, carrots, tomato, chiles, golden raisins and more is also versatile beyond tamales; if you have any left over, you can use it to fill tetelas, sopes or quesadillas. (I filled tetelas with a little extra picadillo and roasted sweet potato — fantastic.)

Sweet Potato and Vegetable Picadillo Tamales, prepared using Masienda heirloom masa harina, from Olivia Lopez’s recipe

In Mexico, Olivia tells us, tamales are usually eaten on their own, generally not with any salsa. “Usually you just have them with atole,” she says. “Masa on masa!” (Atole is a sweet, hot drink made with masa.) But she loves the late-autumn/early winter flavors of the vegan tamal with salsa macha — and we happen to have a great recipe for that, as well (Olivia’s!).

Our second tamal — blue corn filled with pato en mole oscuro (duck in dark mole) — has a saucy flourish as well: a quickly put-together chimichurri-like salsa made from dried tart cherries, chives (or scallion tops), parsley and lime. “It balances the rich, earthy mole,” says Olivia. Beautifully, I would add.

Tamales de Pato en Mole Oscuro (duck in dark mole), with Tart Cherry-Chive Salsa — prepared from recipes by Molino Oloyo chef and co-owner Olivia Lopez

The tamal’s filling is achieved by roasting duck legs (easy), then saucing the shredded duck in a dark mole that’s also easier to put together than I imagined. (Empowering!) You can use the duck fat that renders when you slow-roast those legs to enrich the masa, or use olive oil — again, no lard. Our instructions have you wrap the tamales in banana leaves before steaming, but corn husks work just as well. The vegan tamales call for corn husks, but they’re also interchangeable — as is the color of heirloom masa harina you use, yellow, blue, rose or white.

Don’t freak out when you see the long recipes — the reason for their wordiness is we’re holding your hand tight, to make sure you’re comfortable with what may be a new process, and to ensure you get great results. To that end, we put together a tip sheet.

And finally, here is the recipe for Olivia’s Sweet Pineapple Tamales. We love pineapple’s sunny and bright flavor during winter’s chill — makes us (almost!) feel we’re in Colima, Mexico, Olivia’s home town. If only!

Want to keep the Sweet Pineapple Tamal vegan? Easy to do — the crema garnish is optional. And all three are gluten-free.

Happy Tamalidays!

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Dry-brine your way to Thanksgiving happiness: Some salt, a bird and a little time is all you need

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By Leslie Brenner

It’s easy. It’s not messy or cumbersome. Besides the bird, only salt is required. Once it’s in the oven, no need to baste. It produces the most perfect, succulent meat and gorgeous, crisp, brown skin. So unless you are one of those brave folks who likes to fry their turkey, why wouldn’t you dry-brine the big bird?

The method — which basically involves rubbing salt all over the turkey and letting it sit for three days — lets time and the salt do all the work for you. It’s a lot less messy and cumbersome than wet-brining, and doesn’t require finding a vessel large enough to submerge a turkey, nor finding a place in the fridge large enough to store that. (A turkey sealed airlessly in a zipper bag takes a lot less space.)

The one important point we are stressing this year is weighing your bird. Last year, we purchased a turkey that was two pounds lighter than labeled. If we hadn’t been paying attention, that could easily have led to an overcooked bird and not enough food — not to mention not getting what we paid for.

When I was growing up, my mom always had — handwritten and taped to the fridge — a turkey roasting timetable, for easy game-day reference. Following the link to the recipes is a timetable for your own easy reference.

The main takeaway: You’ll need to salt the turkey Monday morning, so get your hands on it right way.

Dry-Brined Turkey Timetable

The weekend before Thanksgiving

• Clean out the fridge to make space for the coming week of cooking. It’s a good thing to do pre-holidays in any case.

• Purchase your bird, so you’ll have it ready to salt on Monday morning. Be sure to weigh it once you’re home.

Monday

• If your turkey weighs more than 8 pounds (which most turkeys do), salt it this morning.

Tuesday

• If your turkey weighs 8 pounds of less, salt it this morning.

• If you salted yesterday, turn the bird over.

Wednesday

• Turn the bird over.

Thursday

• Morning: About 6 hours before you plan to roast, remove the turkey from the zipper bag and place it breast-up on a platter or sheet pan in the fridge to air-dry. Blot with a paper towel, if the bird has any visible moisture on the skin (it probably won’t).

• One to 1 1/2 hours before you want to roast, remove the turkey from the fridge and let it starting coming to room temperature.

• 15 minutes before roasting (or however long it takes your oven to heat), heat the oven to 425 F / 218 C. If you’re going to tie the turkey’s legs together, do that now.

• Turkey in — breast-side down on a rack in a roasting pan. The total roasting time for a 12-pound bird will probably be about 2 hours 45 minutes, but could be a lot faster, depending on your oven.

• 30 minutes after it’s in: Remove the pan and use oven mitts to turn the turkey breast-side up. Reduce the oven heat to 325 F / 163 C.

• 1 1/2 hours after flipping: Use an inatant-read thermometer to test the temperature at the thickest part of the thigh meat. If it’s getting close to 165 F / 74 C, you’ll want to check doneness frequently from this point on. (Note: If your bird is smaller than 12 pounds, start checking about 1 hour after flipping.)

• 45 minutes after first temperature check: Your 12-pound should be done, or close to it — pull it out, or keep checking every few minutes. (An 8-pound bird will done much more quickly.) Place on a carving board in a warm place (tented loosely with foil, if you like) to rest.

• 30 minutes after it comes out of the oven, carve and serve!

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Shrimp Louie, a retro West Coast delight with an entertaining history, belongs on your table this summer

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By Leslie Brenner

When I was a seafood-loving child growing up in Los Angeles back in the late 1960s, one of my favorite family excursions was going to dinner on the Santa Monica Pier. About halfway out, on the south side of the pier, was a laid-back, checkered-tablecloth seafood joint that offered two of my favorite foods in the world. One was house-made potato chips that were crisp on the edges and soft in the middle. I can’t remember what they served them with, only that they were incredible.

The other was a seafood Louie. I may be rewriting history — that was a long time ago! — but the way I remember it, you could choose between Crab Louie, Shrimp Louie or Crab and Shrimp Louie. I always went for the the combo. What landed before me was a magnificent assemblage of iceberg lettuce, plump shrimps, pieces of Dungeness crab (in and out of the shell), tomato wedges, hard-boiled egg quarters, a wedge of lemon and a pitcher of Louis dressing. How royal!

Somehow, the Louie salad (also spelled Louis, like its sauce) has fallen out of fashion, but I’ve always kept it in my rotation: A shrimp Louie has always been one of my favorite summer dinners to make at home. It’s easy, it’s delicious, it’s satisfying and it’s cold.

Interested? Here’s the recipe.

On the rare occasions I have access to Dungeness crab, I’ll make it a crab Louis; otherwise shrimp is dandy. (I always buy wild shrimp rather than the farmed stuff from Southeast Asia, which often suffers from poor farming practices.) 

You may be wondering, what is the origin of seafood Louie, and why have I never heard of it? Really it’s a West Coast/last century thing, so if you’re unfamiliar with it, it’s probably either because you’re younger, or not from the West Coast, or both.

History of the Crab Louis

The crab Louis dates back at least to the early 20th century; it was likely born either in Washington State or California’s Bay Area. Either would make sense, as both are home to delicious Dungeness crab.

The exact origin is hazy. It is known to have been served at the Olympic Club in Seattle in 1904, when — according to What’s Cooking America — the legendary opera singer Enrique Caruso kept ordering it “until none was left in the restaurant’s kitchen.”

But this excellent short documentary segment — “Cracking the Case of Crab Louie,” from a show called “Mossback’s Northwest” shown on Seattle’s local PBS station — debunks the Caruso tale, pointing out that Caruso never visited Seattle. The segment also points to the earliest known appearance of a recipe in the Pacific Northwest for Crab Louis: in the Portland Council of Jewish Women’s Neighborhood Cookbook, published in 1912. The recipe called for lettuce, crab meat, hard-boiled and a dressing made from oil, vinegar, ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, English mustard, salt and paprika. (Apparently those ladies did not keep kosher!)

The Davenport Hotel — some 270 miles inland from Seattle — is another possible birthplace. The hotel’s restaurant, The Palm Court, states on its website that its founder — Louis Davenport — had his chef, Edouard Mathieu, create it. It’s still on the Palm Court’s menu, “served according to the original recipe.” Interesting to note that as described on the menu, that signature dish has the same ingredients as our basic recipe — “Crisp butter lettuce topped with fresh Dungeness crab leg meat, hard-boiled eggs, tomatoes, and our famous housemade Louis dressing.”

San Francisco also lays claim to Crab Louis’ invention. In a 1914 book called Bohemian San Francisco, author Clarence E. Edwords gave a recipe for the Crab Louis from a restaurant called Solari’s. There’s no lettuce, tomato or hard-boiled egg involved; it’s just crabmeat dressed with Louis dressing: mayo, chili sauce, chow-chow, Worcestershire sauce and herbs. The St. Francis Hotel is sometimes mentioned in Crab Louis’ origin story as well.

Louis’ evolution

Although James Beard — who was a native of Portland, Oregon — adored Crab Louis and reportedly included recipes for it in at least three of his cookbooks, the salad had a hard time gaining traction away from the West Coast. Clementine Paddleford did not include it among the more than 600 recipes she collected for What America Eats, her exhaustive 1960 survey of dining habits across the country.

It was, however, in both Craig Claiborne’s 1961 The New York Times Cookbook and the 1964 edition of Joy of Cooking. Both were basically crabmeat mounded on lettuce, with Louis dressing spooned over.

A rendition included in Time-Life’s famous American Cooking series (“The Great West” edition, published in 1971) looks and sounds more enticing. This one has you toss crabmeat with the dressing and set the dressed crab in half an avocado, arrange bibb or Boston lettuce leaves around it and garnish with tomato and hard-boiled egg wedges.

Since then, written mentions of the salad — whether in books or on menus — are few and far between. Perhaps you can still find it here and there on the West Coast.

In 1996, I had the opportunity to cross the Atlantic on the Queen Elizabeth II, invited as a first-class passenger. That included dinners in the Queen’s Grill — where you could order whatever you wanted, whether or not it was on the menu. Everyone enjoyed playing “stump the kitchen,” but stumping those polished servers wasn’t so easy. One night I asked for a Crab Louis: Of all the things I could think of eating that moment, that sounded the best. The elegant waiter, who had seemingly never heard of the dish, nevertheless didn’t miss a beat. “Certainly, madame,” he said. “And how would you like that prepared?”

“Oh, the usual way,” I said. “A bed of Boston lettuce, with Dungeness crab heaped on top, wedges of tomato and hard-boiled egg, and that Louis dressing that’s pretty much a Thousand Island.” A few minutes later, a gorgeous one appeared. Absolutely royal.

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Hope for a “new day” for Iran’s women by cooking these dishes for Nowruz, the festival marking the start of spring

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Fresh Herb Kuku, from a recipe in ‘Food of Life’ by Najmieh Batmanglij

By Leslie Brenner

How delightful to be turning to spring, which begins Monday. Celebrated by people in and from Iran, Nowruz — a two-week festival with Zorastrian roots, marking the season’s return — begins on the vernal equinox. Nowruz (also spelled Norooz), which means “new day,” is also celebrated by people in Iraq, Afghanistan, Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan and other cultures in the region.

Traditionally, it’s a time of feasting and rejoicing. This year, however, is bound to be a difficult one in Iran, due to the severe repression of and violence against women and the resulting protests. One can only imagine the battered population there wishing for a true new day.

Here, stateside, Iranian families will be cooking traditional foods or enjoying them in restaurants. Persian eateries in Los Angeles are offering solace to Iranians living there; L.A. holds the largest Iranian population outside of Tehran. Should you choose to cook to mark the holiday — whether you’re Iranian or cooking in solidarity with the women of Iran — we’re here to help.

There’s a wonderful primer about the Nowruz festival in Food of Life, Najmieh Batmanglij’s encyclopedic book subtitled “Ancient Persian and Modern Iranian Cooking and Ceremonies.”

In every household, Batmanglij explains, a special cover is spread on a carpet or table — the sofreh-ye haft-sinn, or “seven dishes” setting. Each dish served begins with the Persian letter sinn, and they represent, respectively, rebirth, health, happiness, prosperity, joy, patience and beauty. Now that’s a lot to celebrate!

“The traditional menu for the Nowruz gathering on the day of the equinox usually includes fish and noodles,” Batmanglij writes. “It is believed they bring good luck, fertility and prosperity in the year that lies ahead.”

Batmanglij’s Menu:

• Noodle Soup (osh-e reshteh or ash-e-reshteh). Noodles, she writes, “represent the Gordian knots of life. Eating them symbolically unravels life’s knotty problems in the coming year.”

• Rice with Fresh Herbs and Fish (Sabzi polow ba mahi). Herb rice represents rebirth and fish represents Anahita, an angel of water and fertility.

• Herb Kuku. The eggs and loads of fresh herbs in this frittata-like dish represent fertility and rebirth.

• Sabzi Khordan with Bread. Iran’s ubiquitous herb platter with cheese and nan-e barbari (flatbread) represents prosperity.

• Wheat Sprout Pudding. For fertility and rebirth.

• Sprout Cookies. Prosperity and fertility.

• Seven Desserts. Representing nourishment, light, love, sweetness and prosperity.

Three great dishes to make

Sabzi Khordan — an Iranian herb platter — is a must at Nowruz celebrations (and every other Persian meal!).

Sabzi Khordan with Cheese and Nan-e Barbari

We’re leading off with the herb platter known as sabzi khordan, as it’s such an essential part of the Iranian table – not just during festivals, but every other day, as well. “It’s essential to any meal we have, always,” says Nilou Motamed. The food-world celeb — a permanent judge for Netfix’s “Iron Chef” revival and my editor long ago at Travel + Leisure — is a native of Iran.

Putting together the platter itself requires no cooking, just collecting, washing, trimming and assembling herbs, scallions, cukes and radishes, and sourcing the best feta you can find (Bulgarian, if possible). Toasted walnuts are optional. Nibble all of it to your heart’s delight before, during, and in-between everything else.

With it you’ll want the flatbread known as nan-e barbari. Making one is easier than you might think, thanks to a hack Nilou gave us when I interviewed her a few years ago for a story about sabzi khordan: Her mom uses frozen pizza dough. It’s super fun and easy to make. Flatbread in hand, you can create the perfect bite — what Nilou calls a loghme. “You put some feta cheese in the bread, and then whatever your perfect complement of herbs is — whether you’re a dill or a tarragon person, or you like both, maybe the little tail of a scallion.”

New Year’s Bean Soup (Ash-e-Reshteh)

This vegetarian bean soup, chock full of herbs and other greens, stars those long soup noodles (known as “reshteh”) that will untangle life’s problems You can make them by hand; Naomi Duguid gives instructions for doing so in her gorgeous book, Taste of Persia, from which our recipe is adapted. You can also buy them in Middle Eastern groceries carrying Iranian ingredients, buy them online, or substitute dried linguine — which many recipes, including Duguid’s suggest. Another Iranian ingredient, kashk — a fermented milk product made from whey — may also be found in Middle Eastern groceries; it’s optional in Duguid’s version, and the soup is delicious even without it.

We featured the recipe a few years ago in a short piece about Persian New Year’s bean soup.

RECIPE: ‘Taste of Persia’ Ash-e-Reshteh (New Year’s Bean Soup)

Fresh Herb Kuku

Finally, there’s the glorious frittata-like egg-and-herb kuku (shown at the top of the story). To make it, season beaten eggs with turmeric and advieh — a fragrant mix of ground dried rose petals, cinnamon, cumin and cardamom. (Cooking Iranian food is always a delightful to the senses.) Add a ton of finely of herbs (parsley, cilantro, dill and fenugreek) and lettuce, plus garlic, scallion, chopped walnuts and sautéed chopped onion. Pour the batter into a skillet in which you’ve heated oil, butter or ghee, cook it slowly until it has set in the center, then finish it quickly under the broiler. Top it with caramelized barberries.

RECIPE: Najmieh Batmanglij’s Fresh Herb Kuku

Here’s hoping for that true new day.

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Last-minute holiday sweets: Easy desserts to pull together from stuff on hand

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Torta al Cioccolato — flourless chocolate cake — from ‘Via Carota’ cookbook comes together with butter, eggs and two bars of chocolate.

By Leslie Brenner

Got a couple of chocolate bars, four or five apples or a pack of sliced almonds? If so, with a couple pantry basics you can pull together a festive last-minute dessert that will dazzle and delight.

For those of us who resist planning ahead (it wasn’t our fault, right?!) I’ve pulled together a few of my favorite easy treats — including ways to adapt to what you have on hand.

A sumptuous torta al cioccolato

The magnificent flourless chocolate cake shown above, with its crackly crust and moist, rich center, can be yours if you’ve got half a dozen eggs, two 3.5-ounce chocolate bars, sugar, salt and cocoa powder or flour for dusting the pan.

Apple-Calvados (or -Brandy, -Rum, or -Whiskey) Cake

During apple season, I try to make sure I always have four or five apples on hand — first because I love eating them, but also in case I feel like baking up this easy beauty. Any kind of apples will do.

The cake evolved from a Dorie Greenspan recipe that called for rum. I love it with the French apple-brandy Calvados to double up on the apple flavor, but any kind of brandy (American apple-brandy, Spanish Brandy de Jerez, French Cognac or Armagnac, etc.), rum or even bourbon or other whiskey work, too. The types of flour you can use are flexible, as well.

Your Favorite Chocolate Mousse

Here’s a chocolate mousse you can make if you have two 3.5-ounce chocolate bars and four eggs. Flavor it however you like: with vanilla or almond extract, just about any kind of liqueur, or espresso. The garnish is a free-for-all, too.

Almond Tuiles

Got sliced almonds? Make these crisp and pretty almond tuiles — which are lovely on their own or serve with ice cream or cake.

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Holiday gift guide: Most exciting cookbooks of 2022 (Part II)

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is Part II of our two-part Cookbook Gift Guide.]

Part I of our roundup of our favorite and most promising cookbooks published this year included 8 outstanding new titles. Here is the second inspiring batch. We’re working on full reviews of a number of them, and have already cooked from most.

Any one of the books below will thrill an adventuresome cook on your list.

Mezcla: Recipes to Excite

Author Ixta Belfrage had a truly international childhood. She grew up in Tuscany, with a Brazilian mother and a New York-born father whose family relocated to Mexico during the McCarthy era (when his own British-born father was deported). Italian, Brazilian, Mexican, American and English culture — including food culture — were important parts of Belfrage’s life, as she spent a good deal of time as a child with her grandparents in Cuernavaca, Mexico, in her mother’s hometown of Natal, Brazil, and, as a 19-year-old, living in Rio de Janeiro. All of these culinary cultures come to play in her cooking, along with the outsized influence of Yotam Ottolenghi — with his wide palette of flavors. She worked for the chef-author for five years, first at NOPI restaurant, and then in the OTK (Ottolenghi Test Kitchen).

Belfrage’s first solo book celebrates this far-flung mix of influences (mezcla means “mixture” in Spanish), and the result is a collection of highly original recipes expressing a fresh, open cooking style that you might think of as joyous fusion. It’s a style very much in the idiom of Ottolenghi Flavor, which she co-authored. She divides Mexcla into two sections: “Everyday” (quick and easy recipes) and “Entertaining” (more elaborate, weekend-project-type recipes). Sometimes, but not always, the fusion is within a dish, such as Hake Torta Ahogada with Shrimp Miso Bisque. We test-drove one recipe that keeps the flavor profile Italian and preparation minimal: an ingenious vegetarian dish of tagliatelle dressed in an intensely flavorful porcini ragù that cooks in about 10 minutes. Verdict: Want to cook more!

Mezcla: Recipes to Excite by Ixta Belfrage, photographs by Yuki Sugiura, Ten Speed Press, $35.

The Vegan Chinese Kitchen

Hannah Che, creator of the excellent blog The Plant-Based Wok, has published one of the most inspiring and beautiful books to hit the shelves in some time. (Our Cookbook of the Year, Via Carota, is another.) Now based in Portland, Oregon, Che studied in Guangzhou, at the only vegetarian cooking school in China. There she immersed herself in zhai cai, the plant-based cuisine with centuries-old Buddhist roots that emphasizes umami-rich ingredients. If you like flipping through a cookbook filled with photos of dishes that are absolutely gorgeous, you’ll love this — and Che took those photos herself. I’ve marked probably at least three-quarters of the recipes as “want to cook,” and very much enjoyed the first one I tried: Napa Cabbage and Vermicelli Salad.

The Vegan Chinese Kitchen: Recipes and Modern Stories from a Thousand-Year-Old Tradition by Hannah Che, Clarkson Potter, $35.

Dinner in One: Exceptional and Easy One-Pan Meals

In Dinner in One, New York Times cooking columnist and award-winning author Melissa Clark focuses on streamlining: All 100 recipes wrap maximum deliciousness in minimum effort. Her smart introduction explains why home cooking is fundamentally different than restaurant cooking — and consequently most chef recipes — requiring a completely different approach. In her new book, she explains in the intro, “The recipes are simple but not simplistic, with complex, layered flavors that you can achieve with minimal stress.” Mission accomplished: Cooks both experienced and just starting out will love the results. Try this recipe for a sheet-pan chicken “tagine” to see what we mean.

Dinner in One: Exceptional and Easy One-Pan Meals by Melissa Clark, Photographs by Linda Xiao, Clarkson Potter, $29.99.

Masa

Jorge Gaviria’s important, encyclopedic volume is a must-have for Mexican cooking aficionados, including chefs and serious home cooks. We reviewed it last month.

Masa: Techniques, Recipes, and Reflections on a Timeless Staple by Jorge Gaviria, photographs by Graydon Herriott, Chronicle Books, $35.

First Generation: Recipes from My Taiwanese-American Home

Here’s another super-appealing debut from the creator of a popular blog. If there’s someone on your list who loves dumplings and appreciates wonderful writing, choose First Generation. Author Frankie Gaw, the cook behind the delightful Little Fat Boy blog, weaves terrific personal stories into his headnotes. Excellent step-by-step visuals (expertly illustrated and photographed by Gaw) show how to pull noodles, wrap wontons, make braided bao wrappers and more. I haven’t yet cooked from it, but can’t wait to let Gaw teach me how to make Sesame Shaobing, Lau-Kee Congee, Pork Belly Mushroom Corn Soup and more.

First Generation; Recipes from My Taiwanese-American Home by Frankie Gaw, Ten Speed Press, $32.50.

In Diasporican, Illyanna Maisonet reflects, unflinchingly, on the Puerto Rican disapora and why it’s been so difficult for the cooking of Puerto Rico to take off stateside. “The truth is,” she writes, “Puerto Rican cuisine shares a lot in common with the cuisines of Hawai‘i, Guam and the Philippines — all the places that got fucked by Spanish and United States colonialism.” Winner of an IACP award for narrative food writing and former columnist for The San Francisco Chronicle, Maisonet offers a compelling collection of very personal recipes mixed in with traditional ones, many inspired by her grandmother, from whom she learned to cook when she was growing up in Sacramento, California. High on my list of dishes to try is saucy shrimp with chorizo served over funche, the cornmeal-and-coconut milk pudding that historically was eaten by enslaved people working on sugar-cane plantations. Maisonet’s holiday recipes are particularly enticing; I might just make her fabulous-looking, oregano-happy Pernil (long-roasted pork-shoulder roast) this Christmas, and her Thanksgiving Leftovers Pavochon Pasta Bake may become a serious challenger to my Turkey Tetrazzini. This much I know: Next time I see ripe hachiya persimmons, I’ll be making Maisonet’s Persimmon Cookies.

Diasporican: A Puerto Rican Cookbook by Illyanna Maisonet, Ten Speed Press, $32.50.

The Mediterranean Dish

The debut cookbook from Suzy Karadsheh, founder of the hugely popular cooking and lifestyle website The Mediterranean Dish, includes recipes drawn from the Middle East to North Africa and Southern Europe. Born and raised in the Egyptian city of Port Said, Karadsheh began to learn to cook from her mom, who loved to entertain, and after she was married and living in the United States, from her Jordanian mother-in-law. I love reading about how her mom would prepare for an Egyptian azooma (feast), or about making mahshi — stuffed vegetables — which Karadsheh describes as “a sport among Egyptian women, who compete to throw the best mahshi dinner in the neighborhood.” Better to wait for the next tomato season to make her recipe for stuffed bell peppers and tomatoes. In the meantime, her Sicily-inspired saucy baked cod, which uses Roma tomatoes, is delicious any time of year. This one’s a great choice for cooks who are just starting out.

The Mediterranean Dish By Suzy Karadsheh with Susan Puckett, photographs by Caitlin BenseL, Clarkson Potter, $32.50.

Evolutions in Bread

Ten years after the publication of the ground-breaking, IACP and James Beard Award-winning bread-baking bible Flour Water Salt Yeast, Ken Forkish gives us Evolutions in Bread. A focus on artisan pan loaves is what the evolution is all about; it was borne from Forkish’s fondness for the artisan pan loaves that are constantly selling out at his Ken’s Artisan Bakery in Portland, Oregon. But that’s not the only innovation: Forkish also developed a new, simplified, flour-efficient way to establish and maintain your sourdough — which is not required in most of the recipes, but benefits them. Ancient grains such as einkorn, emmer and spelt also figure prominently. If I were to own just one book about bread-baking, this would be it.

Evolutions in Bread: Artisan Pan Breads and Dutch-Oven Loaves at Home by Ken Forkish, photographs by Alan Weiner, Ten Speed Press, $35.

Pasta Grannies: Comfort Cooking

Finally, three years after the first Pasta Grannies cookbook, based on Vicky Bennison’s popular YouTube channel, comes Volume II — Pasta Grannies: Comfort Cooking. The myriad pasta dishes look incredible, from Ernestina’s Cannelloni Verdi Ripieni di Carne (Spinach Cannelloni with Meat Filling from Romagna) to Iginia’s Princisgras (Porcini and Proscuitto Lasagna from Macerata) to Biggina’s Fettucine con Coniglio all’Ischitana (Fettuccine with Braised Rabbit from Ischia). And the other comfort dishes are just as enticing: Enrica’s Torta Verde con Prescinsêua (Cheese and Chard Pie from Genova); Teresa’s Tajedda Salentina (Mussel Bake from Salento); Ida’s Chocolate Bunet (Chocolate Pudding from Piedmont). I love flipping through its pages and seeing the smiling faces of those beautiful nonnas and their irresistible dishes: How refreshing to see older cooks celebrated and appreciated.

Pasta Grannies: Comfort Cooking by Vicky Bennison, Hardie Grant Books, $32.50.

Buy Pasta Grannies: Comfort Cooking at Bookshop

Buy Pasta Grannies: Comfort Cooking at Amazon

Also recommended:

The Wok: Recipes and Technique by Kenji López-Alt, W.W. Norton, $50.

Buy at The Wok at Bookshop.

Buy The Wok at Amazon.

Masala: Recipes from India, the Land of Spices by Anita Jainsinghani, Ten Speed Press, $35.

Buy Masala at Bookshop.

Buy Masala at Amazon.

Ottolonghi Test Kitchen Extra Good Things, Clarkson Potter, $32

Buy OTK Extra Good Things at Bookshop.

Buy OTK Extra Good Things at Amazon.

Korean American: Food That Tastes Like Home by Eric Kim, Clarkson Potter, $32.50.

Buy Korean American at Bookshop.

Buy Korean American at Amazon.

READ Part I of our Holiday Cookbook Gift Guide: “The year’s best cookbooks make the season’s greatest gifts”

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Rich and soulful, beef bourguignon is always in style

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By Leslie Brenner

[Note: Originally published Dec. 19, 2016, this article was updated Dec. 7, 2022.]

For as long as I've been a cook, I've been making boeuf bourguignon – the classic French wine-braised beef stew with mushrooms, lardons and baby onions. There's something so deeply soulful about the dish, which simmers for a couple of hours in the oven, filling the kitchen with an incredible aroma.

Those transporting scents always deliver on their promise: Beef bourguignon, a dish that coaxes maximum deliciousness from humble ingredients, is a dreamy dish to serve to friends – with good red wine and a loaf of crusty French bread for soaking up the fabulous, richly flavored sauce. It's impressive enough for any important celebration – such as Christmas Eve or New Year's Eve – or no occasion at all. Maybe it's just what you want to eat on a cold winter evening with a fire going in the fireplace. It's a dish that never shows off, but always thrills. And while it may look like a lot of steps, it's no more complicated or time-consuming than making chili.

And because you can completely make it ahead – even the day before – it's the ideal (stress-free!) dish to serve at a dinner party, along with boiled or roasted potatoes or buttered noodles.  Precede it with a wintry salad, céleri rémoulade or a super easy-to-make yet luxurious and velvety roasted cauliflower soup swirled with brown butter. 

I must have originally learned to make beef bourguignon from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking, but over the years, I've played with the recipe, trying to answer the questions that inevitably nip at a cook's heels: What's the best cut of beef to use? What kind of wine? Should you marinate the beef or not? 

After so many years, and so many versions – abetted by a recent round of reading and more playing – I think I finally have my be-all-and-end-all version. 

Let's start with the red wine. You use a whole bottle, so you'd better use something really good, right? Well, no – happily, it doesn't much matter what you use, as long as it hasn't turned to vinegar. I never spend more than $8 or $9 dollars on the wine for this dish. It doesn’t even have to be French.

For the beef cuts, I had to abandon my beloved Julia, who calls for "lean stewing beef." Mais, non! – what you want is a fattier cut, like beef chuck, which will become super-tender as its collagens break down through its long braise. Lean stewing beef becomes hard and tough. 

From Anne Willan, author of many wonderful cookbooks and head of La Varenne cooking school in Burgundy, I gleaned the idea of using a combination of chuck and beef shank. In her fine recipe in The Country Cooking of France (2007), Willan calls for boneless beef shank. An excellent choice, if you can find the cut. (I used to be able to reliably, but not recently; our recipe includes instructions for whether you have one or not.)

An article on Serious Eats freed me from the notion that marinating the meat was worthwhile, so I scrapped that step — which shortens the process by an entire day. And rather than browning each side of the cubes of beef — which is time-consuming and dries them out — I just brown two sides, and leave them in bigger chunks. It results in a texture that’s softer and more appealing, while still getting plentyof the wonderful, flavor-enhancing caramelization of browning. A lazy person's solution that pays off! 

Ready to cook?

Here's the way it'll go, in a nutshell. Brown the meat, then lightly cook your aromatic vegetables – onion, celery and carrot – which you don't even have to dice (just cut 'em in a few pieces), and a little garlic. Deglaze the pan with red wine, then add back the meat, the rest of the bottle of wine, and some chicken broth (homemade beef broth would be even better if you have it, but I never do). Toss in a bouquet garni (herbs, peppercorns and bay leave tied up in cheesecloth), bring to a simmer, then shove it in a slow oven for almost two hours, nearly unattended (just just want to stir it once or twice). Skim off the fat, discard the aromatic vegetables and bone, strain the sauce and add the meat back in, then add the garnishes you've prepared: lardons, mushrooms and baby onions, and braise another half hour.

There’s actually not much work involved; time does the flavor-building for you. If you want to do most of it a day or two in advance, you can stop and refrigerate it after the two hours in the oven; the day you’re ready to finish and serve it the fat will have solidified and you can lift it right off, add the garnishes and braise it another half hour before sending it out.

Serve it, as the French do, with mashed potatoes (they call it pommes purées), buttered egg noodles or boiled potatoes, plus crusty bread. And this is the moment to pull out that great bottle of red.

Add friends or other good company, and the payoff is nothing short of awesome.

RECIPE: Beef Bourguignon

If you like this, you might enjoy:

READ: Chef Daniel Boulud gives a humble French dish, hachis Parmentier, the royal treatment

READ To make a traditional gratin dauphinois, step away from the cheese

READ: A stellar Quiche Lorraine (custardy, bacon-y, buttery-crusted!) is easier to make than you might think

RECIPE: Café Boulud Short Ribs with Celery Duo

RECIPE: Céleri Rémoulade

RECIPE: Jean-Georges Vongerichten’s Molten Chocolate Cake

ALL COOKS WITHOUT BORDERS FRENCH RECIPES

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Greatest vegetable rehabilitation ever: Brussels sprouts' 23-year rise to culinary power

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By Leslie Brenner

[Updated Dec. 22, 2022]

“Brussels sprouts are never going to win any popularity contests.”

That was the dire prediction, printed in The Los Angeles Times in 1999, of its then-Food Editor, Russ Parsons. If you happen to be a Gen Zer, it may shock you to learn that Brussels sprouts were not always the most glamorous members of the vegetable kingdom. Parsons continued:

“They’re the weak member of the vegetable pack, the one everyone likes to pick on. Brussels sprouts are weird-looking, like miniature cabbages. Maybe that’s why they’re usually shoved away in some dark corner of the produce market. Unlike broccoli, which is also weird-looking but seems to be in your face every time you turn around, they’ll never gain acceptance merely through familiarity.”

Two decades later, Brussels sprouts — those ping-pong-ball-sized upstarts of the Brassica oleracea family — are the darlings of, well, just about every omnivore in America. They’re so popular and menu-ubiquitous that no one under a certain age would probably even wonder whether they were ever not a thing.

What’s the explanation for the once lowly vegetable’s meteoric rise?

Most brassica-watchers would point to David Chang, the chef who founded the Momofuku empire that began in New York City in 2004 with the opening of the first Momofuku Noodle Bar. On its menu were Brussels sprouts that Chang pan-roasted with bacon then tossed with puréed kimchi. “Every single table ordered them,” he told GQ magazine in 2009. “It was ridiculous.”

“Cook the shit out of them; just don’t turn them to charcoal.”

He also told the magazine the secret to making them not just palatable, but crave-able: “Cook the shit out of them; just don’t turn them to charcoal.”

Brussels sprouts also made a splash, in a different form, a few years later at his second place, Momofuku Saam Bar. There they were fried and tossed with pickled Thai and Korean chiles, fish sauce, garlic and mint, and topped with fried Rice Krispies. Recipes for both were included in Chang and Peter Meehan’s Momofuku: A Cookbook, published in 2009.

Three years later, Brussels sprouts’ rise to culinary glory was achieved; in fact, it looked like a revolution. “Brussels sprouts’ transformation from maligned cafeteria gross-out fare to foodie luminary is complete,” is the way a Slate article by L.V. Anderson put it in 2012. “Trendy New York restaurants gussy them up with pig fat and sell them by the tiny $8 plateful; David Chang’s Brussels sprouts at New York’s Momofuku were so popular he had to take them off the menu for his cooks’ well-being.”

I remember the moment well: I had moved from Los Angeles, where we’d been enjoying Brussels sprouts for years, to Dallas, where they were just then hitting every restaurant in town — usually roasted with a dose of sugar and a good deal of bacon.

Though Chang certainly did more than anyone to popularize the B-sprout, by no means was he the first to fall in love with them.

From Brussels and Burgundy to Birds Eye and bistros: a quickie B-sprout history

According to the late British cookbook author and food historian Jane Grigson, who wrote more than anything else I could turn up about the history of Brussels sprouts, the vegetable’s past is somewhat mysterious. “It seems they were being grown around Brussels in the Middle Ages; market regulations of 1213 mention them,” she wrote in Jane Grigson’s Vegetable Book, published in 1978. She continued:

“They were ordered for two wedding feasts of the Burgundian court at Lille in the 15th century . . . . Then silence. They do not seem to have caught on in Burgundy . . . Nor did they appear in French and English gardens until the end of the 18th century.”

Across the pond in America, Thomas Jefferson planted them in his garden at Monticello in 1812.

In the intervening century and a half, not much to report. When I was growing up in the 1960s and 70s in Southern California, Brussels sprouts made frequent appearances on our dinner table, having been pulled from a Birds Eye box in the freezer and boiled whole. Most people I knew did not enjoy them; I was an outlier, who loved their little tiny-cabbage-ness.

My husband Thierry tells me they were not so reviled and stigmatized when he was a child in France. Perhaps they were treated with more care there. A spin through Julia Child’s 1961 classic Mastering the Art of French Cooking, Volume I, offers no fewer than eight recipes: braised in butter; braised with chestnuts; browned with cheese; chopped, with cream; creamed; custard mold; and gratinéed with cheese sauce. Volume II, published nine years later, didn’t include a single B-sprout recipe.

They certainly were popular in England. “The great success of Brussels sprouts in this country has been in modern times,” wrote Grigson. “We serve them now with beef, game, poultry, and especially with the Christmas turkey, when they are often embellished with chestnuts. She went on to offer nine ways to cook them.

Could they have been a thing early on at Alice Waters’ Chez Panisse, which opened in Berkeley, California, in 1971? They make no appearance in the Chez Panisse Menu Cookbook, published in 1982 (the Washington Post, incidentally, has called it one of the earliest restaurant cookbooks). There is, however, a fabulous recipe in the book that followed eight years later — Chez Panisse Cooking. In fact it’s the recipe that made me fall hard for the vegetable: Brussels Sprouts Leaves Cooked with Bacon and Mirepoix. Yes, bacon!

Brussels Sprouts Cooked with Bacon and Mirepoix, prepared from a recipe in ‘Chez Panisse Cooking’

That recipe has been a fixture on my Thanksgiving table every year since.

The bacon in the light and elegant Chez Panisse dish comes in the form of pancetta, which gets diced and sweated with the mirepoix (diced carrot, onion and celery) before adding Brussels sprouts leaves which get sort of steamed; a hit of white wine vinegar at the end gives beautiful balance.

A pre-Chang boost

Russ Parsons — the California cook who doubted their popularity potential — was actually an influential Brussels sprouts cheerleader a few years before Momofuku’s Chang started charring them and umamifying the bejeezus out of them. Parsons gave his legions of L.A. readers a full chemical explanation for why the hapless veg fell into such disrepute: People overcooked them, producing hydrogen sulfide — a sulfurous stink, and they turned a sickly color thanks to a transformation of their chlorophyll. “To get around it,” he suggested, “try treating Brussels sprouts with the respect they deserve. It takes a little more care in preparation and a little more attention to detail, but the payoff will be amazing. . . . "

Following instructions on how to prep and steam or blanch them, he added:

“What you do with them after that is up to you, of course. They’re delicious simply dressed with olive oil and a little chopped garlic. But they also are assertive enough to hold their own in the company of more emphatic flavors. I really like to pair Brussels sprouts with smoky things like bacon. And when you’re using bacon, it’s usually a good idea to add something sharp, like vinegar, to cut the fat.

Look at it as making a he-man out of a scorned vegetable. Call it the Brussels sprout make-over.”

Bacon and acid: That’s the Momofuku B-sprout blueprint right there. The fact that Chang pushed everything so far — the char, the bacon, the exuberant flavors of chiles and fish sauce — made his two dishes prime for borrowing by chefs all around the country. And there you have it: the cementing of Brussels Sprouts primacy.

Ottolenghi: a bit late to the sprout

Surprisingly, London’s superstar vegetable-loving chef and world-dominating cookbook author Yotam Ottolenghi was somewhat late to the Brussels sprout game, which is odd considering the brassica’s longtime popularity in Britain. There’s not a single B-sprout recipe in Ottolenghi’s first, second or third books (published in 2008, 2010 and 2012). Finally, in Plenty More (2014), he offers instructions for Brussels Sprouts Risotto; Brussels Sprouts with Caramelized Garlic and Lemon Peel; and Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Pomelo and Star Anise.

I went wild for the Brussels Sprouts with Browned Butter and Black Garlic in his 2018 book Ottolenghi Simple, largely thanks to the black garlic’s serious umami and the creamy earthiness of tahini, all balanced by zingy lemon and herbs. So have our readers: Our adaptation was Cooks Without Borders’ fourth-most clicked on recipe in the last year.

Insalata di Cavotelli (Brussels sprouts salad) prepared from a recipe in the new cookbook from Via Carota

Now trending: B-sprouts salads

This season, Brussels sprouts are trending raw: They’re featured in two of this fall’s most exciting new cookbooks. The first, shown above, is from Via Carota — the new volume from Jody Williams and Rita Sodi’s beloved New York City restaurant, which is Cooks Without Borders first-ever Cookbook of the Year. Tossed with Via Carota’s signature dressing, plus julienned apple, pomegranate seeds and crumbly aged cheese, it’s spectacular.

The second is from Tanya Holland’s California Soul, in which the star of “Tanya’s Kitchen Table” on the Oprah Winfrey Network presents a recipe for Shaved Brussels Sprouts Salad with Warm Bacon Dressing. (I know, right?!) It’s one of our Best New Cookbooks of 2022.

And finally, here is a super-easy roasted number studded with pancetta. No thin-slicing or leaf removal necessary!

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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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The masa life: Making out-of-this-world tamales is totally within your power!

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is third in a series of Cooks Without Borders stories (with recipes) about how to live the masa life. Read The Masa Life Part 1 and The Masa Life Part 2.]

Got plans this weekend? If not, let’s make tamales! How do blue corn tamales filled with duck in dark mole sound? Or vegan tamales filled with roasted sweet potato and vegetable picadillo — served with salsa macha? Yes, I thought so!

Because heirloom corn is now available to home cooks in the form of easy-to-use and incredibly flavorful masa harina, making tamales at home has suddenly become an exciting and delicious project — just in time for tamales season.

Until recently I thought that making tamales might not be worth the trouble. Most tamales I’d ever eaten — even those that came wrapped in great reputations — had just been OK at best. Usually the masa was not terribly flavorful, often on the heavy side, with not enough (or not delicious enough) filling.

Then I tasted Olivia Lopez’s tamales, made with masa fashioned from heirloom corn. (As you know if you’ve been reading Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican cooking features for any length of time, we are super fortunate to have Olivia as our resident Mexican cooking expert.) Of course much of her tamales’ lusciousness is thanks to her skill and palate — as chef and co-owner of Molino Olōyō in Dallas, the smashing tamales Olivia sells through her Instagram feed have quickly developed a cult following. (She doesn’t yet have a brick-and-mortar location.)

But another big part of the reason for Olivia’s tamales’ great flavor is the quality of the heirloom corn from Mexico that she nixtamalizes to make her masa.

For a story I published in The Dallas Morning News last spring, Olivia developed a recipe for a Sweet Pineapple Tamal using the newly available heirloom masa harina from Masienda, and the tamales were spectacular.

And so (Christmas lightbulb illuminating — ding ding ding!) for this holiday season, Olivia has been generous to develop and share with us two savory tamal recipes using heirloom masa harina.

They’re out of this world — and believe it or not, not difficult to make.

First is the vegan tamal — one that gets its lushness from coconut oil, rather than the usual lard. It’s filled with roasted sweet potato and a vegetable picadillo. “That picadillo is inspired by the one my Grandma Margarita used to make,” says Olivia. The confetti-like sauté of onions, carrots, tomato, chiles, golden raisins and more is also versatile beyond tamales; if you have any left over, you can use it to fill tetelas, sopes or quesadillas. (I filled tetelas with a little extra picadillo and roasted sweet potato — fantastic.)

Sweet Potato and Vegetable Picadillo Tamales, prepared using Masienda heirloom masa harina, from Olivia Lopez’s recipe

In Mexico, Olivia tells us, tamales are usually eaten on their own, generally not with any salsa. “Usually you just have them with atole,” she says. “Masa on masa!” (Atole is a sweet, hot drink made with masa.) But she loves the late-autumn/early winter flavors of the vegan tamal with salsa macha — and we happen to have a great recipe for that, as well (Olivia’s!).

Our second tamal — blue corn filled with pato en mole oscuro (duck in dark mole) — has a saucy flourish as well: a quickly put-together chimichurri-like salsa made from dried tart cherries, chives (or scallion tops), parsley and lime. “It balances the rich, earthy mole,” says Olivia. Beautifully, I would add.

Tamales de Pato en Mole Oscuro (duck in dark mole), with Tart Cherry-Chive Salsa — prepared from recipes by Molino Oloyo chef and co-owner Olivia Lopez

The tamal’s filling is achieved by roasting duck legs (easy), then saucing the shredded duck in a dark mole that’s also easier to put together than I imagined. (Empowering!) You can use the duck fat that renders when you slow-roast those legs to enrich the masa, or use olive oil — again, no lard. Our instructions have you wrap the tamales in banana leaves before steaming, but corn husks work just as well. The vegan tamales call for corn husks, but they’re also interchangeable — as is the color of heirloom masa harina you use, yellow, blue, rose or white.

Don’t freak out when you see the long recipes — the reason for their wordiness is we’re holding your hand tight, to make sure you’re comfortable with what may be a new process, and to ensure you get great results. To that end, we put together a tip sheet.

And finally, here is the recipe for Olivia’s Sweet Pineapple Tamales. We love pineapple’s sunny and bright flavor during winter’s chill — makes us (almost!) feel we’re in Colima, Mexico, Olivia’s home town. If only!

Want to keep the Sweet Pineapple Tamal vegan? Easy to do — the crema garnish is optional. And all three are gluten-free.

Happy Tamalidays!

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To make a traditional gratin dauphinois, back away from the cheese

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By Leslie Brenner

It’s amazing how wondering about the origins and traditional expression of a famous dish can lead to descent into a rabbit hole. In this case, testing a recipe for Gratin Dauphinois — French potatoes au gratin — from a new cookbook led me to wonder, what is a gratin? Does a proper gratin always involve cheese? Never? Sometimes? Where does the word gratin come from, and could its origin be a clue to what the dish is meant to be? What kind of potato is best? How thin should it be sliced? Where does “Dauphinois” come from? Is the recipe we offered from the cookbook legit? Is there a more classic expression?

Spoiler alert: Yes — there is a more classic expression of a Gratin Dauphinois, and it is insanely (even life-changingly) delicious. While we love the one from James Oseland’s World Food: Paris, and that version is ideal for those who don’t own a mandoline and don’t have top-notch knife skills, we wanted to develop a recipe for one that’s more traditional. As it turns out, if you do have a mandoline, our classic version is quicker and simpler to achieve than Oseland’s — and even more delightfully crusty on top and creamy and luscious underneath.

Because not every cook enjoys geeking out on history as much as I do, let’s cut to the chase — the basics of the dish, what it should be and how to make it — before breaking the golden-brown crust of food history and diving into the creamy, rich past.

Warning: If you make this dish once, you’ll probably want to make it again and again, and soon. OK. You’ve been warned. Here’s the recipe.

Now I’ll give you the talk-through version, because in truth, this is not a dish you need a recipe for.

To achieve gratin dauphinois nirvana, peel and slice as thick as a coin a couple pounds of firm, not waxy yellow potatoes. Do not rinse them. Rub a gratin dish or oval baking dish with garlic and butter it, then lay down the potato slices in a rosette pattern, adding a little salt, grated nutmeg and bits of butter on top of each later. Top with a bare layer (no salt, butter or nutmeg), pour in heavy cream to come about three-quarters of the way up the potatoes, bake for an hour at 350 degrees, then add another 1/3 cup or so of cream, turn up the oven to 375 degrees, and bake till crusty golden brown on top, about another half hour.

No cheese, s’il vout plaît!

You will notice — right away, I’m guessing — that this recipe does not include cheese. For context, let’s turn to the late, great English food writer Elizabeth David, who was famous for meticulously researching traditional recipes. In her 1960 book (updated in 1977 and 1983) French Provincial Cooking, she wrote:

“Gratin dauphinois is a rich and filling regional dish from the Dauphiné. Some recipes, Escoffier’s and Austin de Croze’s among them, include cheese and eggs, making it very similar to a gratin savoyard, but other regional authorities declare that the authentic gratin dauphinois is made only with potatoes and thick fresh cream.”

Nearly every French expert I turned up takes the absolutely no cheese position; Escoffier and de Croze seem to be outliers.

David’s recipe differs slightly from mine — she has you rinse the potatoes (which she says is “most important”) and she uses pepper; she uses quite a bit more cream (both initially and in total), cooks the thing longer and at a lower temp, then cranks up the heat for the last 10 minutes, without adding additional cream. I love her assessment of how many you can serve with a gratin made with 1 pound of potatoes and a half-pint of cream:

“It is not easy to say how many people this will serve; two, or three, or four, according to their capacity, and what there is to follow.”

Finally, her instruction to cut the potatoes “no thicker than a penny” aligns perfectly with other authoritative versions, which usually specify a thickness of two to three millimeters, or about an eighth of an inch.

Origin of the word ‘gratin’

To understand the origin of gratin, I turned to Larousse Gastronomique, the encyclopedia of French cuisine. (I referred to the 2001 edition of the English translation, which was updated in 2009.)

Gratin, it tells us, is:

“The golden crust that forms on the surface of a dish when it is browned in the oven or put under the grill (broiler). Usually the top of the dish has been coated with grated cheese, breadcrumbs or eggs and breadcrumbs. Formerly, “gratin” was the crust adhering to the cooking receptacle, which was scraped off (gratté in French) and eaten as a titbit.”

Aha — so gratin means that crusty bit! The recipe that follows in Larousse includes whisked eggs, a much shorter cooking time than either my recipe or David’s. Grated cheese (Gruyère) is only mentioned at the end as a variation.

The Oxford Companion to Food backs that up with its entry for Gratin and Gratiner, the noun and the verb respectively:

“Originally, back in the 16th century or beyond, the noun referred to that part of a cooked dish which stuck to the pot or pan and had to be scraped (gratté) off it was not to be wasted. Since the 19th century the meaning has changed to the effect deliberately created by cooks when they cook a dish so that it has a crisply baked top. This is often achieved by strewing grated cheese or breadcrumbs on top, and the phrase ‘au gratin’ is often taken to mean ‘with grated cheese,’ although the gratin effect can be produced without adding anything on top; as Ayto (1993) points out, the gratin dauphinois is correctly made of sliced potatoes baked in cream with no added topping.”

Potato specifics and the crusty factor

I’m not finding much definitive info on the type of potatoes that are correct. I feel most comfortable going with Jean-François Piège, whose recipe for Notre Gratin Dauphinois in his encyclopedic 2020 cookbook Le Grand Livre de la Cuisine Français calls for “pommes de terre à chair ferme” (firm-fleshed potatoes), adding “veillez à ne pas utiliser de pommes de terre nouvelles” (be sure not to use new potatoes). (The book has not been published in an English translation.) There are more than one variety of potatoes that would fit that description; our recipe calls for widely available Yukon Golds. No cheese in Piège’s, bien sûr; besides potatoes, the only ingredients are cream, garlic, butter, nutmeg and (curiously) skim milk.

J. Kenji López-Alt does not give a recipe for gratin dauphinois in The Food Lab, nor could I find any discussion in its pages about rinsing potatoes for a gratin, pro or con. Sohla El-Waylly offers a spin-off on Serious Eats — “Classic Rich and Silky Potato Gratin” — developed following “rounds and rounds of testing.” Her complaint with traditional gratin dauphinois is that only the crusty browned top is worth eating, so her version is meant to have cheese and potato that has browned on the “bottom, sides, and top.” Even more crusty is López-Alt’s turned-on-its-side Hasselback Potato Gratin on Serious Eats, which uses quite a bit of cheese and gets maximum crusty surface. Both use Russet potatoes, not rinsed. I haven’t tried El-Waylly’s version, which is a good deal more involved and has many more ingredients than traditional ones (milk in addition to cream, plus thyme, shallots, Parmesan and Gruyère). I have tried Lòpez-Alt’s, and enjoyed it a lot.

But I’m sure I’ll make mine more often: I find it beautiful in its simplicity, much easier to prepare, not as messy or involved, more elegant, and I actually love the creamy, rich underneath part, which I find a wonderful contrast to the top crusty part. (How could you not?!) It’s a classic for a reason.

How it got its name

Gratin dauphinois is sometimes confused with pommes dauphine — mashed potatoes mixed with choux paste and butter, formed into walnut-shaped balls, and fried, causing them to puff up. (Rabbit-hole moment: Where does the word “dauphine” come from? Nope — I’m resisting going there).

Dauphinois refers to Le Dauphiné, a former region of Southeast France whose history dates back to the Romans, who called it Delphinatus Viennensis. Interesting to note that the word dauphin, which means an unseated king, derives from that. In the 11th century it became part of the Holy Roman Empire, known as Le Dauphiné. Was the dish invented then? Was it a favorite of Guiges IV, Count of Albon — the nobleman in the region whose nickname was “Dauphin”? The rabbit hole didn’t extend that far down, fortunately or unfortunately.

What we do know is that the dish comes from that region; hence the name. We also know that the Rhône Valley was part of that region — and therefore a white Rhône wine would be a magnificent thing to drink with the dish. Gratin Dauphinois with a white Châteaunef-du-Pape? I can think of worse ways to spend the holidays.

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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.

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In celebration of gumbo z'herbes, a gloriously green, soul-nourishing Louisiana Lenten tradition

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Chloé Landrieu-Murphy’s vegan gumbo z’herbes / Photograph by Chloé Landrieu-Murphy

Chloé Landrieu-Murphy’s vegan gumbo z’herbes / Photograph by Chloé Landrieu-Murphy

By Chloé Landrieu-Murphy

Unless you’re from Southern Louisiana, there’s a good chance you’ve never heard of gumbo z’herbes — an essential dish across the region, particularly for those who abstain from meat on Fridays during Lent. 

Often referred to as “the queen of all gumbos,” its name is a Creole dialect contraction for gumbo aux herbes, meaning “gumbo of greens.” (It’s also known as “green gumbo.”) Earthy, delicious and comforting, it is built like other gumbos, but it also includes an entire garden’s worth of leafy greens. 

Though traditional Lenten preparations of the dish don’t include meat, part of the appeal of gumbo z’herbes is the flexibility with which it is prepared, using any combination of greens, and optional meats. Meat versions may include ham hock, chaurice (a spicy Creole pork sausage), smoked andouille sausage, chicken, brisket and/or veal.

While the combinations of greens and meats that can be used are endless, tradition says that the number of greens included in your gumbo represents the number of friends you’ll make in that year, and that an odd number of greens should be used for good luck. Theories surrounding the symbolism of the greens vary, with some suggesting that nine varieties should be used as a representation of the nine churches visited by Catholics in New Orleans on Good Friday in remembrance of Jesus and his walk to crucifixion. 

A bowl of New Orleans’ most famous and sought-after version — the one served at legendary Dooky Chase’s Restaurant — earns the person eating it nine new friends, the late great chef Leah Chase told Southern Living magazine in 2016. “And I always hope that one of them’s rich,” she added. Chase died in 2019 at the age of 96.

Since 1941, the establishment — founded by Emily and Dooky Chase, Sr. (chef Leah Chase’s mother-in-law and father-in-law), and now run by Leah’s grandson chef Edgar “Dooky” Chase IV and her daughter Stella Chase Reese —  has served the city as a gathering place not only for Creole classics like gumbo, fried chicken and red beans and rice, but also as a vital space for everything from the arts to community organizing. Dooky Chase’s was a place where civil rights leaders, both black and white, came together for strategy sessions with luminaries including Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in the upstairs dining room.

Dooky Chase’s Gumbo des Herbes, prepared from a recipe in ‘The Dooky Chase Cookbook’ / Photograph by Leslie Brenner

Dooky Chase’s Gumbo des Herbes, prepared from a recipe in ‘The Dooky Chase Cookbook’ / Photograph by Leslie Brenner

Only once a year, on Holy Thursday (the Thursday before Easter, which falls on April 1 this year), does Dooky Chase’s serve its famous gumbo z’herbes. Featuring roughly equal parts meat (smoked andouille sausage, hot sausage, ham hock, chicken, brisket and veal brisket stew) and greens (collards, mustard greens, turnip greens, beet tops, cabbage, lettuce, watercress, spinach and carrot tops), it reflects the culinary traditions of the city’s Creoles of color.  

To achieve gumbo z’herbes greatness, chef Edgar boils the greens, then purées them. He then steams the meats, covers them with a quick roux, combines that with the puréed greens and their potlikker and simmers it all together before stirring in filé powder and serving it over rice. He generously shared the recipe with us; you can also find it Leah Chase’s The Dooky Chase Cookbook. 

Still, if you make it at home, there will be something missing. 

“You can put pretty much anything in it, if it’s green,” says Poppy Tooker, a New Orleans culinary ambassador and close friend of the late chef.  “But Leah had a secret ingredient, something you couldn’t buy in the store. Here in New Orleans, there’s a weed that grows wild in the levees and the medians called peppergrass. That was one of Leah’s secret ingredients, and there were some gentlemen who would walk the levees to gather the peppergrass for Leah to put in her gumbo every year.” 

While gumbo z’herbes is most certainly a gumbo, thanks to all those greens, it differs greatly in look and taste from more familiar gumbos. In her book Gumbo Tales: Finding My Place at The New Orleans Table, Sara Roahen notes its uniqueness: 

“The only ways in which gumbo z’herbes resemble more common meat and seafood gumbos are that it’s eaten with a spoon, often crammed with sausage, and thickened with a roux —  and the latter only sometimes. In preparation, gumbo z’herbes is a multiplicity of smothered greens united in a communal pot likker. Its flavor and its origins are more mysterious: no two bites, or theories are the same.” 

So what makes gumbo z’herbes a gumbo? “You’ve still got a stock, you’ve still got a roux, you still have filé and you’re still adding all your meats and all that, so all that is the same base as a gumbo,” says chef Edgar. 

As with so many dishes in Louisiana’s culinary canon, the dish is reflective of a deep and complicated history with both West African and European influences. “All of this can be traced to the West African way with greens and to West Indian callaloo,” Toni Tipton-Martin explains in her 2019 cookbook Jubilee: Recipes From Two Centuries of African American Cooking, which also includes a wonderful version.

Toni Tipton-Martin’s gumbo z’herbes, from ‘Jubilee’ / Photograph by Leslie Brenner

Toni Tipton-Martin’s gumbo z’herbes, from ‘Jubilee’ / Photograph by Leslie Brenner

In The Welcome Table: African American Heritage Cooking, culinary historian Jessica B. Harris speculates that the dish could be a cousin of the West African stew Sauce Feuille. There could be some German influence as well; in his Encyclopedia of Cajun and Creole Cooking, author John Folse postulates that the dish came to Louisiana in the 1700’s with German Catholic settlers who traditionally ate a German seven-herb soup on Holy Thursday.

Today, while the Creoles of color in New Orleans generally reserve their meat-filled gumbo z’herbes for Holy Thursday festivities, few New Orleans restaurants besides Dooky Chase’s serve it, so it’s typically made at home. 

That said, you only have to look at two Holy Thursdays for a sense of how important the Dooky Chase’s gumbo z’herbes tradition is in the Crescent City: April 13, 2006 and April 9, 2020.  

Following the tragic aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and the flooding and closure of Dooky Chase’s, the tradition was put at risk. Restaurateur Rick Gratia opened the doors of his own establishment, Muriel’s, to chef Leah and her team, according to Tooker, who was by her friend’s side throughout. “He turned his beautiful restaurant on Jackson Square over to Leah so that the city of New Orleans wouldn’t be deprived of their Holy Thursday tradition.” 

In many ways, Holy Thursday of 2020 was even harder, Tooker explained to me. “It was the first year without Leah,” she says. On top of that, a week before Holy Thursday, Stella Chase Reese’s husband of 50 years died suddenly of Covid-19.  “But the Chase family still did Holy Thursday, and they did it as a drive-by pickup. There were police, there was traffic for a mile, and there were people lined up. It was a really big deal.”

While gumbo z’herbes is a direct reflection of the Catholic identity and traditions that are so deeply ingrained within Louisiana culture, it’s also a delicious, body- and soul-nourishing dish that can and should be enjoyed by all — which was my thought in developing my own recipe for a Vegan Gumbo Z’herbes.

“When you maintain traditions like gumbo z’herbes, it gives people a sense of hope, a sense of community and a sense of normalcy,” says chef Edgar. 

So if you can’t make it to Dooky Chase’s this year for Holy Thursday, why not bring the tradition into your own home?

🌿

Chloe Landrieu-Murphy is a recent graduate of New York University’s Masters in Food Studies program and a lover of all things food and culture related. This is her first story for Cooks Without Borders.

RECIPE: Dooky Chase’s Gumbo des Herbes

RECIPE: ‘Jubilee’ Gumbo Z’herbes

RECIPE: Chloé’s Vegan Gumbo Z’herbes

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Chinese-American culinary culture finds delicious, multi-generational expression at The Woks of Life

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By Leslie Brenner

[Updated Dec. 27, 2022.]

I was shopping at our local 99 Ranch Market last week with my son’s girlfriend, Nathalie, and somewhere in the giant freezer case, arrayed attractively next to the frozen fish balls, Nathalie spotted frozen tofu.

“Frozen tofu?” she wondered.

Not something I was familiar with! Frozen tofu? Why would tofu be sold frozen? Was frozen tofu a thing? Item no. 4,727 of things to look into!

The answer to the question floated — unbidden — into my email inbox on Tuesday. Subject line: “How to Make Frozen Tofu (and Why You Should!).”

Sender: The Woks of Life.

In case you’re not familiar with the 8-year-old website run by the delightful Leung family, it is a wealth of rich information, culinary inspiration, first-rate recipes and wonderful stories about Chinese and Chinese-American cooking and culture. Want to know how to buy a wok, season it, wash it or easily prevent food from sticking to it? Dive into its Complete Wok Guide. Wondering about the difference between light soy sauce and dark? Check its guide to Chinese Sauces, Wines, Vinegars and Oils. Need to know the difference between gai lan and choy sum? Check its compendium of Chinese vegetables.

All four members of the New Jersey-based family — Bill (father/husband), Judy (mother/wife), Sarah (elder daughter) and Kaitlin (younger daughter) — contribute recipes and stories. Sarah, a 30-year-old Vassar graduate, founded the site in 2013, with the support of her parents and sister.

The Leung family behind The Woks of Life (from left): Bill, Judy, Kaitlin and Sarah / Photo by Sarah Yeoman, courtesy of The Woks of Life

The Leung family behind The Woks of Life (from left): Bill, Judy, Kaitlin and Sarah / Photo by Sarah Yeoman, courtesy of The Woks of Life

“We began to get the idea for The Woks of Life, when my family — once together every night for dinner while we were growing up — found ourselves living across two time zones,” Sarah says. That was in 2011, when her father Bill (born and raised in upstate New York to immigrant Cantonese parents) and mother Judy (a native of Shanghai who immigrated to the U.S. when she was 16), were relocated to Beijing for work. (They have since moved back to New Jersey.)

“We realized that though we, the younger generation, loved to cook, we didn’t know how to make many of the traditional Chinese dishes my parents had made for us growing up,” Sarah explains.

Two years later, when Kaitlin was in college at the University of Pennsylvania and Sarah, who had recently graduated from Vassar in Media Studies, was dividing her time between New Jersey and Beijing, the site was launched. Says Sarah: “The blog became the place to record those recipes for ourselves, and — as it turns out — many others who also didn’t know how to make their childhood favorites.”

Part of The Woks of Life’s charm is that it’s so personal. Bill, who cooked in his youth at his family’s Chinese restaurant where his father was chef, recently shared a photo of his 101-year-old grandmother putting up preserves in a story about making pickled mustard greens (haam choy). Kaitlin might write about making home-made chili oil, the hot condiment of the moment. Sarah not only writes stories and recipes, but handles the business side and makes the beautiful photos. Judy, who’s fluent in three Chinese dialects, in addition to English, might send an email, seemingly out of the blue, about frozen tofu — linking to a story from which you’ll learn that freezing changes its texture, making it hold up better in soups and hot pots.

I’ve cooked quite a few of the recipes on the site, always with very good results. Some are Cantonese or Sichuanese as might be cooked in China, while others are Chinese-American, reflective of the rich and Chinese-American restaurant culture Bill grew up in. I love that there’s a section of “Chinese Take-Out” recipes.

Egg Drop Soup is a good example. It’s something you can whip up on short notice with few ingredients on hand. I tried the version in The Woks of Life Top 25 Recipes e-cookbook you get when you sign up for their newsletter; I skipped the optional yellow food coloring — a nod to Chinese-American popular restaurant culture. The version on the website calls instead for turmeric, which sounds like a better idea. Both teach a useful mini-lesson: Decent (or better, home-made) chicken broth, a pinch of white pepper and a splash of sesame oil equals a legit-tasting Chinese soup base.

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My favorite recipe so far is The Woks of Life’s Turnip Cake — Lo Bak Go. The steamed-then-usually-pan-fried treat, a dim-sum favorite, is made not with turnip, but with lo bak — which Bill, though unsure, believes is the same as daikon. (All the other recipes I’ve seen call for daikon.) I’d looked far and wide for a workable recipe, and even tried (in despearation!) developing my own, before finding this one, which is superb. We have adapted it with very slight changes, most notably cooking the filling ingredients a bit less than the original calls for.

Bill writes that most Chinese restaurants “skimp on the filling ingredients,” namely shiitakes, Chinese sausage and dried shrimp, as well as the lo bak. “Most of what you get is rice flour and starch.” He’s right. We love the fact that you can now make one at home that’s even better than what we get in our favorite local dim-sum place.

The dish is traditional for Lunar New Year, as the word for daikon is a homophone for "good fortune" in the Hokkien language spoken in Fujian province — so keep it in mind for the holiday next month.

Stir-fried bok choy, prepared from a recipe from The Woks of Life

I also tried The Woks of Life’s Basic Stir-Fried Bok Choy Recipe, which turned out very well. I skipped the optional MSG; next time I’ll add a little more salt and stir-fry a minute or two longer. It’s definitely super-useful as a basic blueprint for stir-frying bok choy and similar greens.

Char siu, prepared from a recipe in The Woks of Life Top 25 Recipes

I love the fact that Bill first encountered char siu — Chinese barbecue pork — at the Catskills Holiday Inn where his father was chef when he was a kid. His recipe is one of the best I’ve found — mostly because the marinade (Shaoxing wine, soy sauce, hoisin, molasses and spices) is so good. Also because Bill has you roast the marinated pork shoulder slabs on a rack in a roasting pan with water under the rack, to make clean-up easier. (That marinade would otherwise drip down and burn, as I can attest having tried other recipes that don’t suggest the water trick.) Min char siu (pictured above) doesn’t look as rosy-red as what you find in most American Chinese restaurants, because I skipped the red food coloring.

Juliet, our Cooks Without Borders designer and partner, has cooked The Woks of Life Stir-Fried Mustard Greens and Pork Larb, and loved both. (Yes, there are also recipes from other Asian countries besides China on the site.)

Juliet and I have both bookmarked The Woks of Life, and plan to continue visiting it — and cooking from it — often.

In the meantime, we’re excited to announce that in preparation for Lunar New Year, which will usher in The Year of the Ox beginning February 12, we’ll be featuring Sarah Leung in a live video Q&A on Thursday, January 28 from 5 to 6 p.m. Central Time. Registration for the event is available to Cooks Without Borders Premium Members.

We’ll also be spotlighting Chinese cooking this month. If that sounds enticing, bookmark Cooks Without Borders Latest Stories and sign up for our free newsletter (if you haven’t already, to receive our stories and recipes directly to your inbox). And watch this space!

Did you enjoy this story? Read about who we are and what we do.

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

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Beef bourguignon

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

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!

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!

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Need a perfect, easy holiday side dish? Try my family's longtime favorite roasted potatoes

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The Brenner Family’s Roasted Potatoes

If you’re anything like me, you’re likely to forget something as you plan your special holiday meals, or leave one thing to the last minute to strategize.

If for you that means spuds (during this weirdest-ever pre-holiday moment!), we’ve got just the thing: my family’s roasted potatoes.

The dish couldn’t be simpler, really, and it’s not much of a recipe. Think of it as a method. I usually use Yukon Golds or similar potatoes, but I’ve also used red ones. Most often I use medium-size Yukon Golds.

Here’s what you do: Peel and quarter the the potatoes lengthwise, drop them in a baking dish with a yellow onion peeled and cut into eighths. Drizzle with a couple of glugs of olive oil, liberate the leaves from four or five thyme branches, sprinkle liberally with salt and freshly ground pepper. Pop the dish in a hot oven, stirring once or twice with a wooded spoon to make sure they don’t stick, and roast for 45 to 55 minutes, until they’re crispy-edged and golden brown. Swap in other herbs, such as rosemary or oregano, if you don’t feel like thyme, add garlic cloves if you like, or swap the onions for shallots.

That’s it. I usually keep a big jar of grey sea salt from France in the pantry; I love using it with potatoes done this way. (But any salt will do.)

The potatoes are great with all kinds of rich holiday foods — prime rib, tenderloin and other roast beefs, turkey, ham, duck, goose and so on.

Best of all, they’re easy.

Oh, if you’re wondering about the platter they’re sitting on, it was an early work by my friend the ceramist Christopher Russell. He has since become a big deal artist who shows in galleries and whose work is highly sought-after. (I’m a huger fan than ever; check out his website.)

Back to those potatoes. They’re not just handy for holidays; they’re also brilliant with roast chicken or leg of lamb. Here you go:

RECIPE: The Brenner Family’s Roasted Potatoes

Happy holidays from Cooks Without Borders to you and yours!