Potato salad season opens this weekend! Here are 5 you'll love

By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This story was originally published, in slightly different form, on May 28, 2021.]

This weekend marks the official unofficial season opener for summer’s most craveable side dish — the underdog show-stealer of every picnic or potluck. We can all pretend we can do without it, and then boom! A great potato salad blindsides us with deliciousness.

Here are five — three American, and two Japanese-style — that will round out your celebrations from now through Labor Day. (And probably beyond!)

Why Japanese-style? Because potato salad is a delicious example of yoshoku — Western dishes that migrated to Japan in the late 19th century and became truly Japanese. There’s something truly fabulous about this particular yoshuku fusion; Japanese flavors really make potatoes sing.

1. Herb-Happy Potato Salad

Red potatoes, red wine vinaigrette and either shallots or scallions come together under a flurry of fresh, soft herbs with this light, quick vegan potato salad that’s a snap to make.

2. Salaryman Potato Salad

Salaryman Potato Salad: Each portion of the Japanese potato salad gets topped with half an ajitama marinated egg

Mayonnaise-based and built on russets, this cucumber-laced Japanese potato salad gets umami from HonDashi (instant dashi powder — a secret weapon of many a Japanese chef). Each portion is topped with half an ajitama, the delicious (and easy-to-make) marinated egg that often garnishes ramen. We fell in love with the salad at Salaryman, Justin Holt’s erstwhile ramen house in Dallas, and chef Holt was kind enough to share the recipe.

3. Jubilee Country-Style Potato Salad

When I came upon this recipe in Toni Tipton-Martin’s award-winning book, Jubilee: Recipes from Two Centuries of African American Cooking, it was so luscious it sent me into a potato-salad binge that went on for weeks. Eggy, mayonnaise-y and old-fashioned (in a good way!), it reminds me of the potato salad my mom used to make. Try not to eat the whole bowl.

4. Sonoko Sakai’s Potato Salada

For a different style of Japanese potato salad, try Sonoko Sakai’s “Potato Salada” from her award-winning book, Japanese Home Cooking. It’s dressed with homemade Japanese mayo and nerigoma (Japanese-style tahini), but sometimes we cheat and use Kewpie mayo (our favorite brand of commercial Japanese mayonnaise) and store-bought tahini. We love the carrots, green beans and cukes in this one!

5. Best Potato Salad Ever

Is it really the best ever? You’ll need to try it to see what you think, but I think if I had to commit to only one for the rest of my life, it would be this one. The secret to its wonderfulness is New Wave Sauce Gribiche — soft-boiled eggs tossed with chopped herbs, capers, cornichons and shallots, plus Champagne vinegar, lemon juice and Dijon mustard. Stir that into sliced boiled potatoes, and you get something rich, tangy and absolutely delicious — a potato salad that’s actually main-course-worthy, but also makes a dreamy side dish.

Have an excellent, potato-salad-filled Memorial Day weekend!

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Elegant and easy, scallops grenobloise stars in a dazzling dinner for two

By Leslie Brenner

They’re plump, gorgeous, oceanic in flavor — and just the thing to wow a dinner partner when staying in sounds more delightful than date-night out. Succulent sea scallops are the perfect centerpiece for a beautiful dinner for two.

Yes, they’re pricy, but it’s pretty easy to make them dazzle. Lately, my favorite way is with a French prep known as à la grenobloise: seared in a hot pan, spooned over with a sauce of browned butter, lemon and capers and finished with parsley. With so few ingredients and very little prep, it’s quick as it sounds, and ideally suited for a special evening. It’s also light, so dinner doesn’t have to end with a groan.

Named for Grenoble, the city known as the unofficial capital of the French Alps, the preparation is better known as a way to sauce skate (raie à la grenobloise), sole or trout. (And yes — it’s also wonderful with those, if they call to you from the fish counter.)

The trickiest part of the grenobloise is cutting a lemon into suprêmes — segments freed from the citrus’ membranes. But even that is easy once you have the hang of it. (Watch the video of Lefebvre making the dish to see how.) But suprêmes aren’t strictly necessary; you can just as well cut the lemon into very thin slices and cut those slices into pieces; no one will be the wiser. Other than that, the only advance prep is chopping a little parsley, measuring out and draining some capers and squeezing a lemon.

I must admit, I’m a bit perplexed that seafood à la grenobloise isn’t better known. Jacques Pépin also makes them in a video (he adds mushrooms), but I can’t find it in any of the Anglophone French cookbooks on my shelves — including Julia Child’s Mastering the Art, Ann Willan’s Country Cooking of France, Dorie Greenspan’s Around My French Table or Patricia Wells’ My Master Recipes. Nor is it in the 1,086-page French-language Le Grand Livre de la Cuisine Française, nor Hubert Delorme and Vincent Boué’s The Complete Book of French Cooking, recently published in English translation from the French. And no, not a single mention of à la grenobloise — or sole, skate or scallops prepared that way — in Escoffier (at least that I could find).

It is, however, all over the French internet. (Spoiler alert: Many of the recipes also include croutons toasted in butter.)

You might be curious about how sauce grenobloise got its name. After all, Grenoble is landlocked. The French Wikipedia listing for “la sauce grenobloise” cites one Claude Muller, author of Cuisine traditionelle des Alpes, as explaining that fish arrived in Grenoble a bit worse for wear after being transported, and the custom developed of hiding the off-taste with capers. (Oh, sure — the famous old caper trick!)

Celery, Endive and Crab Salad

So, what to have avec?

Precede the scallops with a celery, endive and crab salad, or — if you want something warm, an easy minted pea soup (it’s made from frozen peas, but the flavor is amazing). Either can be made almost entirely in advance, leaving you free to enjoy your evening.

With the scallops themselves, you could serve rice or potatoes of some kind, or keep it light and let them stand on their own. Ludo Lefebvre, chef-owner of Petit Trois in Los Angeles and Chez Maggy in Denver, includes blanched cauliflower florets in his, which is also a lovely idea.

And for dessert: Tangerine sorbet!

Tangerines (aka mandarins) are so fabulous this time of year. One of my favorite recipes from David Lebovitz’s The Perfect Scoop captures and intensifies their brilliant flavor in a sorbet. Make it the day before, and all you’ll need to do is scoop. Serve it alone, or with some simple almond cookies or tuiles, homemade or store-bought.

RECIPE: The Perfect Scoop Tangerine Sorbet

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

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.

RECIPE: Baba au Rhum

EXPLORE: Cooks Without Borders’ French Cuisine Guide

EXPLORE: All Cooks Without Borders’ dessert recipes

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It's a semolina granule, it's a dreamy stew, it's a Mahgreb celebration: couscous!

By Leslie Brenner

To lots of people, couscous is something you buy in a box, add to a pan of boiling water, stir, let sit 5 minutes then fluff with fork. Maybe they’ll zhuzzh it up a bit and call it a side dish.

But couscous can be so much more — as it is in its birthplace, the Maghreb subregion of North Africa.

In countries like Tunisia, Algeria and Morocco, couscous is both “grains” of rolled semolina like the ones that come in that box, and a savory meat-and-vegetable stew that’s spooned on top of the grains.

More accurately, those grains are granules. Made from crushed durum wheat (semolina), they are related to pasta, but they’re not exactly pasta. Traditionally they’re made by mixing the durum with water, and rubbing the mixture between your palms into granules. The granules are put through a sieve, and anything small enough to go through has to be rubbed again. It’s very labor-intensive. The granules are then steamed, then dried in the sun.

That’s just the beginning: To serve couscous, it has to be cooked — which involves steaming it several times (traditionally in a dedicated couscous steamer, known as a couscoussier), and spreading it out and rubbing it to separate the granules in-between steamings. After the last steaming, it’s super light and fluffy: the couscous ideal. (Properly prepared couscous is never clumpy or gummy.)

To say couscous is culturally important in the Maghreb is an understatement. “Couscous is considered the most important traditional dish among the Maghreb people,” wrote Oumelkheir Soulimani in a 2020 article in the African Journal of Food, Agriculture, Nutrition and Development.

The food historian Charles Perry (my former colleague at the Los Angeles Times), wrote about couscous for the Oxford Symposium on Food and Cookery in 1989. His paper, “Couscous and its Cousins,” points out that in Morocco and Algeria, “the local word for it is sometimes identical to the word for ‘food’ in general.” He concludes that it was the Berbers of northern Algeria and Morocco who first created couscous, sometime between the 11th and 13th centuries.

So the tradition is very old.

(Of course there’s also the pearl couscous that’s popular throughout the Levant — in Lebanon, Israel, Jordan and Syria. Those much-larger granules are produced in a similar way, but the aesthetic is very different. That’s another story.)

How is what you buy in the box different than scratch-made semolina rolled between the palms? Soulimani explains that in detail — basically, it’s similar to the artisanal product up to the point where it’s dried.

When you follow the simple instructions on the box, you’re skipping the whole steaming routine that traditionally follows. The couscous tastes fine, but it’s much heavier than the ideal; a box of couscous steamed three times makes twice the volume of one made according to package instructions. And it sits heavy in your belly. That’s why until recently, if I wanted to do couscous right, I’d set up a steamer (I don’t own a couscoussier — pronounced coose-coose-ee-YAY) and spend a couple hours preparing the granules. No, you don’t have to do that to make a great couscous; more on that presently.

Either way, you’re using industrial couscous from the box (or bag, or whatever) — unless, of course, you happen to be in possession of some hand-rolled, sun-dried couscous.

The topper: a festive stew

The stews that go on top are wide-ranging: They can involve lamb, chicken, fish or vegetables, or a combination. Often there’s a sweet element — raisins or caramelized onions, pumpkin or sweet potato; sometimes chicken is brushed with honey. There’s usually cinnamon and saffron, and harissa — which may also be served on the side. Traditionally, fresh country butter (smen or oudi) may be included.

READ: How to make your own Tunisian-style harissa — and why you’ll be thrilled you did.

Since I was a wee twenty-something, I’ve been making a festive rendition inspired by a traditional Moroccan dish: couscous with seven vegetables, in the style of Fes. The seven vegetables are a Berber tradition; they include zucchini, turnips, carrots, tomatoes, sweet potatoes, cabbage and pumpkin. The Fes-style couscous also includes chickpeas, raisins and onions, along with chicken and lamb, cilantro, cinnamon, saffron, harissa. The grains get tossed in a lot of butter.

My couscous includes all of the above except for raisins, cabbage and sweet potato; instead of pumpkin, I use delicata squash because it’s easier and (to me) more delicious. I skip the butter on the couscous — I find it’s rich enough without it, as the broth is rich.

Why do I skip some of the vegetables? Only because I first learned to make the dish from a cookbook in the Time-Life “The Good Cook” series. A method more than a recipe (as was the habit in those excellent books), it gave a basic outline — which worked great. Over the years, I’ve evolved it a bit.

Putting it all together

The basic idea is make a broth with cut-up lamb and chicken; chickpeas are included from the start if you’re using dried ones, or toward the end of you’re using canned (either is fine). The broth is flavored with harissa, cinnamon, cilantro, tomato and diced carrots and onion; big chunks of carrot and turnip are added later, followed by zucchini and roasted red pepper strips. Once everything is tender and delicious (what a gorgeous aroma!) and your fluffy couscous is ready, you put the granules on a platter and lay the meats, chickpeas and veg on top, along with roasted delicata squash rounds. Moisten it all with a little broth, and bring it to the table, along with a sauceboat of broth and a dish of harissa.

Recently, a brilliant solution surfaced for the age-old couscous granule quandary of whether to spend hours steaming and rubbing, or take the 5-minute box-instructions shortcut. In her recent cookbook Claudia Roden’s Mediterranean, the renowned author devised a quick-and-easy method that’s a hundred times better than the box-instructions. (Basically, pour on boiling water, stir, wait five minutes, stir again, wait five minute, drizzle on a little olive oil, then rub the grains between your hands to separate the granules and coat with oil. Cover with foil and bake 10 or 15 minutes. Fantastic!)

One day (maybe soon!) I’ll make a proper couscous with seven vegetables in the manner of Fes. And I did get my hands on hand-rolled, sun-dried couscous from Tunisia; Zingerman’s sells it. I, however, have not yet been able to get satisfactory results cooking it according to package directions or using Roden’s method. I’m going to continue working with the product, and if I succeed, that’ll be another story, too.

For now, I invite you to enjoy a couscous that’s always been a favorite among my friends and family — using the familiar couscous in a box and incorporating Roden’s clever hack. Want to make it super-special? Take the time to make homemade harissa. But even if you use harissa from a tube, I think you’ll love this.

RECIPE: Chicken and Lamb Couscous

RECIPE: Harissa

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Recipe for Today: Nectarine Sorbet

By Leslie Brenner

All of a sudden, we’re in the height of stone fruit season, and nectarines have been spectacular. This simple sorbet — adapted from a recipe in The Perfect Scoop by David Lebovitz — is fabulous on its own, and even more special with dropped into glasses of red wine.

RECIPE: Nectarine Sorbet

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Classic French lemon tart: After 15 years of tinkering with the recipe, this is the one we adore

By Leslie Brenner

Among all the desserts in all the world, it’s hard to think of one more enduringly craveable and satisfying than a classic French lemon tart. At this moment before berries fully rev up (and as cherries and peaches quietly prepare to steal our hearts), a tarte au citron is a deliciously tangy way to celebrate spring.

Sunny and optimistic, the iconic dessert is almost absurdly simple: just a pastry shell filled with lemon curd. Yet it’s so purely pleasurable it never goes out of style.

But what’s the best recipe? After many years of tinkering, I’ve distilled everything I’ve learned into one I think is just right. As with many things that are simple, it’s all about the quality of those components and how they talk to each other.

For the shell, some recipes use a short crust (pâte brisée) with a touch of sugar; others use a sweet pâte sablé, made with egg and lots of powdered sugar. Lemon curds are similar at their base — eggs, sugar, lemon juice and butter, cooked on top of the stove to creamy-custardy. But differences in approach, amounts of ingredients and technique can change the quality of the tart, sometimes dramatically.

The lemon tart’s power to cheer is remarkable. Back in 2008, when the global financial crisis hit, I baked one nearly every day for couple months to keep my spirits up, doing something slightly different each time. Since then, I’ve turned to it whenever I crave that gorgeous lemony blast, experimenting with different crusts, using more or less sugar, changing up the egg-approach, how much butter to use or when to incorporate it. Sometimes, I’d act like a lemon tart virgin and faithfully follow a recipe in a new cookbook, hungry to discover something fresh.

What I’ve learned over these many years is that despite the oft-cited dictum that baking is an exact science, a lemon tart gives you plenty of room for error, and inevitably plenty of joy. There’s more room for improvisation than you’d think. If you know the basics of how to make a crust, you can hardly go wrong, and lemon curd is not difficult or finicky.

I also learned that there’s a world of difference between a good lemon tart and a great lemon tart.

To me, the ideal is a very lemony one that’s not overly sweet, with depth of flavor, a velvety texture and a crust that’s brilliantly tender and buttery. And as a cook, I want a recipe that yields spectacular results every time with as little fuss as possible and in the shortest time.

A short crust pressed into a tart pan, before blind-baking

The question of crust

Choosing between pâte brisée and pâte sablé was easy for me; with a palate more savory than sweet, I’ve always been a short crust fan. Before my 2008 tart follies, I was accustomed to crusts that you form, chill and rest, roll out, fit into the pan, chill again, fill with weights, and bake. I think it was my friend Michalene who suggested I try the short crust in Chez Panisse Desserts by Lindsey Shere (the iconic restaurant’s original pastry chef).

Here’s something beautiful: It doesn’t require rolling. You start with butter that’s not too cold, work it into the flour with your fingers, gather it into a ball, let it chill, then use your fingers to press the dough into a tart pan with a removeable bottom. Chill that, then blind-bake it (no pie weights necessary) till it’s golden. Much shorter from start to finish, less messy, less scary.

It’s a beautiful crust that’s more tender than any other I’ve made. I’ve tweaked Shere’s original a bit over the years — yielding a bit more dough so it stretches more easily into a 9-inch pan, and decreasing resting/chilling time. It’s just as wonderful.

Conquering curd

As for the curd, there’s an aesthetic divide among lemon tart creators: Some fill the blind-baked crust with chilled curd and say voilà, while others fill the blind-baked crust then bake it again with the curd. The first way results in a filling that’s silky and creamy; the second is nicely set and firmer, more like velvet than silk. I prefer the texture of the baked filling, and feel that the time in the oven adds depth of flavor as well.

A lemon tart with an unbaked filling — smooth, silky and lovely, but not the vibe that rocks our boat

To make the curd, you can use whole eggs or a combination of whole eggs and yolks, for extra richness. Personally, I don’t need it to be extra-rich, so I use whole eggs without messing with separating them just for the yolks. (And that way I’m not left with unspoken-for egg whites.) When to add the butter is another question. You can drop it in directly after combining the eggs, sugar and lemon juice, and let it melt as you start cooking, or whisk in cold bits of butter after you’ve cooked the eggs, sugar and lemon juice.

And then there’s the matter of how sweet or tart to make it. Shere’s recipe for lemon curd filling, published in that same cookbook in 1985, calls for 6 tablespoons of sugar (roughly 1/3 cup) for a 9-inch tart. These days, many recipes call for double or triple that much sugar, or more. (A recipe for French Riviera Lemon Tart in Dorie Greenspan’s Baking with Dorie calls for 3/4 cup sugar; the Pioneer Woman’s Lemon Tart filling calls for 1 1/4 cup.) America’s sweet tooth wants more and more sugar.

Not me. I like my lemon tart more tart and my sugar consumption in check, so my recipe calls for 1/2 cup. If you’re worried that won’t be sweet enough, consider that my bookshelves are filled with classic old cookbooks calling for 1/2 cup sugar for their 9-inch classic tartes au citron: It’s sweet enough for history — and for my husband and his sweet-tooth.

On board for the sunny, tangy treat? Make one next weekend! It’ll be just the thing for an Easter brunch, a special dinner with friends, or a just-because-I-deserve it pick me up.

RECIPE: Classic Lemon Tart (Tarte au Citron)

Our favorite lemon tart: press-in short crust, baked filling, not-too-sweet

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

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.

RECIPE: ‘Via Carota’ Torta al Cioccolato

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.

RECIPE: Apple Cake

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.

RECIPE: Your Favorite Chocolate Mousse

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.

RECIPE: Almond Tuiles

Want more ideas?

Here are a few more desserts you can pull together easily with ingredients you might have:

RECIPE: Cardamom-Pumpkin Spice Bread

RECIPE: Mexican-Chocolate Situation

RECIPE: Syrian-Lebanese Rice Pudding

RECIPE: Molten Chocolate Cake

RECIPE: ‘The Perfect Scoop’ Tangerine Sorbet

RECIPE: Montego Bay Rum Cake

RECIPE: Flourless Chocolate-Almond Cake

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Rich and soulful, beef bourguignon is always in style

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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Showstopper dessert encore: Make Ottolenghi's fabulous rolled Pavlova while we still have peaches!

EDITOR’S NOTE: This story was first published on July 30, 2021. Yotam Ottolenghi and Helen Goh’s rolled Pavlova continues to be one of our favorite desserts ever. Peaches should be available from somewhere in the United States for at least two or three more weeks, so now’s the time to thinking about making it.

By Leslie Brenner

Looking for something fabulous and sweet to make this weekend or next? Or maybe you want something to wow a crowd during your upcoming August vacation?

Look no further: This rolled Pavlova from Sweet: Desserts from London’s Ottolenghi is absolutely smashing. Dramatic and gorgeous, it makes a hell of an impression — but it actually requires surprisingly little effort.

If you’ve never had or made a Pavlova, it’s actually quite simple: just whip egg whites with sugar until they’re thick and glossy, add a little vanilla for flavor and a touch of vinegar and cornstarch to stabilize, spread it on a parchment lined sheet pan and bake. When it comes out of the oven, it’ll be super-light, crisp and crusty on the outside and marshmallowy-soft on the inside. Round ones make great bases you can use in place of the shortcake for strawberry shortcake, or you can make a big one, dollop on whipped cream, top it with fruit and nuts and make a gorgeous statement. We’ve been doing both of those for years. Pavlovas are particularly wonderful for anyone needing or wanting to eat gluten-free.

But we’d never heard of a rolled Pavlova until we were flipping through Sweet last weekend, looking for a fruit dessert that we hoped would wow some wonderful new friends we’d invited to dinner.

And wow, did it! Not only was it a show-stopper; it was actually a show — everyone wanted to watch the dramatic roll-it-up maneuver. Then cutting the slices (thick ones! delightful crackly noise!) was its own entertaining moment.

The recipe probably reads a little scary if you’ve never made a Pavlova before — rolling a flat, crisp, thick meringue could seem perilous — but I knew it would be soft enough inside that rolling it up should be no problem. More than a show-stopper; it was actually a show — everyone wanted to watch the dramatic roll-it-up maneuver. Then cutting the slices (thick ones! delightful crackly noise!) was its own entertaining moment.

The Pavlova was dreamy to eat: Lots of ripe and super-flavorful peak-season peaches and juicy blackberries mingling with whipped cream inside the soft and crunchy meringue roulade, with more whipped cream, fruit and toasted sliced almonds on top. Our friends had brought along a delightful Muscat de Beaumes-de-Venise — one of my all-time favorite dessert wines — a glorious match, thanks to the peaches.

OK, I know what you’re thinking: Need to run out and buy peaches, blackberries, cream and eggs. Do let us know how you love it.

RECIPE: Showstopper Rolled Pavlova with Peaches and Blackberries

Recipe from Sweet: Sweet: Desserts from London’s Ottolenghi by Yotam Ottolenghi and Helen Goh, with an assist from our friend Tara Wigley.

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How to cook France's favorite dish, something most Americans have never even heard of

By Leslie Brenner

What is the favorite food of people who live in France — steak frites? Boeuf bourguignon? Quiche? Mais non — it’s magret de canard, a dish most Americans probably have never heard of.

In the last four or five years, magret — duck breast cooked medium-rare like a steak — has risen to the top of the popularity charts and stayed there. In bistros and restaurants from Paris to Nantes, from Bordeaux to Toulouse, and Montpelier to Lyon, and in kitchens of home cooks from the most basic to the foodiest, magret is everywhere.

Though the preparation may be slightly different, it’s usually easy to recognize: deep rosy-pink-to-red slices, each edged with a pad of golden-brown-edged fat. There might be sauce, or perhaps not. It’s sometimes grilled, and often cooked à la poêle (in a pan). If there is a sauce, it is probably not sweet, as it would be in the United States; more likely something like a red wine sauce. (Yes, duck à l’orange exists in France, but it’s not the most usual preparation.) It looks more like red meat than poultry.

The flavor? Superb — rich and lean somehow at the same time, delightfully ducky, and not gamey (at least as long as it’s not overcooked). This is why the French love it: It’s delicious.

As these things go, its rise to the pinnacle of popularity has been dizzying. By most accounts, the dish was invented by André Daguin, owner and chef of the Hôtel de France in Auch, a small town in Gascony, around 1959. The hotel restaurant was known for (among other things) its outstanding confit duck legs, a specialty of the region. One day, suddenly tired of wasting the duck breasts, Daguin was struck by an idea: Grill them rare and serve them as if they were steaks. He called the dish Lou Magret. (That’s Occitaine dialect for “le maigre” — the lean.) Reportedly he served it with a duck-fat sauce béarnaise, later switching it to green peppercorn sauce.

Robert Daley, a Times correspondent writing a travel story in 1971, described Lou Magret’s presentation this way:

“Daguin lifted it onto a plate. From a silver casserole he added tiny potatoes that had been sautéed in butter, and all over this he spooned a thin green sauce with fresh peppercorns in it.”

Just one small problem with the conventional — and widely reported — wisdom about Daguin having invented the dish: He himself told Daley that he had not. “Absolutely not,” Daley quoted him as saying.

“The Hotel de France has been in my family since 1926, and we’ve served it all that time. My grandfather was a famous chef as well, and I know he served it back in the 1890’s.”

Unfortunately, Daguin died in 2018, so we can’t ask him to clarify. I did ask his daughter Ariane Daguin, via email, what she knows about it. She is founder of D’Artagnan, the pioneering New York-based purveyor that supplies duck products (including foie gras, breasts and legs) to restaurants and home cooks around the United States. Daguin has not yet responded. (When and if she does, we will update this article.)

Whether it was Ariane Daguin’s father or great-grandfather who first served magret, no question but that it was her father who popularized it — putting Gascony on the world culinary map at the same time.

Magret waiting to be cooked

How to make magret

If you visit France and you’re an omnivore, you will want to order it. (In fact, it’s hard to avoid!) In the meantime, it’s a fabulous thing to make at home.

Because the duck breast is covered with a thick layer of fat — most of which needs to be rendered — it can be a bit tricky to cook it medium-rare. But take it slow, cook it rather low, and you’ll nail it. Cook it once or twice, and you’ll get the knack — and feel pretty brilliant about the extremely French dish you can turn out with very little effort. It’s special enough to impress yet quick and easy enough for a weeknight dinner.

Prick the skin all over with a toothpick to help the fat render. (Many recipes have you score the fat, but pricking it is easier and equally effective.) Season with salt and pepper, place skin-side-down in a cold skillet, give it high heat for half a minute till it sizzles, then cook about 15 minutes on medium-low. No need to touch it during that time, so you can set the table, or make a veg, or mince a shallot for the pan sauce. Flip it skin-side up — the fat will be mostly rendered and the skin will be a beautiful, crisp golden-brown. Cook a minute or two on the flesh side till medium-rare. Make a quick pan sauce while the breasts rest for 10 minutes. Slice the breasts, sauce ‘em up and you’re in for a treat. Here’s an actual recipe.

Serve them with haricots verts — French string beans, and (if you’re feeling expansive) potatoes sautéed in duck fat, or (if you’re feeling decadent) Gratin Dauphinois.

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

Moussaka for the Ages from Cooks Without Borders

By Leslie Brenner

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

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

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

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

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

RECIPE: Moussaka for the Ages

Spring's dynamic duo — grilled butterflied leg of lamb and asparagus — make a marvelous (and portable!) feast

By Leslie Brenner

In my corner of planet earth, we’ve arrived at the point in spring when the evenings are starting to stay warm enough to kindle thoughts of grilling — of sharing a glass of rosé out on the patio with friends, of nibbling dips and chips and such and taking in the intoxicating aroma of something delectable cooking over the coals.

And so yesterday, with our patio not yet exactly fit for prime time, I proposed bringing a ready-to-go grilling party to friends who had just moved into a new house. A butterflied leg of lamb and asparagus would be the base offering, along with a bottle of French rosé. Not a hard sell — you should try it some time!

It was so easy to put together — and turned to to be so delicious — that it sparked an “aha” moment: Rosy slices of flavorful grilled lamb and tender spears of lightly charred asparagus love to be the life of the spring party. The combo isn’t only great for instigating BYO-main course dinner invitations; it’s also the delightfully low-stress solution for Easter dinner or lunch, breaking a Ramadan fast, or (in a matter of weeks) setting the table for Mother's Day.

Asparagus and spring onions, cooked on the grill

Prepping for the event is shockingly quick. Procure a boneless leg of lamb: The first one I saw was 2.8 pounds, large enough to serve 6. A smaller one would be sufficient for four. Grab some fresh herbs — our marinade recipe calls for mint and cilantro, but you could swap either for parsley, rosemary, thyme, oregano or marjoram, or use a combo. You probably have everything else (red wine vinegar, garlic, olive oil, salt and pepper) on hand. And grab a bunch or two of asparagus: a pound and a half is perfect for four, two pounds for six.

This time of year, you might also find spring onions — the ones that look like scallions, but with much bigger bulbs on the bottom. Yesterday I found both red and white ones. These are fantastic thrown on that grill as well — as are garlic scapes, if you’re lucky enough to find them.

Once you’re home with the booty, make a marinade: Chop the herbs, toss in a bowl with pressed garlic, vinegar, salt and pepper, whisk in olive oil. Unwrap the lamb, removing any strings holding it in shape, and flatten it as much as possible. If it doesn’t lay flat, feel free to slash with a knife here and there, keeping it all in one piece: You want a shape that will cook relatively evenly on the grill. Don’t worry, though, if it’s much thicker in places — it’ll still be great.

Place the lamb in a shallow bowl, coat it on both sides with the marinade and transfer it to a large zipper bag. (Alternatively, you can put the lamb in the bag, pour in the marinade, zip it up (pushing out the air first), then massage it a bit so it’s completely covered in marinade. Leave it like that for at least two hours (refrigerating for all but the last hour), and it’s ready to cook. Heat the grill, wipe off the marinade and cook on both sides — it’s quicker than you might think: 12 to 22 minutes total (depending on the heat of the grill) will get you lamb that’s medium-rare where thickest and medium where thinnest.

RECIPE: Grilled Butterflied Leg of Lamb

You should have enough room on the grill to throw on the asparagus — which needs nothing more than olive oil and salt before going on. (For my portable feast, I trimmed off their woody bottoms and placed them in a zipper bag with about two teaspoons of oil and about a quarter teaspoon of salt, zipped it up, rolled the spears around a bit to coat, and transported them just so.) Ditto the spring onions: Trim the tops, slice them in half, creating a flat surface on the bulbs, and give them the same oil-and-salt treatment. If you’re not transporting them, you can put the asparagus (and spring onions if using) on a sheet pan, drizzle with oil, sprinkle with salt, and let them sit till you’re ready to grill.

As for timing, you can grill the asparagus at the same time as the lamb, cooking till the spears are as tender as you like them (I like them tender, and take them off when they’re floppy with picked up with tongs). Spring onions or garlic scapes will be perfect once they’re a bit charred, and both are fine served room temp. Want them hot? Grill the veg once you’ve pulled off the lamb to rest 10 minutes.

Slice the lamb, arrange on a platter surrounded by the asparagus, pour any collected juices over the lamb, and your feast is ready.

And it’s delicious just like that. Want to make a few more things?

This Tangy Green Everything Sauce — packed with mint, parsley, dill and shallots — is pretty dreamy with the lamb.

And so is its oregano-forward cousin, chimichurri. Both can be made ahead, and they’re easy to transport in a jar.

Yesterday, prepping the lamb, asparagus and spring onions was so quick that I remembered some red potatoes I had in the pantry, I boiled them up and threw together a quick (and super portable!) French-accented potato salad. While the potatoes cooked, I whisked together red wine vinegar, a goodly dollop of whole-grain mustard, salt and olive oil, then added a spoonful of mayo, thinly sliced shallots, roughly chopped parsley and black pepper. When the potatoes were cooked, I sliced them in their jackets and tossed them with the sauce: delicious.

A bit more involved, our Best Potato Salad Ever is great with this, too. (Find more potato salad recipes here.) All potato salads are portable as can be — ideal for stress-free at-home entertaining, or we’ll-bring-it-all personal pop-up dinners.

For dessert, the arrival of strawberry season makes it easy to keep it simple: Stem the berries (halving or quartering if they’re large), sprinkle with a little sugar or toss in Grand Marnier or other orange liqueur, let macerate an hour or two and serve just like that. Or with ice cream.

Strawberry Pavlova

If it’s a fancier feast, you can make Strawberry Pavlovas: These are great for Easter, Mother’s Day or Passover celebrations (they’re flour-free!). Again, everything can be made ahead — just assemble them on the spot.

So that’s the blueprint: As simple or extended as you like.

Happy spring!

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RECIPE: Grilled Butterflied Leg of Lamb

RECIPE: Tangy Green Everything Sauce

RECIPE: Chimichurri

RECIPE: Best Potato Salad Ever

RECIPE: Strawberry Pavlovas

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

By Leslie Brenner

The dish known as hachis Parmentier is decidedly not one of France’s sexier dishes. In fact, it’s not a sexy or aspirational dish at all. At least I didn’t think it was — until I heard of one I simply had to have.

Traditionally, hachis Parmentier was leftover pot roast chopped up (hâcher means to chop), covered with mashed potatoes and baked. Today, most French people know the dish as a layer of sautéed ground beef in a baking dish topped with mashed potatoes, then browned in the oven. The beef may have some chopped onion and carrot in it, but that’s as fancy as it usually gets. In other words, it’s more or less shepherd’s pie.

That’s why when I read that Daniel Boulud, New York City’s superstar French chef, has a thing for hachis Parmentier, I was dying to hear how he approaches it.

I had been researching the dish, looking for recipes from cookbook authors I admire, and found one in Dorie Greenspan’s excellent Around my French Table. Dorie’s headnote led with an anecdote. She and her husband were lucky enough, some years back, to have Boulud cook a meal for them. “It was luxurious,” she wrote:

“and at the end of it, after thanking Daniel endlessly, I asked him what he was going to have for dinner. ‘Hachis Parmentier,’ he said with the kind of anticipatory delight usually seen only in children who’ve been told they can have ice cream. We had just had lobster and truffles, but Daniel was about to have the French version of shepherd’s pie, and you could tell he was going to love it.”

I had to have it! I’d already scoured the four Daniel Boulud cookbooks on my shelves without turning up a recipe; next I searched online. Nada.

So I emailed him, asking the Lyon-born, world-renowned, double-Michelin-starred chef — who was recently named the best restaurateur on the planet — if he had a recipe he might share with Cooks Without Borders. Thrillingly, he did! (Thank you, Daniel! And thank you, Daniel’s wonderful team!)

Daniel Boulud’s recipe

Ground beef? Nah — Daniel’s recipe starts with cubes of boneless ribeye steak. Which you marinate in Burgundy wine. The meat gets seared, then diced onions, carrots and parsnips are sweated, and all of it gets simmered for hours with the Burgundy (which you reduce way down first), combined with veal stock flavored with a bouquet garni with herbs, garlic and peppercorns.

“Hachis parmentier is all about how you build your sauce and flavors,” Daniel had written in the headnote. “It is a baked dish that starts with humble ingredients and simple techniques. I love to expand my version with the deep and rich flavors of Boeuf Bourguignon under a layer of creamy mashed potatoes topped with nutty Gruyère cheese.”

Those mashed potatoes? They’re not just figuratively creamy; they’re enriched with lots of butter and cream.

“Nothing warms your soul like the anticipation of this casserole on a cold winter’s day,” Daniel added. You can say that again.

Unless you’re a lot wealthier than I am (ribeye is expensive!) you won’t be making this dish on a random Tuesday; it’s special enough for dinner party fare. I confess I did not open a bottle of Burgundy for the sauce (don’t tell Daniel!); I used a $14 French pinot noir instead. The pinot was decent enough that I bought a second bottle to drink with the finished hachis Parmentier.

Meltingly tender after its hours of marinating and slow braising, the ribeye had fabulous flavor — this was by far the most luxurious beef stew I’ve ever simmered. I didn’t have veal stock (unless you’re a chef, odds are you don’t either), so instead used Daniel’s recommended second choice: store-bought beef broth boosted with veal demi-glace. (D’Artagnan makes a good demi-glace that you can buy online or find in some higher-end supermarkets.) You need that boosting because the sauce has to be substantial enough that it holds the meat together under the potatoes and doesn’t run all over the plate when you serve it. The natural gelatin in demi-glace (and also in veal stock) adds the right body, as well as a lot of flavor.

Because the dish is so expensive (even with the pinot swapped for Burgundy, the ingredients totaled more than $60), I wondered how it would be with a less pricey cut of beef. So I made it again — substituting chuck for the ribeye.

It was good — and I do recommend that if you’re keeping to a budget. But it’s considerably less special than Daniel’s original.

Without further adieu, here is Chef Boulud’s recipe. After that, we’ll dive into some of hachis Parmentier’s finer points and history, so unless you want to geek out with me, you may now be excused from the table.

What sent me down the H.P. rabbit hole

The recipe that started me on the hachier Parmentier mission was one in World Food: Paris, published last year by James Oseland. The dish was delicious (I love the idea of adding umami and body to ground beef with oyster sauce), but the recipe had some small technical issues. It whetted my appetite for it, though, and piqued my curiosity about what the dish could be in its best expression.

Read “Cookbooks We Love: James Oseland’s new ‘World Food’ title celebrates the iconic dishes of Paris”

Though I’m married to a Frenchman and have spent a lot of time in France over the decades, hachis Parmentier is not something I’d ever been served there — too homey, probably, to serve to a guest.

When we were in Bordeaux last summer, I picked up a copy of Le Grand Livre de La Cuisine Française: Recettes Bourgeoises & Populaire, by the renowned Paris chef Jean-François Piège. It’s a mammoth tome of nearly 1,100 pages, published just about a year ago. Basically it defines, catalogues and provides recipes for the French canon of standard dishes (in French only; it has not been translated). And yes — among its 1,000-plus recipes is one for hachis Parmentier. The beef cut: “3 grosses joues de boeuf” — three big beef cheeks. One is instructed to cook them for two and a half or three hours in red wine and veal stock till they’re “très fondantes” (very melty). Piège has you pull the braised beef cheeks apart with your fingers, then enrobe them in strained-and-seasoned braising liquid to which you add chopped parsley. Lay that in an oven-to-table baking dish, cover with brunoise (tiny dice) of onion, carrot and celery that’s been gently cooked in butter, top with potato purée, then with bread crumbs you’ve tossed with chopped garlic and grated comté cheese. Bake until the top has a “belle croûte dorée” — a beautiful golden crust. Et voilà.

Beef cheeks: Not the easiest cut for home cooks to find, and the recipe assumes much more cooking knowledge than most American home cooks will possess.

Wait, what about Dorie’s version?

So glad you asked! Dorie called for either cube steak or chuck in the version that follows the diverting headnote in Around My French Table. After simmering the meat, she chops it up — then adds pork sausage to the filling, which no doubt amps up the flavor and adds richness. Her hachis Parmentier looks very good; I look forward to trying it one day soon.

That’s about all I’ve got on the hachis. That leaves the Parmentier!

France’s permanent potato prince

Any French dish with “Parmentier” in its name necessarily involves potatoes. That’s because in the 18th century, Antoine Augustin Parmentier, a French agronomist and pharmacist, won a prize in 1773 offered by the Academy of Besançon for the discovery of plants that could be useful during times of famine, according to Larousse Gastronomique. Parmentier’s plant of choice: the potato.

Prior to that time, the French considered potatoes to be unwholesome and indigestible, suitable only for animal feed or to nourish poor people. Parmentier extolled potatoes’ nutritive virtues, and didn’t fail to let people know that they also taste really good. After winning the prize, Parmentier popularized the potato, publishing booklets about its uses and cultivation. He famously prepared a dinner for visiting statesman Benjamin Franklin starring a potato-centric menu, putting the potato permanently on France’s culinary map.

“For a time the potato itself was known as the parmentière in his honour,” Larousse recounts, “and he gave his name to various culinary preparations based on potatoes, especially hachis Parmentier — chopped beef covered with puréed potatoes and browned in the oven.”

And so we come full circle. The recipe that follows in Larousse goes roughly like this: “Dice or coarsely chop” boiled or braised beef. Cook lots of chopped onion in butter, sprinkle with a little flour, cook till lightly brown, add beef stock, cook down a bit, then add the chopped beef. Put the beef and onions in a gratin dish, cover with potato purée, top with breadcrumbs, moisten with melted butter and brown in the oven. “Although it is not traditional, a small cup of very reduced tomato sauce can be added to the chopped meat and a little grated cheese may be mixed with the breadcrumbs.”

I’ll be making Daniel’s recipe again before long, I suspect. I might even make veal stock to use as its foundation, should veal bones present themselves. Hard to imagine another version with such luxurious depth.

Maybe I’ll even spring for a bottle of Burgundy. No, not for the braising liquid, but to honor the finished — and fabulous — dish.

RECIPE: Daniel Boulud’s Hachis Parmentier

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This glorious plum-and-blackberry buckwheat tart is way easier than pie

By Leslie Brenner

Lazy bakers, this one’s for you.

If you know anything about galettes, you know that the free-form pastries are super-forgiving, nearly foolproof. Hard to imagine, then, that the enticing tart shown in the photo above is actually (ahem!) a failed galette.

Here’s how it came to be. (I promise to make the story snappy and get right to the super-easy recipe.) On a recent trip to France, my husband Thierry and I lucked into a kilometers-long stretch of wild blackberry vines. After picking our way into purple-fingered, mûre sauvage happiness — with about a kilo of wild blackberries as our prize — I thought, time to bake a galette. I was looking for ease, didn’t want to make a pastry cream, and didn’t have a tart pan (or a rolling pin, or measuring tools, or a full-size oven) in Thierry’s mom’s kitchen.

I reached for Melissa Clark’s excellent New York Times master recipe for Fruit Galette. I had to make the galette oval, not round (to fit in the tiny oven!) but the wild blackberry galette was pretty damn wonderful! In fact, quick and easy as it was, it was one of the best tarts I’d ever made.

Wild blackberry galette

And so, when I returned home to Texas and wanted to make a lazy-person’s dessert featuring summer-into-fall blackberries and plums, I thought — naturally — of a galette.

Thing is, I’m crazy about whole grains and ancient grains, and love to incorporate them in baking projects whenever possible. Buckwheat, I thought, would be particularly nice with those deep early autumn fruit flavors, so half the flour would be buckwheat flour (and the rest all-purpose flour). I’d cut back the sugar and cornstarch — as I did with the wild berry galette — expecting success.

But when I tried rolling out the dough, it refused to hold together.

Aha!, I thought. Buckwheat does not have gluten, so the dough is not elastic enough to roll, even after resting an hour.

I pivoted, grabbed a 9-inch tart pan with a removable bottom, and pressed the dough into it: a perfect fit. Much easier than pie. (Anyone with fear of crust-rolling should be delighted!)

I chose not to blind-bake the crust, and didn’t give the dough time to rest after pressing it into the pan: This is truly a lazy baker’s tart. No need to peel any fruit, nor meticulously arrange carefully cut fruit into concentric circles. Just cut the plums in eighths (removing the pits), toss them with blackberries, sugar, cornstarch and a pinch of salt, dump the mixture into the crust, scatter sliced almonds on top (no need to toast first), and bake. It’s that simple.

And it was amazingly good. I’ll be baking this baby again and again. (Can’t wait, in fact!) The buckwheat flavor was right on; the crust was tender and flaky; the almonds were lovely with the the fruit, whose flavors concentrated gorgeously.

Want to try? Here’s the recipe.

Happy autumn!

Kate Leahy's 'Wine Style' is a delicious solo debut from a seasoned (and fascinating) cookbook pro

By Leslie Brenner

Wine Style: Discover the wines you will love through 50 simple recipes, by Kate Leahy, Photographs by Erin Scott, 2021, Ten Speed Press, $22.

Her name may not ring a bell — yet, anyway — but Kate Leahy is one of the most interesting cookbook authors around.

Leading up to the publication last week of her first solo cookbook, Wine Style, her publishing career had been one of collaboration; she’d been a co-author, working with chefs, restaurateurs and others on 10 wide-ranging titles over the past 13 years. Her first effort — A16 Food + Wine — won the IACP Cookbook of the Year award and the Julia Child First Book award following its publication in 2008. A16 is a captivating romp through the wines and foods of Southern Italy as expressed in Nate Appleman and Shelley Lindgren’s beloved San Fransisco restaurant of the same name.

If you could spend some time with that first book, along with Leahy’s most recent ones — Burma Superstar (2017), Lavash (2019) and La Buvette (which we reviewed last year when it was published) — you might sense a delightful sensibility running through all — Leahy’s it would seem, as she’s the common denominator. Those books all have an underlying intelligence, grace in the writing and overarching deliciousness. Each expresses a passion for deeply exploring culinary cultures, including the people who uphold the traditions, the places from which the traditions spring.

Leahy is at once an expressive, talented writer and an outstanding, accomplished cook with a great palate — an unusual combination. Dig into her background a bit and you begin to understand: She began her career as a cook, and worked on the line at James Beard Award-winning restaurants including A16 (aha!), Terra in the Napa Valley and Radius in Boston. Later, she went to journalism school — at Northwestern University’s Medill School of Journalism.

Author Kate Leahy / Photograph by John Lee

Her projects beautifully and compellingly capture worlds, whether it’s Armenia and its diaspora (Lavash); the cult of laphet — edible fermented Assam tea leaves as practiced in the border regions around Myanmar, China and Thailand (Burma Superstar); or a cave à manger (a wine bar where you can eat) in Paris’ branché 11th Arrondissement (La Buvette). If you want to get an idea of the sensibility at work, check out 1000 Meals, the video series Leahy produces with John Lee, a wonderful photographer and videographer who’s Leahy’s frequent collaborator.

‘Wine Style’ Marinated Mushrooms

Because there’s such depth and expansiveness in Leahy’s work, I was eager to dive into Wine Style, her first book as a solo author.

Quickly and irrevocably, I was hooked. Wine Style is chock full of smart, enticing recipes that not only pair well with your favorite reds, whites, and oranges, but are easy and delicious enough that they’re sure to become perennial favorites — dishes you’ll constantly be tossing together when friends are unexpectedly stopping by, when you’re heading to a picnic, hosting book club, or even on harried weeknights when you want an effortless yet satisfying dinner.

The first recipe I tried, a ridiculously simple dish of garlicky marinated mushrooms that cooks in a snap, was so good I made it twice more in a matter of days.

RECIPE: ‘Wine Style’ Marinated Mushrooms

What to drink with that? Leahy suggests an earthy red — a Nebbiolo from Alto Piemonte or a mellow, traditional Rioja. Right she is; a Cune Rioja Crianza I’ve been been picking up for less than $15 was perfect.

Pretension is not part of Wine Style’s picture. “Most of the wines I seek out fall into the ‘charming and affordable’ camp,” Leahy writes in her introduction, “the kind of wines that make people smile without taking over the conversation.” These are the wines she and her friends bring when they gather every month for “Porch Time” — laid-back potluck dinners pulled together from unfussy recipes, often to be served room-temp (or backyard temp, as the case may be; none of them actually have porches).

And it’s in the spirit of Porch Time that she has created and pulled together the recipes that make up the book.

Types of wine (“wine styles”) serve as the organizing principle for those recipes: There are chapters on bubbles, whites (“crisp” or “rich”), orange wines, rosés, on through reds characteized as “picnic,” “reasonably serious” or “big” and finishing with sweet wines.

Leahy suggests pairings without getting hung up on them. The brief opening chapter, Wine Basics, is one of the best things I’ve read for beginners, or for food people who want to learn more about wine. I love that she focuses on texture and acidity — a welcome departure from the puffed-up lists of aromas that have infected wine writing for decades. Leahy provides an excellent section on natural wines, explaining the low-intervention winemaking philosophy (using sourdough as an analogy) and how it’s expressed in the glass.

Kate Leahy’s Harissa Deviled Eggs, from ‘Wine Style’

And so, for Harissa Deviled Eggs — an idea I couldn’t resist — eggs’ propensity to coat the tongue propensity has Leahy reaching for scrubbing bubbles. Bingo! Prosecco was just the thing. And again, super simple; you don’t even really need a recipe if you can remember a third-cup of mayo, a tablespoon of harissa, a splash of lemon juice and half a dozen eggs. OK, here’s the recipe anyway:

RECIPE: Harissa Deviled Eggs

Another winning pairing: Poached salmon set on a charmingly disheveled fennel-celery salad, with caper mayo — sipped with Provençal rosé. I love the play of the fennel and celery, so similar in texture and different in flavor; I’d never thought of putting them together before, and it totally worked. Next time I’ll try it with Leahy’s other pairing idea: unoaked Chardonnay.

RECIPE: Poached Salmon with Fennel-Celery Salad and Caper Mayo

Freestyling with the recipes

I haven’t always managed to conjure Leahy’s suggested pairings; sometimes a dish sounded good, and I just went for it, wine or no.

Roasted edamame spoke to me: It’s something you can whip out on demand if you keep bags of it in the freezer and own a jar of furikake, the nori-and-sesame seasoning mix. Slightly defrost a bag of frozen shelled edamame, toss with olive oil and soy sauce, roast for 20 or 30 minutes, then toss with the furikake. For this, I pulled out a bottle of sake (which I had on hand) rather than orange wine (which I didn’t). Really good. (It’s also fabulous made with edamame still in their pods.)

Recently I was in Massachussetts visiting Cooks Without Borders’ design director, Juliet Jacobson, who put together Wine Style’s Beet and Potato Salad with Tarragon — another winner. We both loved the unlikely combo of the tarragon with dill pickles, though maybe if a reprint is ever in the works Leahy might consider adding a weight measurement for the pickles; “2 large or 3 small dill pickles” led to confusion. Were the pickles in our jar large? Medium? Who’s to say? We probably guessed wrong, as we wished it were a wee bit more pickle-y.

Juliet had also made Leahy’s Chocolate Olive Cake — which we’ll both be making again (and soon!). Made with almond flour, it gets moistness and fruitiness from the inclusion of prunes — and the combo of nuts and dried fruit certainly sounds fabulous with the Banyuls rouge or port Leahy suggests.

Wine or no wine, all those recipes are keepers — and Erin Scott’s engaging photos capture the dishes deliciously.

And there’s so much else that entices. Green Olive Tapenade and Baked Feta with Olives and Lemon both sound fabulous to smear on crusty bread. Ginger Chicken Salad, inspired by the Burmese salads Leahy fell in love with writing Burmese Superstar, looks enticing, as does oil-packed Tuna with Potatoes, Olives and Lemons. Leahy calls A Really Good Pasta Salad “handy for lunch, picnics, and dinners on hot nights.” It’s a match, she writes, for richer orange wines, “though no one would complain if you poured them a glass of lightly chilled Gamay instead.” Baked Peaches with Coconut and Sliced Almonds, which sounds terrific on its own or with its suggested Moscato d’Asti or dry or demi-sec Prosecco.

Italian Sausages with Roasted Cauliflower and Greens, from ‘Wine Style’ by Kate Leahy

Because autumn will be here before we know it, I thought I’d leave you with a recipe I’ll certainly be making again as the weather cools: Italian Sausages with Roasted Cauliflower and Greens. Made on a sheet pan, it’s just the kind of effortless yet delicious one-dish dinner I’m always looking for. Red onion and capers roasted with the cauliflower and sausages, along with a squeeze of lemon at the end, give it just the right zing.

And the wine? Leahy assures us there’s no short of reds that go with it, “but those with sunny dispositions, like Argentine Malbec or the Grenache, Syrah and Mourvèdre blends of the southern Rhône Valley, have a juicy quality that matches well with the sweetness of the caramelized cauliflower and sausages.” Indeed they do! And those sunny dispositions are always welcome — any time of year.

Wine Style: Discover the wines you will love through 50 simple recipes, by Kate Leahy, Photographs by Erin Scott, 2021, Ten Speed Press, $22.

RECIPE: Italian Sausages with Roasted Cauliflower and Greens

RECIPE: Poached Salmon with Fennel-Celery Salad and Caper Mayo

RECIPE: Harissa Deviled Eggs

RECIPE: ‘Wine Style’ Marinated Mushrooms

Potato salad season opens today! Here are 5 you'll love

By Leslie Brenner

Today is the official unofficial season opener for summer’s most craveable side dish — the underdog show-stealer of every picnic or potluck. We can all pretend we can do without it, and then boom! A great potato salad blindsides us with deliciousness.

Here are five — three American, and two Japanese-style — that will round out your celebrations from now through Labor Day. (And probably beyond!)

Why Japanese-style? Because potato salad is a delicious example of yoshoku — Western dishes that migrated to Japan in the late 19th century and became truly Japanese. There’s something truly fabulous about this particular yoshuku fusion; Japanese flavors really make potatoes sing.

1. Herb-Happy Potato Salad

Red potatoes, red wine vinaigrette and either shallots or scallions come together under a flurry of fresh, soft herbs with this light, quick potato salad that’s a snap to make.

2. Salaryman Potato Salad

Salaryman Potato Salad: Each portion of the Japanese potato salad gets topped with half an ajitama marinated egg

Mayonnaise-based and built on russets, this cucumber-laced Japanese potato salad gets umami from HonDashi (instant dashi powder — a secret weapon of many a Japanese chef). Each portion is topped with half an ajitama, the delicious (and easy-to-make) marinated egg that often garnishes ramen. We fell in love with the salad at Salaryman, Justin Holt’s erstwhile ramen house in Dallas, and chef Holt was kind enough to share the recipe.

3. Jubilee Country-Style Potato Salad

When I came upon this recipe in Toni Tipton-Martin’s award-winning book, Jubilee: Recipes from Two Centuries of African American Cooking, it was so luscious it sent me into a potato-salad binge that went on for weeks. Eggy, mayonnaise-y and old-fashioned (in a good way!), it reminds me of the potato salad my mom used to make. Try not to eat the whole bowl.

4. Sonoko Sakai’s Potato Salada

For a different style of Japanese potato salad, try Sonoko Sakai’s “Potato Salada” from her award-winning book, Japanese Home Cooking. It’s dressed with homemade Japanese mayo and nerigoma (Japanese-style tahini), but sometimes we cheat and use Kewpie mayo (our favorite brand of commercial Japanese mayonnaise) and store-bought tahini. We love the carrots, green beans and cukes in this one!

5. Best Potato Salad Ever

I cringe a little every time I see the moniker of this bad boy, which I named before discovering Toni Tipton-Martin’s, Justin Holt’s or Sonoko Sakai’s. Still, I do think Best Potato Salad Ever is worthy of at least tying for the title. The secret to its wonderfulness is New Wave Sauce Gribiche — soft-boiled eggs tossed with chopped herbs, capers, cornichons and shallots, plus Champagne vinegar, lemon juice and Dijon mustard. How could you go wrong, right?

Have an excellent, potato-salad-filled Memorial Day weekend!

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

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.

RECIPE: Guacamole, the traditional way

Recipe for Today: Asparagus, all dressed up!

By Leslie Brenner

We have a new feature at Cooks Without Borders: our Recipe for Today. Every morning, the green announcement bar at the top of all our pages offers a link to something that sounds delicious to us that day: Recipe for Today!

It’ll be right for the season, holiday-appropriate if something’s going on, and keyed to whether it’s a weekday or weekend.

As often as we can manage, we’ll also feature it in a quickie story, like this one.

Asparagus with a new-wave gribiche is one of our favorite ways to celebrate spring. It’s great for a weekend brunch, a picnic in the park, a dinner with friends, a potluck or even a festive celebration. The New Wave Gribiche in our recipe is inspired by L.A. chef (Gjelina, Gjusta) Travis Lett’s modern take on classic French sauce gribiche, made with eggs, capers, cornichons, herbs, shallots and other good things.

Enjoy your Recipe for Today!

If you enjoy Recipe for Today, please share it on your social channels or email it to a friend who will like it. Thank you!

Family gift from the Great Confinement: the perfect, easy roast chicken

Perfect easy roast chicken with crispy, brown skin. Our recipe requires no basting, no flipping and no advance preparation.

By Leslie Brenner

Yesterday was bittersweet. Wylie, my 24 year-old son and partner-in-cooking during The Great Confinement, finished packing up his silver Honda Fit, took one last look around to see what he left behind (inoperable culinary blowtorch, heavy suede jacket, melancholy parents) and — with his girlfriend Nathalie in the passenger seat — hit the road for California.

It’s a scene that’s been happening all across the country during recent weeks, apparently, as life begins to return to normal. Whatever that was.

The reasons for the bitter part of bittersweet are obvious. The sweet part is my feeling of gratefulness for the time we all had together — Wylie was with us during the entire pandemic.

I can’t exactly say that while Wylie was here I taught him to cook. That started long ago. He asked for a crepe pan for his birthday when he was, I think, seven. He spent the last year of his time in college in Los Angeles wowing his housemates with Santa Maria barbecues or giant pans of baked ziti.

But when he rejoined us a year and a half ago to regroup post-college and embark on a job search, he still had a lot to learn — as we all do. I’m pretty sure that’s when I taught him how to deglaze a pan, though he’ll probably dispute that. I definitely taught him to make corn tortillas and miso soup, soufflés and Chinese dumplings.

What I can say is that while he was here, Wylie grew up culinarily. Cooking nearly every meal during the year of confinement allowed both of us to fully immerse ourselves in the kitchen.

Of course for me there was (and always will be) plenty to learn as well. We both learned from cookbooks, videos and websites, along with conversations with cooks — Monish Gujral in India, who taught us about murgh makhani (butter chicken, which his grandfather invented); An-My Lê in New York, my brilliant photographer-friend and home cook who taught us about bánh xèo (sizzling crepes) and pho ga; Yuyee Sakpanichkul here in Dallas, the chef-owner of Ka-Tip, who talked me through the way to build a Thai curry.

What surprised me most in all this was how much I learned from Wylie. He’s a quick study, and when he wanted to master a dish, he dove headlong into it — watching chef videos, reading websites (always seeing what Kenji had to say at Serious Eats), consulting cookbooks. Most of what he wanted to learn was French (Thomas Keller became one of his faves) or meat-centric. (Kenji, in case your internet has been out for the last few years, is J. Kenji López-Alt; his fans call him Kenji.) Yet Wylie is seldom satisfied that his teachers have shown him the best way. He absorbs their wisdom, and then pushes forward, questioning assumptions, making improvements. (I suppose the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree; that constant tweaking and evolution is the animating ethos of Cooks Without Borders.) 

One of the most useful things I learned from Wylie is his take on roast chicken. I had taught him everything I know on the subject, beginning with the late Judy Rodgers’ method of salting the bird a day or two before you want to roast, air-drying the skin, then tucking fresh herbs between skin and flesh and roasting simply in a skillet in a very hot oven. No need to baste, but you flip it twice. The result is an exquisite bird with wonderfully crisp skin. He tried that, tried Thomas’ Keller’s wet-brine method, which he was sure would be better (it wasn’t), tried CWB’s viral rendition of Lucky Peach’s lacquered roast chicken (impressed, but he tweaked the glaze). He tried other versions, too. We invested in a stove-top rotisserie, which makes a fabulous and very easy bird, but fixing the chicken on the rotisserie axle is a bit of a headache, and the thing can only accommodate birds smaller than three pounds, which aren’t easy to find.

After a year or so of experimenting, Wylie had settled into his preferred method. He feels salting ahead of time is best, but more often than not, when we want a roast chicken, we want it right now. One day, I suggested trying to pick up a supermarket roast chicken, something Wylie’s father and I used to do all the time when I was working at an office, and Wylie scoffed. “It’s just as easy to roast our own,” he said, “and so much better.”

Wylie’s solution to lack of time to salt and air-dry is hilarious: He pats the bird dry, sets it on a rack on a sheet pan and puts the pan on the floor with a small Vornado fan pointed at it for a half hour or so. Very effective! Then he finely chops a lot of thyme, distributes it between skin and flesh (sometimes suspended in butter), seasons inside and out, puts a whole lemon in the cavity and roasts — very simply. He uses Judy Rodgers’ basic method, heating a dry skillet on the stove, then setting the bird on it breast-up (at which point it makes a terrible loud farting sound!), and immediately putting it in a very hot oven.

Unlike Rodgers, however, Wylie doesn’t flip the bird. Rodgers’ method calls for turning it breast-down after 20 minutes, then flipping it back breast-up for the last five or ten to crisp the skin back up. Wylie doesn’t believe that there’s much (if anything) to gain with the flip, and certainly not worth the risk of the breast skin tearing in the process. He wants that perfect, crisp, browned skin.

After having eaten an adulthood’s worth of Judy birds and a year’s worth of Wylie birds, I daresay he’s right.

Last night, hours after he and Nathalie drove off, I needed roast chicken. Had Wylie been here, he would have insisted on roasting the chicken himself. Instead, I channeled him, with edits. 

As I started putting it together, I realized that I finally had something I’d long been seeking: the best streamlined way to roast a chicken with minimum effort and maximum impact.

The Perfect Easy Roast Chicken, resting after its 50-minute, no-basting, no flipping stay in the oven

Busy all day, I hadn’t thought of taking the bird from the fridge and letting it come to room temp. No matter. I rinsed it and patted it dry, tucked some thyme under its skin and salted it inside and out. Pepper on the outside, too. I tied its ankles together, heated a skillet, plopped down that bird, and shoved it in the oven, set at 450. Our ridiculous smoke alarm went off three times (though the kitchen was not smoky), making us curse and miss Wylie. I pulled out the chicken and took its temperature in the thickest part of the thigh, which the experts always tell you to do: 190 degrees — overdone!  How was that possible after just 40 minutes?

And then a lightbulb went off, and I finally understood that the thickest-part-of-the-thigh dictum is wrong. How many times have we pulled out the bird when thickest part registered more than 165, let it rest, carved it, and found that next to the bone, it was underdone.

So instead I inserted the thermometer next to the drumstick bone: 145. Not done. Back in went the chicken for another 10 minutes, I took the temp in the same place, and got 165.

Out came the chicken to rest — resplendent in its golden-brown skin. I made a little pan-sauce, having minced a shallot finely enough to meet Wylie’s exacting standards. (I used to be sloppier.)

I carved the bird, missing Wylie’s sharp carving knife. (He built an impressive knife collection while here.) We dined, Thierry sipping a glass of rosé, me sipping fizzy water, having reclaimed our two old accustomed places at the table for dining à deux. We toasted Wylie and Nathalie — and the adventure they’d driven off into.

And the chicken? It was perfect.

RECIPE: Perfect Easy Roast Chicken

Quinoa, Pea and Mint Tabbouleh is one of our favorite salads, springtime through the summer

By Leslie Brenner

Every spring, as the sun comes out, the earth warms up, and thoughts of picnics, patios and pool parties pervade, this deliciously optimistic Quinoa, Pea and Mint Tabbouleh finds its way to my table lickety-split.

From Michael Solomonov and Steven Cook’s superb 2015 book Zahav: A World of Israeli Cooking, it’s one of my favorite things to eat all the way through summer’s end.

Easy to make, and from ingredients that are not hard to find (frozen peas!), it’s super-versatile. Serve it as a starter, part of a creative mezze spread, maybe, or a simple spring dinner. Or as a side dish with lamb, chicken or fish —or even as a vegan main course. It travels well and eats great at room temp, so it’s a dreamy dish to bring to a potluck or picnic. I love it on its own for lunch — especially when it’s leftover from the night before — either on its own, or stuffed into a whole-wheat pita pocket.

Because I’m so fond it it, I make sure to keep a bag or two of those petite peas in the freezer and quinoa in the pantry all spring and summer long. That way when I see fresh mint (or my potted one is in a giving mood), I can chop it all together.

Oh, just one thing: If you’re more than one or two people, consider doubling the batch. The few times I made just a single dose, I’ve kicked myself for not making more.

RECIPE: Quinoa, Pea and Mint Tabbouleh