Around the world in chicken soup: First stop, Rio de Janiero, for a comforting bowl of canja de galinha

Clockwise from upper left: Thai Tom Kha Kai; Tibetan Thukpa; Mexican Caldo de Pollo; Brazilian Canja de Galinha

It’s a rare dish that appears in cuisines all over the world. Chicken soup — the global feel-better elixir — is one of them. Soothing and comforting at a time when so many Americans are ailing from a pandemic or smarting from a bruising political battle, it is this season’s perfect panacea.

Chicken soup can celebrate what so many of us have in common: When someone sniffles, moms and grandmas (and increasingly pops and grandpas) around the globe drop chicken in water with aromatics and simmer away.

At the same time, from the Americas to Asia, from Eastern Europe to the Levant and Africa, chicken soups have the qualities and tastes that make every culture deliciously unique.

There’s the American-Jewish version I grew up with: a chicken in the pot with celery, onion, carrots and dill; egg noodles went in at the end. There are more colorful versions, like a Mexican caldo de pollo, zingy with lime, that might feature cabbage, zucchini, garbanzo beans or chunks of corn-on-the-cob — plus lots of cilantro.

Joan’s chicken soup — a classic Jewish-American bowl

There are tangy, herbal, coconutty versions, like Thailand’s tom kha kai; fragrantly spicy chicken soups called djaj from Lebananon or Morocco; peanutty versions like Ghana’s nkatenkwan. In China, there is rich and tonic qing dun quan ji, in which a chicken is blanched then long-simmered in water with a big piece of smashed ginger, scallions and Shaoxing wine; some cooks add tonic roots or goji berries toward the end. 

 Tibetan Thukpa has tomatoes, vermicelli, vegetables and chiles; in Iran, chickpea-and-lamb meatballs swim with the chicken in abgusht-e-margh ba kufteh-ye nokhodchi; and in Vietnam, big rice-noodle-happy bowls of pho ga, whose broth is scented with star-anise and cinnamon, come with an array of fresh herbs, bean sprouts and chiles to add in at the table.

 Is it too much to dream that a trip around the world in a bowl of chicken soup might bring us together, help us understand each other, heal us as a nation?

Well, as my Jewish grandma would have said, “It vudn’t hoit!”

If you’ve always wanted to visit Rio, you might instead dive into a bowl of canja de galhina, Brazil’s beloved chicken-and-rice soup.

“Canja de galinha is the soup my grandma used to make — not just for me but for our whole family,” says Junior Borges, a super talented Rio-born chef in Dallas. Borges’ highly anticipated restaurant, Meridian — which will feature American cooking with Brazilian influences — is expected to open early next year.

The chef still enjoys canja; in fact his mom, who’s originally from Bahia, but now lives in Dallas, made him a bowl just last week.

“I think it’s definitely one of those comforting, comforting things. For us, it’s our chicken noodle soup.”

Canja de Galinha, from a recipe by Rio-born Dallas chef Junior Borges

The chef’s grandmother usually started with chicken neck, wings and thighs, “and served it with the bones and everything. Sometimes it had carrots or whatever we had in the kitchen, but always rice, chicken, the stock, and then you put a decent amount of olive oil and herbs — parsley, cilantro, maybe some scallions. Primarily green stuff, which goes into almost everything the Brazilians do.”

Gently seasoned with lime and finished with lots of parsley and cilantro, the version Borges shared with us — which is close to his grandma’s —starts with bone-in chicken legs or breasts (or both), which you remove from the bones for nicer presentation; it gets extra body from diced potato. The canja comes together surprisingly quickly; you can have it on the table within an hour.

 Rio is just the first stop on our tour: In the coming weeks, we will feature chicken soups from all around the globe.

Stay well, everyone.

RECIPE: Junior Borges’ Canja de Galinha

Cookbooks We Love: Leela Punyaratabandhu's life-changing 'Simple Thai Food' is one of our favorite primers ever

Simple Thai Food: Classic Recipes from the Thai Home Kitchen, by Leela Punyaratabandu; photographs by Erin Kunkel; 2014, Ten Speed Press, $24.99.

Backgrounder: Bangkok-born Leela Punyaratabandhu, who now divides her time between Bangkok and Chicago, has written for Serious Eats, Dill Magazine, Food52 and the Wall Street Journal, among others. She launched her Thai cooking blog, She Simmers, in 2008; four years later, it was honored as “Best Regional Cuisine” blog by Saveur. It has been inactive for a few years, though still very much worth reading — especially if you wind up buying Simple Thai Food, her 2014 cookbook, and loving it as much as we do. She has since written two other books, Bangkok and Flavors of the Southeast Asian Grill. We look forward to exploring those. But first things first: Simple Thai Food is life-changingly excellent.

Why we love it: Having spent much of my adult life in places with easy access to outstanding Thai restaurants, I’d never been moved to learn to cook Thai food. Then came the pandemic, and being shut in made me crave its bright, optimistic herbal tang, its lovely perfume of makrut lime leaves and lemongrass. Punyaratabandhu’s slim, 228-page volume makes Thai cooking approachable and accessible. Further, her recipes, though simple to execute (once you get your hands on the right ingredients), look and taste anything but simple; they’re extraordinarily sophisticated, downright impressive, with beautiful layered, balanced flavors.

Punyaratabandhu writes instructions that are not only clear and easy to follow, she also thoughtfully describes exactly the way a dish should look and taste as you cook, helping us appreciate the cuisine as it’s meant to be enjoyed.

Phat Phrik Khing — a dry curry, lightly sweet, of pork and long beans (or in this case, green beans). It is garnished with a chiffonnade of makrut lime leaves.

That is particularly valuable when many of us may be using mediocre Thai restaurant renditions of dishes as yardsticks. “This dish is not supposed to be saucy,” she writes in the instructions for Phat Phrik Khing — a dry curry, lightly sweet, of pork and long beans. “When it looks like a dry curry that glistens with deep orange oil, you know it is done.” In those Americanized Thai places that offer “choice of protein” with this dish, that deep orange oil rarely shows up on the plate.

If you’re like me, you’ll be astounded at how simple it is (again, once you have the key ingredients) to make Tom Yam Kung (hot-and-sour prawn soup) or Tom Kha Kai — Coconut-Galangal Chicken Soup.

Tom Kha Kai — Coconut-Galangal Chicken Soup

Som Tam — the green papaya salad that launched my pandemic Thai cravings — is easy to manage as well. Shredding the green papaya so that it does not bruise is best achieved using a mandoline (great excuse to buy one if you don’t already own one). The author also suggests a hand grater, calling out an inexpensive one called Kiwi Pro Slice.

Som Tam Malako — Green Papaya Salad

Read this first: Buried at the end of the book is Punyaratabandhu’s extremely essential Ingredients Glossary. It’s where I would suggest you start if you want to dive into Thai cooking. In it, the author explains everything you need to know about palm sugar (it’s complicated; if you’re not already familiar with it you might want to stick with her suggested sub of brown sugar. We also used coconut sugar as a sub, with excellent results). She also explains that Thai eggplants may be eaten raw; the differences between Thai basil, holy basi and lemon basil; what to look for when you buy galangal (plus how to freeze it) and how to use makrut lime leaves and rind (and how to freeze them). While we are on the subject, Angkor Cambodian Food is a great source for many of these ingredients. If you think about gathering all your ingredients first, and prep and freeze those that can be frozen, you will be much better off when you finally dive in.

In the glossary, Punyaratabandhu insists on the use of some of these hard-to-source ingredients for particular dishes, and no doubt she’s right in doing so. Happily, she does condone shortcuts when the resulting flavor is acceptable, allowing that commercial Thai curry pastes are far better than homemade ones made with inappropriately subbed ingredients.

You’ve gotta try this: Among the many amazing Thai dishes I made from this book, the one my family was most bowled over by was a sort of dip called Lon Kung Mu Sap, which Punyaratabandhu translates as Shrimp-Coconut Relish with Vegetable Crudités. Basically, it’s chopped shrimp and pork simmered together in coconut milk, brightened with tamarind paste and seasoned with shallot and chiles and garnished with makrut lime leaves.

Leela Punyaratabandu’s Shrimp-Coconut Relish with Crudités (Lon Kung Mu Sap)

“Most people who did not grow up in a Thai household or live with Thai people are unfamiliar with the various coconut milk-based relishes called lon,” she explains in the headnote. She also explains that it is served not before dinner (as a westerner might guess), but along with the rest of the meal. Punyaratabandhu went to to share how she likes to eat it: “I take a piece of the vegetable crudités, put it on a bite’s worth of rice on my plate, top it with a dollop of the lon, transport the whole assembly on a spoon, and eat it in one big bite.”

Thank you for that delicious morsel, dear author.

Dear reader, if you’ve ever been tempted to try your hand at Thai cooking — or if you’ve done quite a bit of it and want a great reference with great recipes — you need this book.

RECIPE: Phat Phrik Khing (Sweet Dry Curry of Pork and Long Beans)

RECIPE: Tom Kha Kai (Coconut-Galangal Chicken Soup)

RECIPE: Leela Punyaratabandhu’s Green Papaya Salad

RECIPE: Leela Punyaratabandhu’s Shrimp-Coconut Relish

BUY ‘Simple Thai Food’ at Bookshop

BUY ‘Simple Thai Food’ at Amazon

Feed your soul on election night with stress-relieving, jitters-calming, make-ahead Mexican favorites

“I will build a great, great wall on our southern border, and I will make Mexico pay for that wall.”

It seems fitting — in our nervous household, anyway — to feed our souls on election night with food that honors Mexican people.

Anxiety is running high. The urge to nibble nervously on election night will be real. No matter how Tumultuous Tuesday plays out, we will all need comfort and sustenance.

I already have the makings for a big pan of Chicken Enchiladas Verdes: tomatillos and chicken to roast, tortillas to roll, cheese and crema to soothe. I’ll make a big pot of Frijoles de Olla, crunchy, tangy carrots escabeches and a big plate of OG nachos, like the ones Pati Jinich just described in the New York Times as “crunchy, cheesy and truly Mexican.” And rice.

Pozole would be another great way to go: a big pot on the stove that you can return to again and again, dressing up bowls with crispy radishes and cabbage, creamy avocado, earthy oregano. (Our friend Mela Martínez has just the prescription!)

Pozole Rojo from Mely Martínez’s ‘The Mexican Home Kitchen’

Tumultuous Tuesday also happens to be Taco Tuesday. You could set a batch of carnitas, carne asada or roast chicken on the table, surround it with homemade or store-bought corn tortillas, chopped cilantro and onion, radishes and carrots to nibble — or sliced jicama drizzled with lime juice and tajín — and a couple of salsas.

I can imagine being so nervous that I’d be soothed by pressing tortillas throughout the evening and tossing them on the comal. (A recipe for roast chicken is included in our chicken enchilada recipe, or pick up a supermarket roast bird.)

Or make Josef Centeno’s supremely comforting Carne Guisada! And his Tía Carmen’s Flour Tortillas!

Stay safe, everyone. Stay healthy. Try to stay calm. Nurture yourselves and your families, soothe yourself by cooking, and we’ll see you on the other side.

RECIPE: Chicken Enchiladas Verdes

RECIPE: Frijoles de Olla

RECIPE: Mexican Rice

RECIPE: Taquería Carrots

RECIPE: Mely Martínez’s Pozole Rojo

RECIPE: Killer Carnitas

RECIPE: Serious Chingón Carne Asada

RECIPE: Corn Tortillas

RECIPE: Roasted Salsa Verde

RECIPE: Josef Centeno’s Carne Guisada

RECIPE: Josef Centeno’s Tía Carmen’s Flour Tortillas

Hang onto your molcajete: This Thai-accented guacamole (lemongrass! fish sauce!) is weirdly fabulous

Bangkok Guac, flavored with lemongrass, shallots, Thai chiles, fish sauce and lime and garnished with makrut lime leaves and cilantro, is weirdly fabulous — especially scooped up with a shrimp chip.

A few years back, the New York Times enraged the internet by publishing recipe for guacamole that included fresh English peas.

I’ve done something much worse. I’ve compromised everyone’s favorite avocado dip by giving it a Thai aromatic treatment. And you know what? I’d do it again in a hot minute.

How would a sane person come up with such a crazy idea?

I was reading a Facebook post by Pati Jinich, in which the star of the PBS show Pati’s Mexican Table discussed the role of lime in guacamole.

Being from Mexico City, I was fully for having lime in my guacamole until I tried one with roasted Anaheim in Sonora...

Posted by Pati Jinich on Thursday, October 29, 2020

That led me, because I’ve been cooking a lot of Thai food (in which limes figure prominently), to start thinking about a few of the other flavors Thai food and Mexican food have in common. Chiles. Cilantro. And then I thought: What if you took Thai versions of those flavors, added them to other Thai flavors, and put them in a guacamole?

In Thai cooking, a large mortar and pestle is often used to grind together aromatics, just as the molcajete is used in Mexican cooking, so I’d start there.

Green Thai long chiles could stand in for serranos or jalapeños. Finely cut makrut lime leaves would add a gorgeous perfume, and makrut zest might add an enchanting underpinning. Shallots — which are important in Thai cooking, and often used raw — could replace white onion. Lime juice, cilantro and avocado would be the common thread, and hey — what about fish sauce instead of salt, to up the umami factor?

Instead of tortilla chips, we could scoop it up with shrimp chips — those light, airy, addictive, melt-on-the-tongue snacks that come in bags like potato chips.

Sliced lemongrass, minced shallot, chopped Thai green chiles, finely chopped makrut lime zest and cilantro leaves about to be ground in a molcajete — maybe for the first time anywhere!

Into the molcajete went sliced lemongrass, minced shallot, Thai green chiles, chopped makrut lime zest and cilantro leaves. I held my breath. Who had ever put such a combo in a molcajete before? Maybe no one ever?!

Grinding them to a paste, I was rewarding a gorgeous aroma — the high note of the lemongrass, the perfume of makrut lime. In went a trio of ripe avocados, a good dose of lime juice and a couple teaspoons of fish sauce.

Wowie kazowie! It was even better than I imagined — these ingredients indeed have an amazing affinity with the avocado, and the fish sauce underlined it all with a gentle soulful salty funk that added incredible dimension. The garnish: more minced shallot, cilantro leaves and — an essential flourish — julienned makrut lime leaves made it taste (and smell) even more deliciously Thai.

I love the Bangkok Guac with shrimp chips, and when you scoop up a bit of guac on one, you can hear the chip faintly sizzle and pop from the touch of the guac’s moisture. We tried them with cucumber chips, too — Persian cukes sliced diagonally into slices about 3/8 inch thick. The flavor combo with the cukes was beautiful, though the cuke chips are a bit slippery with the guac.

So, how good is this Bangkok Guac? Well, I’m not sure I’d turn myself upside down trying to find the ingredients just to make it. But if it’s not too much trouble to source them, I would absolutely highly recommend you give it a try. If you have a Thai grocery or an Asian supermarket with good supplies of Thai ingredients available, you should be able to find the makrut lime leaves and lemongrass, and sometimes you can even find lemongrass in well stocked Western supermarkets. Makrut limes for zesting is more of a challenge; they are available online (see the recipe for a great source). I think if you used regular Persian or key lime zest, you’d come close.

Meanwhile, we are working on a review of an awesome Thai cookbook, Simple Thai Food. If you wind up loving the book, and loving cooking Thai as much as we now do, you’ll want to stock up on these essential ingredients. Once you start stocking these ingredients, Bangkok Guac may sound like just the thing when you spot ripe avocados.

OK, enough talking. Here’s the recipe.

RECIPE: Bangkok Guac
Please let us know what you think — either of the recipe itself, or even of the idea.

Rich, luscious and packed with umami, miso-butter sweet potatoes are a spectacular autumn treat

Roasted garnet sweet potatoes, slathered with miso butter and dressed with scallions and furikake

Miso butter is one of those magical ingredients. Creamy and luscious, rich with umami, it puts richness and incredible flavor anywhere you want it, turning the simplest foods into incredible luxuries.

It’s stunningly easy to make: Combine equal amounts of miso with softened unsalted butter. That’s it.

You can use it in a hundred different ways. Plop it on plastic film, roll in a log and chill it (as you would any compound butter), then use slices as needed to melt atop steaks or chops or steamed, braised or roasted vegetables. (Braised kale! Roasted eggplant! Roasted Brussels sprouts!) Stir it into boiled soba noodles or brown rice. Spread it on salmon fillets or chicken breasts before roasting or broiling. 

The most delicious way to use it, as far as we’re concerned, is slathering it on a hot-from-the-oven sweet potato that’s been roasted till creamy-soft, luscious and caramelized. Three ingredients: butter, miso, sweet potato. Infinite autumnal pleasure, essential winter joy. Sure, it’s a bit indulgent, with all that butter, but it’s so good. And it’s a meal in itself. Sometimes I grind black pepper on top.

Last night, I got a little fancier, skipping the black pepper and adding sliced scallions and a sprinkle of furikake — the Japanese condiment of sesame seeds and nori flakes that has become one of my pandemic pantry essentials. A dash of shichimi togarashi (Japanese red pepper flakes in a tiny shaker bottle) added a happy high note. I didn’t realize it while it was happening, but the furikake-togarashi play was inspired by a José Andrés recipe for Miso-Butter Corn.

You don’t really need a recipe for this, but maybe you’d like one. The pleasure’s all mine. And now yours.

RECIPE: Miso-Butter Sweet Potatoes

Classic split pea soup, stupid-easy and satisfying, will keep you cozy and happy all week

There’s something almost magical about classic split pea soup. Sweat some chopped onion and carrot in oil, dump in a bag of dried split peas, add water and a ham hock, and an hour and half later, you’ve got soup.

OK, there’s a tiny bit more work involved. You had to cut up the onion, peel and slice a few carrots. You might have to skim a little oil off the top as it cooks. You need to remove the ham hock, shred or cut up the ham and put it back in, and add salt and pepper.

But really — can you imagine a soup that requires less of the cook? You don’t have to purée it to get that lovely thick texture: The peas purée themselves, breaking down as they cook, but magically retaining just the right amount of integrity. A marvelous alchemy turns just those four simple main ingredients into something beautiful and soul-sustaining.

You could probably add all kinds of things to it, but none of them would make it better than it already was. On top of it, it’s highly affordable, and requires no special equipment. It’s so nutritious and satisfying, it’s a meal in itself.

As it cooks, it fills your living space with beautiful aroma.

We love split pea soup. Make a pot early in the week, and it’ll sustain you and your family for days.

Want in? Here’s the recipe.

RECIPE: Classic Split Pea Soup.

'Jubilee,' 'Japanese Home Cooking' and 'American Sfoglino' are among the 2020 IACP Cookbook Award winners

The International Association of Culinary Professionals announced the winners of its 2020 Book Awards on Saturday, including its prestigious Cookbook Awards.

Toni Tipton-Martin’s Jubilee: Recipes from Two Centuries of African American Cooking (Clarkson Potter) won the top prize, Book of the Year, as well as the award for best cookbook in the American category. Francis Lam was the editor.

In our June review, we called Jubilee “deliciously inspiring,” discussing and including recipes for Tipton-Martin’s Layered Garden Salad, Sautéed Greens and Country-Style Potato Salad. In an earlier story, we raved about her recipe for Pickled Shrimp — which is one of our favorite recipes of the year to date.

Pickled Shrimp from Toni Tipton-Martin’s ‘Jubilee’ is one of our favorite recipes published in 2020.

Sonoko Sakai’s Japanese Home Cooking: Simple Meals, Authentic Flavors (Roost Books) won the prize for best new cookbook in the International category. Sara Berchholz was the editor.

“If you are looking to dive (or tip-toe) into Japanese cooking and seeking one great book to guide you, you can do no better than this delightful volume,” we wrote in our review (also in June). We offered up Sakai’s recipes for Okonomiyaki, Cucumber Sunomono and Koji-Marinated Salmon as evidence.

Okonomiyaki from ‘Japanese Home Cooking’ by Sonoko Sakai

While we haven’t gotten around to reviewing American Sfoglino yet, we do have a story about it in the works, and taking a deep dive into Funke’s pasta-making technique has forever changed the way we’ll approach making pasta by hand. The book won in the Chefs & Restaurants category. A mini-review will be coming soon.

Other titles winning IACP top honors include Pastry Love: A Baker’s Journal of Favorite Recipes by Joanne Chang (Baking category); The Complete Baking Book for Young Chefs by the Editors at America’s Test Kitchen (Children, Youth & Family category); On the Hummus Route by Ariel Rosenthal, Orly Peli-Bronshtein and Dan Alexander (Culinary Travel category) and Milk Street: The New Rules: Recipes That Will Change the Way You Cook by Christopher Kimball (General category). Find a complete list of winners and finalists here.

Congratulations to all the IACP winners and finalists!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RECIPE: Beef Bourguignon

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy World Butter Chicken Day!

RECIPE: World Butter Chicken

Creamy, gooey and stupendously satisfying, classic mac and cheese is a meatless Monday favorite

When you think of comfort food, what’s the first dish that comes to mind?

Did you say macaroni and cheese? We’re not surprised. Rich, creamy and irresistible, it’s one of the most soothing and craveable of comfort foods.

As far as we’re concerned, if you’re going to indulge in such a rich and carbo-charged situation, you deserve one that delivers on its promise — which means it’s worth stepping away from the box and taking matters into your own hands. (Yep, we know more than a few legit cooks who still revert to Kraft when the craving strikes.)

You won’t be sorry.

It’s easy to make mac and cheese that’s out of this world — one that’s lush and mellow, gloriously cheesy, outrageously creamy, with beautifully browned bread crumbs on top for texture. Piping hot and melty from the oven, it’s just the thing for this particular Meatless Monday in a nervous-making October.

Boil up some macaroni. Make a bechamel. Stir in lots of grated cheese. Season judiciously with Tabasco. Mix it all together. Top with bread crumbs and parm, dot with butter, bake. You’re just 20 minutes from sending a spoon down into that gorgeous tubular creamitude.

Gather your crew, if you have one; they’ll be eager to dive in.

Or savor it solo. Add a simple green salad (or not), maybe a glass of white wine. A few bites in, all will be right with the crazy world.

RECIPE: Classic Mac and Cheese

Pickle-y, spicy giardiniera is the perfect prelude to pasta, pizza and other carb-loaded indulgences

Everyone knows that if you precede something fattening with something purely vegetable, fat-free, gluten-free and crunchy, the fattening thing you eat after that doesn’t count.

Taquería carrots before chicken enchiladas, rice and beans? A zero-calorie equation.

OK, maybe in our dreams.

Still, I’m always looking for something light and refreshing to nibble before an extravagant plate of pappardelle with ragù bolognese, rich and creamy mac-and-cheese or a pizza.

Since I was a kid, I always loved giardiniera — the crunchy, tangy, lightly spicy pickled vegetable condiment that would make cameo appearances in neighborhood Italian restaurants, where small dishes of it would appear on red-and-white checked tableclothes as we waited for our spaghetti and meatballs or pepperoni pizza. That was my favorite way of eating cauliflower back then, and we loved the crunchy corrugated-cut carrots and celery.

In any case, I’ve been on the lookout for jars of good giardiniera at my local Italian grocery lately, and haven’t been delighted by what I’ve found. That’s why I was excited to see a recipe for it in Alex Guarnaschelli’s new book, Cook With Me.

In fact, I’ve now made five recipes from the book, and the giardinera is by far my favorite.

It starts by soaking cut-up vegetables and garlic overnight in salt water, so you need to plan that for the day before you want to start serving it. Then you simmer up a batch of brine — white wine vinegar combined with salt and spices — let it cool slightly and pour it over the soaked-and-drained vegetables.

Vegetables for giardiniera mixed with pickling brine

A couple hours later, you have giardiniera.

Guarnaschelli’s original recipe made about 6 pints, which is great if you either give most of it away or sterilize jars for long-term storage.

I like to keep things simple, so I halved her recipe. No need to sterilize; the recipe makes 3 pint-sized jars of pickled veg. For us, that’s perfect for keeping two and giving one away.

And then I’ll make it again very soon — maybe upping the serrano chile or chile flakes a bit, or adding some pepperoncini and bay leaf to the mix.

Till then, you’ll find me happily crunching away.

RECIPE: Alex Guarnaschelli’s Giardiniera

Fridge-clearing and fabulously flavorful, Sunday Souper Soup will set you up deliciously for the week

When a nation of restaurant-goers turns (almost overnight!) into a society of captive home cooks, the stresses caused by fridge management can be monumental.

Keeping everyone in comfort food is easy: There’s pasta and cheese for that. Rice concoctions galore. Potatoes are a no-brainer in any form. Pizza is a track-pad click away.

Still, you diligently keep the fridge stocked with healthy fresh things: broccoli and kale, carrots and cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, salad greens and herbs.

So that by Sunday, the crisper drawer is stuffed with stuff that’s not so crisp, and you’re left beating yourself up about waste. Meanwhile, what are you going to put on the dinner table in the coming week?

If besides all that stuff you can rustle up a few basic staples, I’ve got great news for you: You can turn those hapless refrigerator victims into a Sunday super-soup that’s so incredibly flavorful that no one would ever suspect you of anything so nefarious as using up tired greens. It’ll solve the coming week’s lunch question and provide a dinner or two — all while saving money and helping you dodge a food-waste bullet.

It gets even better: You can pack the soup with an arsenal of life-affirming, enchantingly aromatic spices and herbs that turn the whole project into an anti-inflammatory, anti-oxidant, flavonoid-rich powerhouse. It is vegan and gluten-free, and therefore sends you into the coming week feeling vital and positive. That gigantic pan of bacon-enriched mac-and-cheese you devoured on Thursday, washed down with three glasses of wine? It is vitamin water under the comfort-food bridge. Today is a new day.

The essential staples you’ll need: onions, carrots and celery (diced together they make what the French call mirepoix); lentils; a can of tomatoes; olive or other oil; salt and pepper. These, plus water, form the base of the soup. And if you follow our master recipe, that’s all you really need for a delicious one. The basic outline is sweat the mirepoix in oil, add lentils, tomatoes, water, salt and pepper, bring to a boil, reduce heat and simmer till it’s soup — under an hour.

Our master recipe — which we first wrote about pre-Covid, in a story back in January — explains how to incorporate all those vegetables crying for rescue from the fridge: everything from root vegetables (turnips, parsnips, celery root, beets) to Brassicaceae (broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts and whatnot) to fresh legumes (string beans, peas and such) to leafy greens. The veg can be raw or cooked, so that small dish of roasted cauliflower with Punjabi spices left over from Friday dinner can find a new life in a lush (and zero waste!) soup, and the lonely cupful of sautéed greens from four days ago may gain delicious new purpose.

And you’ll want to spice it up: turmeric, coriander seed and cumin seeds are great places to start; ginger and garlic are your aromatic allies; fresh and dried chiles are always welcome; nigella seeds and flax seeds add nutritional heft; so do mushrooms, dried or fresh. Herbs — fresh and dried — are superb additions.

Again, our January story gives a lot of the health background and zero-waste benefits. Give it a read first if you’re interested in making the soup as powerfully healthful as possible. Otherwise, I invite you to explore the recipe.

And then take a deep dive into that crisper drawer and make soup!

MASTER RECIPE: Sunday Souper Soup

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

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

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

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

The aroma as they roast is intoxicating.

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

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

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

RECIPE: ‘Falastin’ Baked Kofta

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

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

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

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

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

RECIPE: Autumn Fruit and Almond Cake

Tres leches cake is having a big moment. We love the super-luscious version from Mely Martínez's new cookbook

Pastel de tres leches, or tres leches cake — Mexico’s star dessert — is enjoying a drenchy-sweet moment of glory.

The fluffy-creamy vanilla sponge cake, soaked in a mixture of creams (usually condensed milk, evaporated milk and heavy cream, and topped with whipped cream, has become an Instagram and Tik Tok star during the pandemic.

As G. Daniela Galarza wrote last week in an excellent story in The Washington Post:

“This past May, the month in which Trinity Sunday often falls, searches for “tres leches” were up 25 percent from May 2019. More than half a million posts are tagged #tresleches on Instagram, and on TikTok, nearly 25 million videos feature hands and pans whipping up batter for a tres leches cake.” 

Galarza’s story points to MM Pack’s illuminating 2004 story for the Austin Chronicle, “Got Milk?: On the trail of pastel de tres leches,” and then goes on to provide illuminating context and background.

The cake does not have a long history; it is probably only about a quarter-century old, according to Pack’s superb sleuthing. Nestlé, a major canned milk producer, introduced manufacturing plants around World War II in Mexico, and a recipe for pastel de tres leches was included. More investigation led Pack to find its antecedent: a dessert involving bread soaked in wine and layered with milk custard and fruit or nuts) came to Mexico in the 19th century.

All that is well and good, but The Great Confinement of 2020 continues to trigger cravings of comfort food and sweets. Fortunately, there are 9 and a half grillion versions to choose from.

The New York Times’ Melissa Clark, who may be some kind of dessert psychic — and who confesses to enjoying eating sweetened condensed milk straight out of the can — presciently published a recipe for a Seis Leches Cake (“A Milky Cake Where More is More”) in January.

We love the version Mely Martínez offers in her just-published cookbook The Mexican Home Kitchen, which we reviewed last month. Hers is not a sponge cake, but a somewhat denser vanilla cake with a lovely crumb; it takes longer (overnight) to soak up all those leches, but the result is outstanding.

About to attack my second slice of Martínez’s cake, on a whim I poured over it a splash of Plantation Pineapple Rum. Holy moly — it was insanely, wildly, wickedly good! Next time I’ll follow Martínez’s suggested variation and add a quarter cup of it to the milk mixture to soak in overnight.

RECIPE: Mely Martínez’s Tres Leches Cake

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

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

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

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

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

Deviled Duck Leg Provençal served with saucy braised lentils

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aw, go on — you deserve it.

RECIPE: Deviled Duck Legs Provençal

Cookbooks We Love: With ‘Amá,’ Josef Centeno takes us home to San Antonio, liberating Tex-Mex along the way

Amá: A Modern Tex-Mex Kitchen by Josef Centeno and Betty Hallock, Photographs by Ben Fuller, 2019, Chronicle Books, $29.95

Backgrounder: Just after his Japanese-and-Italian-inspired Los Angeles restaurant Orsa & Winston was named Restaurant of the Year by the Los Angeles Times in the summer of 2020, chef Josef Centeno had to close two other acclaimed restaurants, Bäco Mercat and Amacita, due to COVID-19. The San Antonio, Texas native — one of the most highly acclaimed chefs in the U.S. — continues to serve his modern Tex-Mex cooking at Bar Amá, from which this exuberant book gets its name. As forward-looking Tex-Mex is a rare thing indeed (most of what is served in Tex-Mex restaurants around the U.S., including in Texas, is hopelessly stuck in time), we were excited to discover and cook Centeno’s modern takes.

This is Centeno’s second book; his first, Bäco: Vivid Recipes from the Heart of Los Angeles, was published in 2017. Both were co-written with his partner Betty Hallock, a former deputy Food editor at the Los Angeles Times. (Full disclosure: Betty and I worked closely together when I was Food editor at the Times.)

Amá’s Broccolini Torrada with Aged Cheddar and Lime

Why we love it: The modern dishes, like Broccolini Torrada with Aged Cheddar and Lime, which has been on the menu at Bar Amá from the start (“and will always be on the menu”), are smartly delicious, bold and fabulous in flavor. And the soulful traditional dishes — such as Carne Guisada, eaten as breakfast tacos with Centeno’s Tía Carmen’s Flour Tortillas — are simply smashing. They are dishes we’ll come back to again and again.

Carne Guisada from ‘Amá: A Modern Tex-Mex Kitchen’

You’ve gotta try this: At Bar Amá, Centeno lightens his guacamole with an unusual ingredient — grated celery. Odd as it sounds, it’s wonderful (don’t tell the guacamole police!). Chopped red onion makes a snappy garnish.

Amá’s guacamole, garnished with chopped red onion, gets a lift from grated celery.

Tiny complaints: Closer editing would have been appreciated. The caraway seeds you toast for those albondigas never get incorporated; we had to guess what to do with the tepin or arbol chiles destined for the torrada and the serrano for the guac (we stemmed, seeded and chopped them).

Still wanna cook: Hoja Santa Vinaigrette (if we can get our hands on fresh hoja santa); Anchovy Butter-Roasted Red Onions; Charred Green Onion Crema; Migas; Mama Grande’s Chicken Soup (with brown rice, scallions and cilantro); Chile Shrimp Ceviche (with grapefruit and watercress); Lamb Birria; Puffed Tacos (if we can get our hands on fresh masa from nixtamal); Nachos Compuestas; Borracho Beans; La Piña (a cocktail made with mezcal, pineapple, cilantro and serrano chile).

RECIPE: Bar Amá’s Broccolini Torreada

RECIPE: Carne Guisada

RECIPE: Josef Centeno’s Tía Carmen’s Flour Tortillas

RECIPE: Amá’s Guacamole

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope you enjoy it as much as we do.

RECIPE: Chicken and Lamb Couscous

What to make this first fall weekend: a big pot of shrimp, andouille sausage and okra gumbo

With okra at peak season where we live, in Texas, we’ve been cooking it all kinds of ways lately.

One of our favorites is gumbo. Making this one — featuring Gulf shrimp, smoked andouille sausage and okra — starts with a stock made from the shells of the shrimp that will later go into the gumbo (along with some dried shrimp you can pick up at an Asian supermarket or buy online).

A long-and-slow-cooked roux gives it depth and body, and we roast the okra before adding it near the end, to concentrate flavor and mitigate slipperiness.

The recipe is very forgiving, and much easier than you might think. Serve it with rice; white rice is traditional, but we also love it with brown rice. Filé (Native American sassafras powder) and Louisiana hot sauce on the table are a must!

RECIPE: Shrimp, andouille sausage and okra gumbo

Okra, now at peak season, may be the most meaningful and expressive vegetable for this singular American moment

Last September, Leah Penniman, a food sovereignty activist and author of Farming While Black, gave a talk at Harvard Divinity School on “African Diasporic Wisdom for Farming and Food Justice.” In it, she reportedly told the story of her great, great grandmother. About to be kidnapped from her home in West Africa, she made a “really audacious and courageous decision” to gather the seeds of okra and other crops and braid them into her hair.

“They knew that wherever they were going,” Penniman explained, “they believed there would be a future of tilling and reaping on the soil, and there would be some seed we all needed to inherit. That’s what our grandmothers did for us.”

In so many ways, okra is the vegetable for the moment.

A person’s reaction to it — and relationship to it — speaks volumes about their identity.

“Okra is the food of my ancestors, who were pulled from their homes in Africa,” writes Kayla Stewart in an essay recently published on Medium. “It was grown by those enslaved along the Carolinas, and devoured by them in Louisiana. Okra is a constant in my familial story — one that includes deep memories and gaping holes of history.”

Ask a white person about okra, and you’ll likely get something a good deal less deep — maybe “I like it, as long as it’s not slimy.”

Because it is so important in Black American cooking, and also shows up in cuisines from around the world, it’s hard to think of an ingredient that’s more ideally suited as a place for Americans of all cultures to meet — especially anyone who strives for deeper understanding of Black foodways.

“People tend either to love or hate okra, which originated in Africa and spread to Arabia, Europe, the Caribbean, Brazil, India, and the United States,” wrote chef Marcus Samuelsson in his 2007 cookbook Discovery of a Continent: Foods, Flavors, and Inspirations from Africa. “I happen to love it and think it adds great texture and color to meals, but I do remember being a little put off by its slimy texture the first time I had it. Once you get over that, it’s easy to like.”

With that, he offers a simple and delicious recipe for a quick Spicy Okra sauté, with tomatoes, red onions, chiles, garlic and peanuts.

Marcus Samuelsson’s Spicy Okra, from his 2007 cookbook ‘Discovery of a Continent: Foods, Flavors, and Inspirations from Africa’

As its peak season is late summer and early fall, it’s a great time of year to celebrate okra — which continues growing until the first frost. (In case you’re wondering, Texas is the top okra-producing state in the U.S., followed by Georgia, California and Florida.)

This time of year I love to char it on the stovetop grill, toss it in something spicy and serve it as a nibble with cocktails. You don’t really need a recipe for that — just cut each okra in half lengthways, toss them in a little olive oil and salt, and grill them, cut-side down first, till they’re a little charred. Add something spicy — maybe sambal oelek, the Indonesian chile paste, or lightly spicy Aleppo pepper — toss, and serve. Sumac would be great, too.

Okra dishes, of course, are found throughout Africa. “The mucilaginous pod is the continent’s culinary totem,” wrote Jessica B. Harris in her seminal 1998 book, The Africa Cookbook:Tastes of a Continent. “From the bamia of Egypt to the soupikandia of Senegal, passing by the various sauces gombos and more, this pod is used in virtual continent-wide totality. It is native to Africa, and its origins are trumpeted by its names in a number of languages throughout the world. The American okra comes from the twi of Ghana, while the French opt for gombo, which harks back to the Bantu languages of the southern segment of the continent.”

Shrimp gumbo with smoked andouille sausage and okra, served with rice

So yes — it also gives gumbo, Louisiana’s iconic dish — its name.

In Jubilee: Recipes from Two Centuries of African American Cooking, Toni Tipton-Martin points out that “Ochra” Gumbo was Recipe Number 44 in What Mrs. Fisher Knows About Old Southern Cooking, published in 1881 by Abby Fisher. “Her formula,” writes Tipton-Martin, “which involved boiling a beef shank to create a savory and alluring broth, survived through the ages, the recipe variously being called okra stew, okra soup and okra gumbo.” She reproduces Mrs. Fisher’s recipe, which is short and sweet:

“Get a beef shank, have it cracked and put to boil in one gallon of water. Boil to half a gallon, then strain and put back on fire. Cut ochra in small pieces and put in soup; don’t put in any ends of ochra. Season with salt and pepper while cooking. Stir it occasionally to keep it from burning. To be sent to the table with dry boiled rice.”

During the first part of okra’s long season, in early pandemic, I found okra, shrimp and andouille sausage at the supermarket all at the same time, and happened to have a package of dried shrimp in my larder, so I improvised a gumbo. It was deliciously soothing — both to make and to eat. I made it again, and again, tweaking until it was just where I wanted it.

Try our recipe as is, or tweak away: Gumbo is ideally suited to improvisation.

Many gumbos get their body from okra; others from roux or filé powder (Native American sassafras powder). This one gets its body from a roux cooked long and slow to a beautiful coffee-with-a-touch-of-milk color, and the okra — which I roast first, to pull out the stickiness — gets added at the end. I serve filé, along with Louisiana hot sauce, at the table.

And finally, one of our favorite ways to celebrate okra is pickling it. We usually find okra pickles a bit sweet for our taste, but a recipe in Sweet Home Cafe Cookbook, the 2018 volume featuring recipes from the restaurant at the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture in Washington, D.C. is perfectly marvelous.

The okra pods stay crunchy and snappy, and the pickles — brined with turmeric, garlic, coriander and Thai chiles — are delightfully spicy and bright.

RECIPE: Marcus Samuelsson’s Spicy Okra

RECIPE: Charred Okra with a Little Spice

RECIPE: Shrimp, Andouille Sausage and Okra Gumbo

RECIPE: Sweet Home Café’s Spicy Pickled Okra