French

This early fall medley was made famous by the legendary Richard Olney, whose books brought the south of France to kitchens all over the globe. In his recipe, the prosciutto is julienned, scattered over figs, and drizzled with a crushed-mint cream. In this version, I add melon, and instead of thin strands of prosciutto, I drape whole slices around the fruit to create a layered antipasto. There’s no right or wrong type of fig for this dish; as long as they’re super-ripe, luscious, and oozing, they’ll work beautifully. If you have the luxury of choosing more than one variety of fig, such as Genoa, Adriatic, or Honey, this is a spectacular way to show them off. The same rules apply for the melon: just pick the sweetest, most perfumed one you can find.

When I was growing up, I made on special occasions what my family called “the Hemingway dessert.” My father was obsessed with Ernest Hemingway. He was an avid collector of his first-edition books, and, despite his lack of academic credentials, somehow talked his way into the International Hemingway Society. My mom, Jessica, and I would tag along on their “Hemingway trips,” whose itineraries inevitably included many stops in remote villages to locate particular taverns, hotels, and cafés that the expatriate writer had at one time visited (drinking and carousing along the way, of course!). Closerie des Lilas, a bohemian café on the Left Bank, was one of Hemingway’s Parisian hangouts, and the place where this dessert originated under the name Coupe Hemingway. Don’t be afraid of making the meringue. Just remember, meringues are never good when they’re rushed, so be sure to give yourself enough time to bake them in a low oven until they’re dry and firm.

The first tarte Tatin was accidentally invented by the Tatin sisters in France, when their apple tart somehow went into the oven without its bottom crust. The sisters resourcefully laced the forgotten dough on top instead and let the tart finish baking. Once it was out of the oven, they inverted the tart to cover up their mistake. I’m sure they had no idea of the sensation that their sweet mishap would unleash. Unable to leave well enough alone, pesky chefs like me love to play with variations on the classic caramelized upside-down apple tart. In this summer version, I’ve replaced the apples with plums. The plums give off more juice than apples, which makes working with them a little trickier. To compensate for this, I toss the plums in sugar to help draw out some of their juices and then cook them on the stove with butter and sugar, creating a delicious “plum caramel.”

My very first chef position was at a twenty-eight-seat restaurant called Alloro, located in Boston’s very Italian North End. At that point in my career, my cooking experience was rooted mostly in French cuisine, but the owner didn’t seem to mind. When I asked him if I had to cook strictly Italian food, his answer was, “No, no, no! Cook whatever you want. We’ll just give it an Italian name.” The French bistro classic salmon with beluga lentils and red wine butter was abbreviated to “Salmone” on the menu, and other quasi-French dishes were likewise masked under short Italian names. The pasta dishes I made at Alloro also strayed from Italian tradition. For my version of the classic spaghetti alle vongole, I added generous amounts of onion, fennel, and olive oil, and sprinkled breadcrumbs toasted with thyme on top. I also finished the sauce with a spot of butter (the French influence again), which thickened and enriched it. In theory, I’m sure my version of spaghetti with clams would outrage purists in both the Italian and the French camps, but one bite ought to be enough to convince them they have lots to learn from each other. Though you might not think of it as such, the water in which you cook pasta is a valuable ingredient, in virtually any pasta recipe. Do your noodles seem a little dry once you’ve tossed them in the sauce? Rather than correcting the problem with stock (which can alter the flavor balance) or oil (which can add greasiness), add a little pasta water instead. Not only will it moisten the dish, but the starch in it (left from the cooking of the pasta) will also help bind the sauce to the noodles. Try it out; it works.

This warm salad is pure southern France: tomatoes, olives, anchovies, basil, green beans, and soft-cooked eggs. It’s easy to make, but it helps to do some of the steps beforehand. As long as your spinach is cleaned and your haricots verts, potatoes, and eggs are cooked, you won’t have to do much until the last minute, when you’re pulling it all together. While your potatoes are roasting in the oven, light the grill, have a glass of rosé, and look calm, cool, and collected as you wait to finish the last-minute tasks. Recruit an unsuspecting guest or your significant other to grill the halibut while you brown the anchovy butter and finish the warm salad.

While living in France, I took some time off from the savory kitchen to explore the sweet side of Paris at Pâtisserie Christian Pottier. Although I was fascinated by the fancy layered creations there, I preferred simpler, homier pastries, like buttery madeleines, crisp millefeuilles, and of course the very French financiers. Invented in a pastry shop near the Paris Stock Exchange, these one-bite cakes provided a quick sweet fix for bankers on the run. They were originally made in small rectangular molds to resemble gold bricks, but financiers can now be found in myriad shapes and sizes all over France. The easy-to-make batter has ground nuts, egg whites, sugar, and vanilla brown butter. At Lucques, we sometimes bake our financiers into round cakes and serve the slices with sugared summer fruit and whipped cream. Try a slice crisped in the toaster the next morning for breakfast.

André Soltner is one of my culinary heroes. I admire his interpretations of regional dishes from his Alsatian homeland, which are refined enough to serve in one of New York City’s fanciest French restaurants yet still true to their humble origins. Only a great chef can strike that balance. I discovered his recipe for salmon sautéed in a bacon-and-egg “batter” and served with a brown butter sauce in the middle of summer, so I added corn to the sautéed cabbage for a sweet seasonal touch. The tart brown butter–vinegar sauce beautifully balances the smoky bacon and rich salmon.

Inspired by main-course salads found in the bistros of France, this dish comprises some of my favorite ingredients—beets, mustard, dandelion, and soft boiled egg. The salmon is covered in minced herbs, seasoned with fleur de sel, and then slow-roasted in a humid oven until it’s moist and custardlike at the center.

This not-too-sweet tart is the perfect ending to a spring meal. The key to keeping the pastry nice and crisp is to bake it ahead and then scoop out some of the center, to make room for the filling. Don’t overmix the ricotta filling or you’ll smooth away those luscious natural curds in the cheese. At Lucques, we add dried blueberries to the fresh blueberry compote, giving it an unexpected chewiness.

This robust stew is best in late winter or early spring, when there’s still a lingering chill in the air. Tomatoes, olives, and red wine, hallmark flavors of the stew’s southern-French provenance, make up its flavorful saucy base. Traditionally, it’s made with a chuck roast, but I find that boneless short ribs yield a more succulent result. The tomatoes help thicken the sauce and add a deep sweetness. This time of year, rather than using mealy, out-of-season tomatoes, I opt for canned San Marzanos. If you can’t find San Marzanos, look for another brand of Italian canned tomatoes.

In french, sablé means “sand,” and that’s the texture you’re aiming for here. Avoid overworking the dough to prevent it from becoming tough. I love its light, crisp, and crumbly texture in tarts and on its own.

I love this natural fruit-nut pairing and how the apricot juices run right into the frangipane filling.

I love clafouti, especially with ripe pears, but I always felt something was missing. To make a great French dessert even better, I added a buttery crust. That thin, crisp layer makes a world of difference. Tender pears soaked with caramelized honey do, too.

Enjoy this alsatian specialty with some good beer. I like making this with crunchy, bright, and tart fresh sauerkraut, which my mom brings me from France. It’s also delicious with regular sauerkraut. I love how the meat juices infuse the cabbage and potatoes for a satisfying one-pot meal.

If you want to impress at a dinner party, this is the dish to make. The secret ingredient? Jordan almonds, those impossibly hard candies handed out at weddings. They turn into a gorgeous caramelized crust on the roasted duck breast. Simply cooked baby turnips make an elegant accompaniment.

Every home in France has a version of this rustic dish—now my home in New York does as well. I love how the vinegar infuses the chicken with a rich tanginess. Be sure to have some good bread on hand to sop up the sauce.

For four generations, the Vongerichten family has been turning out this tart, which is like a quiche but creamier.

There are countless versions of croque monsieurs and croque madames all over France. My mom cooks the sandwiches in a cast-iron press on the stovetop so that the bread becomes a crisp casing for the filling. I prefer a sandwich that’s hot and moist all the way through, so I bake the cheese on top of the bread and spread béchamel throughout. That’s the key to my version: The bread must completely absorb the sauce. The effort is well worth it.