Celery

Since R. B. has expanded his blade assortment beyond an ax, a maul, and a cleaver to include a few kitchen knives, he’s more than happy to wield the Santoku for diced salad vegetables. This kitchen task is best suited for the detail oriented. Around here, that would be R. B., whose T-shirt collection is always impeccably folded, stacked, and arranged by hobby. Instead of limp baby weeds, we vote for a crisp head of chilled iceberg lettuce that cuts beautifully into bite-size pieces for serving with barbecue.

After moving to Tennessee, R. B. discovered that his favorite baked bean cooked without molasses was actually white. Simple white beans flavored with salty local country ham are a favorite at Nashville’s famous “meat and three” restaurants and at catfish joints all over Tennessee. A big slice of white onion on the side is a must. The other popular white bean garnish is a spoonful of sweet-savory chow-chow (cabbage relish). Chow-chow is available in the pickle section of Southern supermarkets.

Back in the 1970s before the whole world was a mouse-click away, Min’s grandfather, Lee Almy, a guy who took his beans very seriously, had pintos shipped down to Carlsbad, New Mexico, from Cortez, a small town in the prized pinto-bean-producing southwestern corner of Colorado. He flavored these superior beans simply with chili powder and salt. Min’s dad, Max, adds a can of Rotel tomatoes and a leftover hambone when available and simmers them in a slow cooker. Min’s aunt Betty is a purist and cooks her pintos plain, seasoned only with salt and sometimes chopped ham. Aunt Sarah, from a long line of ranchers across Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico, cooks pintos the way her mama taught her—unsoaked beans and a hunk of salt pork in the pressure cooker for an hour and a half. Then she simmers them with a little fresh garlic. Whichever way you cook them, serve with cornbread, sliced raw onion, slices of fresh jalapeño pepper, and the cheater meat of your choosing.

It is neither a purply, sugared mass nor cold and puckery pap, the true caponata, but a baronial dish first fashioned by the great monzù—dialect for monsieur—the title given to the French chefs imported by the nobility during the reign of the Bourbons. Borrowing from a dish left by the Arabs and tinkered with by the Spanish, the monzù exalted the simple braise of eggplant and tomatoes, building a set piece of it, spicing its sauce with oranges and cloves and even a whisper of cacao, then bejeweling it with roasted lobsters and prawns. I thought it, alas, only an historical dish. But with some supplication of a Palermitano friend, ricette antiche—ancient recipes—were unriddled and, after days of bombast and wrangling discourse, one cook was fixed upon who might still build The True Caponata. Two evenings later, I was indulged. The dish is a beauty even if one wishes not to garnish it with the roasted seafood. Then, one calls it la caponatina. Stuffed inside the belly of a whole fish—a sea bass, a salmon, a cod—and wood-roasted, it is splendid.

Glorious Selinunte was raised up seven centuries before Christ and named by the Greeks after the wild, celerylike plant selinon, which then blanketed its riparian hills that fell to the sea. For us, the rests at Selinunte, more than any of the other Greek evidences, are the masterworks transcendent on Sicilia. There one can enter the great temples rather than stay, dutifully, achingly, behind a cordon. Hence, the temples there seem more familiar. One can remain, for a while, in the company of the old gods, to see the light change or to watch four chestnut horses, a newly foaled colt, and a fat, fluffy-haired donkey roaming over the fallow of broken marbles as though it were some ordinary meadow. One can eavesdrop on the discourse between two white doves until the silence comes—piano, pianissimo, save only the whisperings of wings. Some of the people we met who live in Castelvetrano, near Selinunte, spoke to us of a soup they remembered their grandmothers and aunts having made from a selinon-like plant that grew along the coast. They remembered it being smooth and cold, with a strong, almost bitter sort of celery flavor. Alas, neither selinon nor other wild grasses of its ilk are to be found. But prompted by our friends’ taste memories and our own sweet keepsakes of Selinunte, we fashioned this satiny, soothing soup to be offered on the warmest of days.

Roman ox butchers, known as i vaccinari, have been attributed authorship for this most characteristic dish of la cucina povera romana. Honored as savvy, inventive cooks, the butchers were and are wont to pot up the most particularly toothsome nuggets plundered from the great beasts. The tail of an ox, though it surrenders inconsiderable flesh, is of the tenderest texture and most delicate savor to be gleaned from the whole hulk of him.

Braised meats are ideal for any large gathering because much of the work can be done the day before. In my opinion, braises actually taste better when the flavors have had time to meld and develop. And in the braising process, not only have you cooked the meat, you’ve also created a sauce. Osso buco is a classic braised dish of northern Italy, usually garnished with gremolata, a popular condiment made of minced lemon zest, parsley, and garlic. That’s fine in the winter, but in spring, I like to add two of my favorite spring ingredients: peas and pea shoots. It’s a brighter rendition of the traditional preparation. The risotto, perfumed with saffron, is the perfect starch for spooning up with the braising juices. I’m usually pro-cheese, but in the case of this risotto I find myself torn. Though the Parmesan gives the risotto richness, without it the dish is a little lighter and “more of the season.” You decide.

It’s the surprising combination of sweet, tart, creamy, and crunchy additions that makes me crave this summery soup. This gazpacho is all about the garnishes.

This flavorful warm salad can be made any time of year, its seasonal personality lent by either rosemary (for cooler months) or basil (for warmer weather). It’s a fairly substantial salad, so it’s good served with a straightforward protein dish like Tempeh Fries (page 78), Cornmeal-Crusted Seitan (page 63), or BBQ-Flavored Skillet Tofu (page 62).

Inspired by the house salad I’ve enjoyed at Thai restaurants, this is the perfect companion to several of the Thai-style dishes in this book. A bigger portion of this can almost be the centerpiece of a meal, served with a simple tofu or tempeh dish.

I love this salad with mango, but since it’s not always available, pineapple is a good alternative. If you have more time, use fresh pineapple in season. Cutting it up is really not that time consuming, and the fresh fruit tastes amazing.

Spicy Tofurky sausages make a bold statement in this easy lentil stew. If you can find beluga lentils, use them—they give this dish extra visual appeal.

This recipe is based on one of my favorite Chinese take-out dishes. The problem with the restaurant version is that it is often rather oily. I’ve devised this low-fat version as a way to satisfy my craving for it.

This is a great, lighter alternative to a Caesar salad—it hits all the same taste notes without the heavy creamy dressing. Don’t be afraid of the anchovies in the Salsa Verde. The strong flavor melts away and you’re left with a subtle complexity. If you don’t say anything, no one will ever know that they’re in there. Celery is another of those often-underappreciated vegetables that is worth highlighting, and this salad does just that.

Sometimes you just gotta take a break from hard-core carnivordom, and these are the way to go—just ask our staff, who eat them around the clock. These balls happen to be Mike’s favorite, too. You’ll often find us at the bar with a big bowl, topped with Classic Tomato Sauce (page 56) or Spinach-Basil Pesto (page 58) and a side of steamed or sautéed spinach. And when it comes to kids, this is a great and tasty way to sneak in more veggies.

Season: July to September. This is a wonderful way to use up an abundance of cucumbers, be they long and uniform green, or the short, knobbly-skinned type. It’s also very quick and easy to make if you use a food processor. This is not a true preserve, as the cucumbers are not brined and the pickle is very light, but it will keep well in the fridge for a couple of weeks in a sealed container. I love this sweet condiment with all manner of salads and in sandwiches, but it’s especially delectable with hot-smoked trout or salmon.

Here’s a classic side dish if there ever was one. There’s a thousand ways to make it, and I think you’ll find ours to be a keeper—Creole mustard, fresh diced tomato, and a touch of green pepper all tossed with freshly cooked pasta shells. We like the way shells hold the dressing better than elbows. It’s still Macaroni Salad to us.

Growing up in a classic meat-and-potatoes family, I can’t remember a meal that didn’t include meat. As an adult, I’ve learned you don’t always have to have meat at dinner. This dish is a perfect choice for a meal that is all veggies and will leave you full and satisfied.

Here is a recipe for a brine that is sufficient to pickle up to 10 normal-size eggs. If you are using quail eggs, you can obviously pickle a lot more. The day we took this picture we had quail eggs, but truly, our favorite eggs are the smallest hen eggs available: the peewees. We even love the name, and their size is perfect because you can gobble up two or three. Remember to leave your eggs at room temperature for an hour before cooking them.