Shallot

There are a number of ways to make simple dishes of greens more appealing. Among my favorites is to prepare a topping of crisp-fried shallots. By themselves, these are irresistible; when combined with tender greens they create an alluring contrast in flavor and texture. Furthermore, the oil in which the shallots have been fried is a great addition to the greens and, in the days following, to many other dishes.

It may seem absurd, even insulting, to attempt to reduce an entire cuisine to a few flavors, but with just a handful of Thai ingredients—nearly all of which are available at most supermarkets—you can duplicate or even improve on many of the dishes found in your typical neighborhood Thai restaurant. A few ingredients will be unfamiliar to most American cooks, but no complicated techniques are involved in either preparation or cooking. This chicken dish, which can be taken in many directions, is a good example.

This is just one of several great poultry dishes from the area around Lyon, a region whose famous poulet de Bresse was long considered by many to be the best chicken in the world. Chef Paul Bocuse learned poulet au vinaigre as a youth and, some years later, showed considerable audacity by putting what is essentially a peasant dish on the menu of his Michelin three-star restaurant just outside of Lyon. He insisted that it was neither how much work nor the cost of ingredients that determined the worthiness of a dish, but how it tasted. Bravo.

Eggplant is so strongly associated with the cooking of Italy and southern France that it is almost always prepared with olive oil and garlic. This need not be the case, of course, and with a few ingredient changes—like the addition of ginger—you can make a novel kind of “ratatouille,” which readily converts an ordinary boneless chicken breast into an unusual and appealing dish. Be sure to spend a few minutes thoroughly cooking the shallots before adding the eggplant, allowing them to brown and begin to soften; and don’t overcook the ginger.

Real bay scallops—which come from the waters between Cape Cod and Long Island—are in season through the winter and are an amazing treat (they’re also amazingly expensive). Though you can eat them raw, they’re also good cooked, but simply . . . very simply.

Eaten raw, beets are delicious; even many self-proclaimed beet haters will like them in this salad. To eat a beet raw, you have to peel it and shred it. The first step is easiest with a regular vegetable peeler. I do the second with the metal blade of a food processor, pulsing the machine on and off until the beets are finely cut. You could use the shredding blade, but it isn’t any easier or better. Or you could use a manual grater, but only if you’re looking for an upper-body workout.

A French peasant classic, popularized internationally by the great Paul Bocuse. My version is leaner; for something approaching the glorious original, see the variation. Bread is a must, with salad to follow.

This recipe doesn’t demand anything particularly exotic to produce an authentically Malaysian flavor. But instead of relying on canned curry paste as so many similar dishes do, this one offers a good deal more fragrance and sweetness by starting with fresh spices. If you’ve got access to a good market and would like to try a more unusual chicken curry from Southeast Asia, try the Red-Cooked Chicken (preceding recipe) or the Braised Duck or Chicken with Fresh Curry Paste on page 328, which incorporates Thai ingredients like dried shrimp or fish sauce. This curry is great with white rice but even better with the Malaysian coconut rice, Nasi Lemak, on page 515. You can make this curry a day in advance—keep it covered in the refrigerator overnight and warm it gently over low heat before serving.

Poaching a tenderloin of beef is the surest way to obtain perfectly and uniformly rare meat. Whether you choose a 2-pound piece, which will easily serve four, or a larger one, the procedure and results are consistently the same, making the dish ideal for dinner parties. As long as the meat is of fairly consistent thickness, every slice you cut—with the exception of the very ends—will look like the others. Buying the beef is simple but usually can be made even simpler with an advance call to the butcher; ask for the thick (châteaubriand) end of the tenderloin, 2 to 3 pounds (he will be willing to cut it to any size you like), in one piece, tied. If you allow the meat to reach room temperature before poaching, cooking time will be reduced by a few minutes; but it will be no longer than 20 and probably shorter anyway. It’s key to serve the meat with a variety of garnishes from which you and your guests can choose: minced shallots, good mustard, chopped cornichons, coarse salt, soy sauce, even ketchup. These can be combined—I favor mustard combined with shallots and cornichons. I’d like a potato gratin with this recipe (page 482), but any potato dish (including good old mashed potatoes) would be fine, as would almost any nicely prepared vegetable. Bread, too.

I like this best with shallots, which are prettier and tastier than boiling onions. Some people add raisins (about 1/4 cup, from the beginning), which does not turn me on. Others garnish with toasted pine nuts, a nice but unnecessary touch. Other vegetables you can prepare this way: almost any member of the onion family, including leeks, scallions, and any kind of onion—if the onions are large, peel and quarter them, then insert a toothpick into each quarter to hold it together during the cooking.

A simple and delicious way to use onions as a vegetable, one that long ago became part of the Middle American repertoire but has sadly dropped out. Time for a revival? This dish is unquestionably best with small onions—pearl onions—or with cipollini, the squat Italian variety, or the very fresh spring onions, usually sold only at that time of year and looking like scallions on steroids. It will work almost as well with leeks, which should be trimmed first, then parboiled for 2 or 3 minutes. If you must use larger onions, parboil for a good 10 minutes before peeling and baking. Convert this to a gorgeous spring gratin by adding a handful each of fresh wild mushrooms, like morels, and fresh peas to the mix. Other vegetables you can prepare this way: shallots, treated exactly as you would pearl onions.

Stir-fried vegetables are almost as common in Southeast Asia as they are in China, and even the spices are similar. But the addition of dried shrimp and the use of nam pla are dead giveaways that this dish is from Indochina. It’s usually made on the fiery side, so feel free to increase the chiles if you like. Information on fish sauces like nam pla is on page 500. Other vegetables you can prepare this way: Green beans, parboiled broccoli or cauliflower, or a mixture of onions and peppers. All will take a little longer than fast-cooking watercress.

This vegetable stock is not unlike Jus Rôti (page 163) but without the meat—the roasting step adds a layer of flavor that is a welcome addition to otherwise one-dimensional vegetable stocks. Although this is hardly a bare-bones stock, the addition of mushrooms or more root vegetables (especially parsnips) will give it even more oomph.

In Western cooking, vinaigrette is the closest thing to an all-purpose sauce. I recommend making vinaigrette in a blender, where it becomes so stable that it can be prepared hours before it is needed. Once made, it can be used on everything from green salad to cold meat, vegetables, or fish dishes to anything that has been broiled or grilled, whether served hot or at room temperature. I well remember the first time I had good vinaigrette, and it was in France. It was so far and away the best salad dressing I’d ever tasted (and at this point I was twenty-six years old, so I’d tasted at least a few, though the vast majority had come out of bottles) that I had to ask the secret. The answer—now so obvious, then a revelation—was shallots. But you can use such a wide variety of flavors in vinaigrette (see the variations) that these days the standard French variety seems almost clichéd.

Yes, béarnaise is overkill, but this old-fashioned sauce has such good flavor it deserves to be made every now and then. It’s best with grilled beef or fish. If you can find it, use chervil—a couple of tablespoons—in place of the tarragon.

Quite similar to the beef soup recipe on page 145, except at the outset, when shallots are browned to give the soup a little extra color and complexity.

This is the quintessential Italian American dish: from the 1950s through the 1980s, every Italian restaurant had it on the menu. It is still one of America’s favorite dishes and is easy to make. The important part of the recipe is to begin cooking the meat and mushrooms separately, then combine them at the end so the flavors blend. Marsala is the special ingredient in this dish. Around the city of Marsala, Malvasia, a varietal of a very aromatic grape, grew in abundance. Wine has been made from this varietal for centuries, and the English took note of it and began importing it. The history of England and the New World needs no retelling, and this is most likely how Marsala made it across the pond. When the Sicilian immigrants settled in America, and rediscovered it, it was a natural reunion.

Please try this recipe. Nothing would make me happier than to see more dedicated home cooks in this country cooking rabbit. And for those of you just starting to cook, you really should make use of this delicious and healthful meat. It’s always been an important food on our family table. When I was a child, in our town of Busoler, every family had a pen of rabbits—including my namesake Aunt Lidia, my mother’s sister—and even as I gathered grass to feed them and played with them, I understood how important it was to nourish them, so they would nourish us. Today, though, while rabbit dishes are popular in my restaurants, especially as a pasta condiment, I notice that customers still regard rabbit as a fancy and different food, especially the saddle (the loin section) of rabbit. The truth is, rabbit is easy to cook and is as versatile and tasty as chicken. Here, then, is a typical rabbit dish from my kitchen, which I still prepare often for family dinners. I always buy whole rabbits and cut them up myself, as I demonstrate in the photos alongside. Like poultry, rabbit is easy to divide. Let the joints show you where to cut off the meaty leg pieces. The back pieces are easy to chop with a sturdy chef’s knife or a small cleaver. If you prefer, though, ask your butcher to cut up the rabbit into eight or ten pieces for you. I am sure you’ll love this cacciatore (hunter’s-style) rabbit. During the first 40 minutes, the cooking is purposely slow and relaxed, as the meat gradually caramelizes with herbs, fresh peppers, and other vegetables and seasonings. Add these as you prepare them—you don’t need to rush. Once you’ve developed many layers of flavor, you pour in some broth, cover the pan, and let the rabbit braise for another 20 minutes.