Cognac

These naturally gluten-free cookies are a cross between two favorite holiday indulgences: truffles and macaroons.

This is a tiki drink disguised as an old-fashioned, so it's no surprise that it comes from Brian Miller, Death & Co's resident scalawag and expert on all things Polynesian. One night a waitress asked Brian to make something stirred and boozy, so he took one of tiki's core principles—blending several base spirits to create a new flavor profile—and applied it to whiskey and brandy. It was another breakthrough moment for the bar, and these days it's not unusual to find two or more base spirits in our drinks.

There are many stories about the origins of this cake, known as both Clichy cake and Opéra cake. Many believe that Louis Clichy was its creator because he premiered the gâteau, with his name written across the top, at the 1903 Exposition Culinaire in Paris. It became the signature cake of Clichy's shop on the Boulevard Beaumarchais. However, another pastry shop, Dalloyau, sold a very similar dessert, known as L'Opéra (in honor of the Paris Opera), and some claim that theirs was the original.

Black truffle butter, available online and in fine grocery stores, adds a touch of aromatic luxury to the standard turkey. Rubbing the flavored butter under the skin allows the truffle flavor to permeate the meat while keeping it moist. Wear food-safe gloves to do this job; it makes it a lot neater and easier!

A blend of rums, exotic juices, liqueurs, aromatic spices, absinthe, and trepidation. One from the Soulshakers' greatest hits collection, this drink has been honed to a lethal edge over the past eight years at Gaz's Rocking Blues at London's Notting Hill Carnival and the Glastonbury Festival in southwest England.

This potent punch is dangerously crowd-pleasing.

St. John Frizell of Fort Defiance in Red Hook, Brooklyn, created this recipe for a Fourth of July drinks feature—this is the red option in a special red, white, and blue Sangria series. Dubonnet takes center stage in Frizell's Sangria but is a supporting player in many classic cocktail recipes, including the gin-based Dubonnet cocktail (also known as the Zaza). It's an aperitif wine that Frizell says is similar to vermouth and has been popular in French cafés since the 19th century.

This is a decadent dish that is very popular with my family at Christmas-time, when pasta with seafood is a holiday tradition for Italians. For others, though, it’s a reminder of summers on the Cape or in the Hamptons. Whatever memories it may conjure for you, we can all probably agree that it is a rich, sophisticated dish that puts a smile on the face of anyone who tastes it.

One of the best reasons to make your own basic brown stock is that it means French onion soup from scratch is within easy reach. (You can also make the soup with white beef stock, page 42.) Like many other bistro classics, French onion soup has humble origins as a staple of thrifty households, where a pot of stock—itself born of frugality—was the foundation for many family meals. Even those with limited resources could make soupe a l’oignon since it calls for little else: pounds of inexpensive and readily available onions, a crusty baguette (providing a way to use up day-old bread), and a chunk of sharp Gruyère cheese, grated to turn a little into a lot. Because there are so few components, each one is enhanced in some way to contribute to the final dish. The homemade stock provides both color and robust taste, as well as ensuring a silky consistency. Caramelizing the onions gives them a wonderful sweetness (and more dark brown color). Toasted bread adds a textural note, while gratinéed cheese introduces another pleasing component. Similar to the burnt-sugar shell atop crème brûlée, the molten, golden crown invites tucking into with a spoon. This recipe can be halved, but since the soup freezes well, it is worth making the full amount.

The pungent flavor of crystallized ginger blends perfectly with the richness of white chocolate. These truffles have a slightly granular texture, which adds to the pleasure of eating them.

Unlike the ricotta forte of Puglia, prepared laboriously, asking that the fresh cheese be left to drain off its opaline waters and to acidify, the dry cheese to then be kneaded, worked each third or fourth day for at least two months until it takes on a burnt ivory sort of color and its perfumes come up stinging, pungent, this version is prepared in moments. Yielding a condiment less punishing in its aromas, the Calabrian ricotta forte is still of an assertive and keen savor, which when smoothed over warm, crusty bread, glorifies the richness of spiced sausages and salame presented as antipasto. A few dollops of it, thinned with drops of pasta cooking water and tossed with bucatini or spaghetti, make a fine dish. Tucked away in a crock in the refrigerator for a week or so, the vigor of ricotta forte ripens and intensifies.

The Abruzzesi have long feasted on wild rabbit and hare. The formula for their preparation traditionally employed some version of al coccio—the braising of the rabbit in a terra-cotta pot. They might first brown it in olive oil with garlic, then cook it quietly with rosemary in white wine, perhaps enriching the dish with a dose of tomato conserve and finishing it with a handful of stoned olives. The peasants typically cooked rabbit in this mode, as it was a carne secca—a dry flesh— and hence deemed inappropriate for roasting. But in the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the brigade of serfs who cooked in the castles and villas of the nobility in the province of Pescara soon learned from their masters that all it took was a blanket of some sort—a quilt of buttery crust, a rasher or two of fat prosciutto or pancetta, even a few leaves of cabbage would do—to keep the scant juices of the little beast from becoming vapors in the heat of a wood oven.

A patently rustic treatment of the prawns that presses us to a dramatic sort of dance in front of the flame as we toss the fat, handsome things about in the hot oil, their briny perfumes dissolving up in great vapors around our heads. A bottle of fine Cognac perched on the kitchen shelf seems an occurrence as common in Rome as is the one filled with the simple white wine from the hills just outside its gates. Here, the bottle is used to a fine end, scenting the seething, sputtering flesh of the prawns inside their bronzed, vermilion shells.

This nut tart is my dream dessert: sticky caramel poured into a buttery crust and studded with salty nuts. It’s a chewy, gooey delight, and whenever it’s on the menu at Lucques I can’t stop myself from sneaking over to the pastry station and cutting paper-thin slices to snack on. It’s also an addictive finger food, so encourage your guests to pick it up and eat it with their hands instead of struggling with a knife and fork. To turn it into a decadent, highbrow candy bar, drizzle some milk chocolate over each slice and dollop with cognac cream.

Hibiscus is used throughout the Middle East and Latin America to make a ruby-red herbal tea. You can find the flowers at a tea or herb retailer. This hibiscus cordial is the brainchild of our bar manager and long-time friend Robert Krueger. This cleverly designed cordial brings out a rich color, beautiful floral notes, and a nice citrus flavor from the dried hibiscus flowers. It’s the main ingredient in Rob’s Roselle cocktail (page 71). Vodka and brandy serve to fortify the cordial for longer use.

The Sidecar is another famous cocktail that came out of Paris in the Twenties, thanks to Prohibition driving the best bartenders out of the country. It is said to have been invented at the Ritz Hotel by American ex-pat Frank Meyer, the head bartender. It was a favorite of Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Henry Miller. The Sidecar is also an ideal after-dinner option or even a nightcap because of its “candied” nature. Cognac is rarely mixed with juices, as the subtle qualities in fine brandy are easily lost in cocktails. The Sidecar is one exception—it blends cognac and Cointreau beautifully and balances them out with fresh lemon juice. The key to this cocktail is its sugar rim on the glass. This dissolves on the tongue and mixes with the rest of the drink to create the perfect balance, leaving room for the brandy. For a simple variation on the Sidecar, add a splash of Benedictine and lose the sugar rim to create the Honeymoon.