Savory Pie and Tart

You’re probably skeptical about how such a standard meat and potatoes dish as shepherd’s pie could be made vegetarian, but it can definitely be done. This dish is great comfort food—white beans and veggies baked bubbly hot with a golden mashed potato crust.

You can make these empanadas whatever size you want. If you want to have something a bit more substantial, you can make them bigger and have fewer of them, or you can make them smaller and take them as an appetizer to a party. Either way: yummy.

No one can deny the comfort food factor associated with a steaming hot pot pie with its crispy crust and delicious sauce. Even if your mom never actually made one for you from scratch, at least she probably bought you frozen ones on occasion. Our version is made with lots of vegetables, and it’s a treat for meat eaters and vegetarians alike.

When I’ve made spanikopita in the past, it’s been for appetizers, so I make them a lot smaller. Everyone likes them, but they are incredibly tedious to make. These are bigger and much easier and quicker to make. Just be careful if you happen to be eating them in the car on the way somewhere, because they definitely leave crumbs all over.

This tasty recipe is like pizza, but easier. It takes about 2 minutes to prepare, looks impressive, and tastes great. Puff pastry isn’t used much in the United States, but Europeans can’t do without it. It’s really easy to work with, and the results are always perfect. To thaw frozen puff pastry, put it in the refrigerator the night before you want to use it.

The easy availability of butter in America was a boon for my mother, who saw endless possibilities for perfecting French pâtés chaud, large puff pastry rounds filled with an aromatic meat mixture. She regularly made the rich pastries from scratch, and they were standard breakfast fare for my siblings and me growing up. As adults, we have scaled back our consumption, making the pastries smaller and serving them as finger food on special occasions. Shaping tiny round pastries is laborious, so we form logs and cut them into diamonds. Unlike my mom, I don’t have the patience or time to make my own puff pastry. Instead, I rely on a local bakery for frozen sheets of all-butter puff pastry or use the frozen puff pastry sold at supermarkets. The latter are usually sold two sheets to a box, with each sheet weighing about 1/2 pound and measuring about ten inches square.

This classic French bistro dish is a delicious way to start a meal. Just as good at room temperature as it is hot, it’s a versatile appetizer that can be made ahead of time and even served as cocktail party fare. Thin rings of onion, caramelized until sweet and golden brown, are covered with a rich and eggy custard, topped with tangy crumbles of fresh goat cheese, and baked in a delicate crust much like a quiche. (In fact, this would also do very well at brunch!) Home-grown ingredients like local onions and a good American goat cheese, such as one from Coach Farm or California’s Laura Chenel, steer this tart from purely French to positively American. A cool salad of tender mesclun greens, lemony parsley, delicate chervil, and tarragon is tossed in a bright vinaigrette made with a reduction of fruity Pinot Noir. Plate the salad directly atop the tart so that each bite contains a bit of buttery crust, savory filling, and fresh herbs.

One of my goals with the cuisine at Bar Americain is to re-create the classics of French brasserie cuisine with the best of America’s ingredients. The other is to put my spin on those dishes that make up this country’s culinary heritage. This dish is a perfect example of the latter. Chicken pot pie . . . could it get any more authentically American than that? It’s warm, comforting, and, in this case, super flavorful and beautiful to boot. I opt for a flaky, golden-orange sweet potato biscuit crust that opens up to reveal a garlic- and onion-scented cream sauce studded with juicy chicken, tender vegetables, and flecks of parsley. We make this dish with smoked and roasted chicken at the restaurant, and I love the extra layer of flavor that cold-smoking adds. If you are up to it, follow the directions on page 249 and skip the chipotle in adobo puree or smoked paprika, which approximate that smokiness in the recipe.

I fancy myself to be part Cajun, not surprising since I grew up on the Texas-Louisiana border. When entertaining, I often include a little something with Cajun flair. My Shreveport-born friend Mary Cunningham feels the same way. She served these at a recent dinner party in her home and happily shared her recipe (once she figured out what she did and wrote it down, that is). Like many accomplished home cooks I know, Mary rarely measures, cooking by taste and feel. I’ve adapted her recipe and created a cornbread crust to go with it. Depending on where you live, it may be tough to find crayfish. It can be ordered online, but if necessary, substitute an equal amount of chopped, fresh shrimp.

I’ve been making these for parties ever since I joined forces with my old friend Marianna Green. We both had little babies, and together we catered weddings, birthday parties, and more parties. I froze these two-bite nibbles by the dozen—I always had a batch on standby for last-minute events. They’re still one of my favorite party hors d’oeuvres. No fuss, no muss, no sauce needed.

This is the first croissant we ever made and sold at Milk Bar. Deeply stinky and pungent in all the right ways, it is not for the faint of heart. It is a true marriage of funky, barnyardy, stringent kimchi and blue cheese, of our Korean roots to our Italian ones. It is for our soul sisters and brothers. Making croissants is one of the coolest bread techniques around. You spend time making many layers of bread dough and butter, folding and turning the dough all along. When baked, the croissants get their flakiness and volume from the steam that the layers of butter give off as the dough heats. The steam separates each dough layer ever so slightly, resulting in this massively puffy, impossibly flaky creation. And when you make them with a flavored butter, they’re even cooler! Though we have simplified the technique somewhat at Milk Bar, in terms of speed and precision, this recipe is still not for softbodies. It takes more time with the dough, more flour, more time with the rolling pin. But it will make you feel like a true pro when the oven timer goes off and you pull these bad boys out.

This casual dish is a shortcut version of the lavish Chicken Pot Pie on our dinner menu.

Modern pasty recipes, especially those in the more touristy enclaves of Britain’s farthest southern county, stretch the recipe almost as far as Titus, swapping beef for pork, the rutabaga for apple, even daring to crimp the finished turnover on the top instead of at the side. I make one without meat, in which I use goat cheese and thyme along with the usual starchy filling of potato and rutabaga. It is filling, yet somehow soft and gentle, too.

There have been many highly original versions of the straightforward miner’s lunch (if you couldn’t come up to the surface for lunch, you took a warm pasty down with you, holding the thickly crimped edge with your grubby hands, then leaving it behind to appease the spirits of the mine) but I have rarely enjoyed one as much as those I have eaten in Cornwall. My pasty is (categorically) not a Cornish pasty. I precook my filling, you see, which Cornish cooks would never do. I cook the meat and vegetables before wrapping them in the pastry crust purely because it results in a pasty whose filling is especially tender and giving. I also use a proportion of butter in the pastry too. The similarity between my pasty and a Cornish one is purely in the ingredients: beef, potato, onion, and rutabaga. Chaucer was partial to a pasty—they appear in The Canterbury Tales, and in several of Shakespeare’s plays, including The Merry Wives of Windsor, All’s Well That Ends Well, and Titus Andronicus. We shall gloss over the small point that Titus uses Chiron and Demetrius’s bodies rather than the more traditional beef skirt steak. I do suggest you let the finished parcels rest for half an hour before baking, if you get the chance.

Onions make an important contribution to the filling of pies, providing a sweet balance for the savoriness of the meat and a necessary change of texture, too. A meat pie with no onions would be hard going. I rarely make a meat pie. It is one of those recipes I reserve for a cold autumn day, when it’s too wet to go out.

There is a point in the year, usually after the Christmas decorations have been put away, when the house gets too cold to sit still in without a wrap around you. I have always kept a cold house; hot rooms make me feel unhealthy. But sometimes the only way of getting warm here is to eat. Carbohydrate-rich meals, such as the tart of leek and cheese and pastry I made on the coldest day of the year, warm you in a way few others are capable of.