Food Processor

Delicate and unusual, shrimp and pancetta combined into a sausage is an example of the delightful ways in which seafood and pork can glamorize each other, here in ravioli made easy to execute using store-bought wonton wrappers for the pasta. Edamame (fresh soybeans) and fava beans (broad beans), both Old World beans, can be used interchangeably in this recipe. Both are almost meaty and bright green, and provide similar vivid leguminous presence in dishes that employ them. However, practically speaking, edamame have the advantage because they are available already shelled in supermarket freezer sections in all seasons. Favas, in contrast, are mainly spring to early summer and fall fare, and they are a chore to prepare, requiring first shelling and then peeling each bean after immersing in boiling water for 1 or 2 minutes to loosen the bitter-tasting skins. (A side note: if you are using fava beans and purchasing them at a farmers’ market, you can probably also pick up some fava leaves. As our vegetable horizons expand more and more, they have become available and are quite tasty as a green for a soup such as this one or tossed into a salad.) Shrimp and pancetta sausage can also be made into small balls and dropped into a chicken or vegetable broth for a substantial appetizer or light first course. Or, you can use it to top small cooked and halved artichokes, then generously sprinkle the sausage with bread crumbs and briefly cook the sausage and brown the crumbs in a hot oven or under a broiler.

Subtle, calming, and healthful, this clear soup is a home remedy for alleviating stress. The ginger subdues nausea, aids digestion, and stimulates circulation; the fish balls provide protein to relieve hunger; and the mushrooms and spinach enliven the broth to make the remedy more than palatable, indeed desirable. How simple. How soothing. The spinach roots add an elusive textural dimension to the broth. Not exactly crunchable, they are nonetheless more chewable than spinach leaves. They are available at the bottom of ordinary bunch spinach sold with roots attached. Cut them off to use in the soup and save the leaves for another dish.

The Yiddish word gefilte means “filled” or “stuffed,” and originally gefilte fish was fish skins stuffed with a white fish mousse, similar to a French quenelle. Eventually the fish skins were eliminated and just the stuffing was kept, more user-friendly for the home cook, and the skins, if there were any, became part of the broth. Once freed from being stuffed into something, the filling was shaped into oval dumplings and poached without benefit of wrapping. What is important for authenticity, and for the best flavor, is to brew your own fish broth with white fish bones (not salmon or shrimp), which is ready in only 30 minutes. Why take the trouble at all? Well, some dishes are revered for their status as iconic ritual that affirms and carries forth the culture, and making them from scratch both reinforces that role and binds the community of which they are part. Out-of-the-jar gefilte fish just isn’t the same. It is a must-have dish on the Seder table, and beyond that, it is delicious for any occasion that calls for a light first course. Gefilte fish is traditionally made with freshwater fish, but if none is available, any saltwater fish with firm, white flesh will do. Horseradish root is part of the Seder plate of symbolic foods that signify various stages of the Jews’ flight from Egypt. Finely grated, and sometimes colored a fiery red with the addition of shredded beets, the horseradish condiment is both the customary and perfect accompaniment to gefilte fish.

Duck was frequently on my menu when I was chef in the earliest days at what was to become the internationally acclaimed Chez Panisse Restaurant in Berkeley, California. I purchased the ducks whole, with heads and feet still on, in San Francisco’s Chinatown. It was always a chore to find a place to park, but I was intent on fresh-is-best even back then, plus the people and markets provided a wonderful ethnographic adventure close to home. Searching for something to do with the many necks left from cutting up the ducks, I created this duck sausage using the necks as casing. I made a broth from the bones and other trimmed bits and braised the sausages in it. Serendipity! The lengthy braising softens the skin casing almost to butter, moistening the sausages as they cook and producing a rich sauce for dressing the sausages when they are served. For this book, I have adapted the recipe to call for whole duck legs (drumstick and thigh combinations): easier to get and equally fabulous.

Cod, as food historian Mark Kurlansky convincingly purports in his fascinating exegesis on its commercial history, is “the fish that changed the world.” Evidence exists that commerce in cod was founded in the tenth century by seafaring Vikings who, seeking new fishing grounds when their homeland supply was depleted for the season, came upon Newfoundland and its cod bounty, establishing a trade route between the Old World and what was called the New World. In time, cod commerce gave rise to emigration and engendered settlements, eventually towns, along the northern Atlantic seaboard. Naturally, the first settlers in that harsh environment created food based on what was available: cod. Although much of it was preserved with salt to use at home and to ship across the Atlantic to the waiting market there, some was used fresh, especially in chowder. In this version, the cod is fashioned into a sausagelike mixture and formed into balls, which are joined in the soup pot by another popular local catch, shrimp. Northeast fishermen harvest the pink, intensely flavored Northern shrimp, also known as Maine shrimp, which are available only from winter through early spring. But almost any medium shrimp can substitute, as long as they are from North American waters.

A ballotine is a boneless cut of any meat, fowl, or fish, stuffed and wrapped into a bundle and braised. It is like a miniature galantine, except that a galantine is a more elaborate preparation involving the whole beast, or like a roulade, which is a simpler preparation of a piece of meat pounded thin and wrapped around something. All are a form of sausage, and the stuffing can be almost anything edible. Here, the wrap is chicken breast and the something is ham sausage. You might think of it as a sausage with a sausage filling. Fancy though it might sound, its preparation is not difficult, and the outcome is decidedly elegant. Because this is a dish where the chicken takes a lead roll, it is important to have the best-tasting chicken available: organic and with a fatty skin still on the breast. It’s the skin that makes the sausage unctuous. The cheesecloth wrap ensures that the breast remains moist throughout as it braises. I serve the ballotine warm for a main dish with the braising liquid reduced to a sauce. I also serve it chilled as an appetizer. To serve chilled, refrigerate the ballotine overnight still wrapped in cheesecloth. The next day, remove the wrap, slice thinly, and arrange on a platter. Accompany with cornichons, Dijon mustard, and baguette slices.

White gazpacho is a soup from the time long before there were tomatoes in Spain for making chilled red gazpacho, a familiar and beloved paean to summer. But there were almonds, garlic, chickens, and bread. White gazpacho is essentially a mild chicken soup made forceful, filling, and hearty with a garlic-almond mayonnaise and bread soaked in the broth. To make it more sumptuous, I add chicken and almond meatballs, echoing those same ancient ingredients. It is ultrarich. A bowlful with a side dish of sturdy-leaf salad garnished with orange slices suffices for a meal. A tip: The recipe calls for a total of 3/4 cup slivered blanched almonds, divided into 1/4 cup portions for three different steps. To facilitate the division, toast the whole amount of almonds in a microwave or toaster oven until the nuts begin to brown and have a toasty smell, 5 to 6 minutes, depending on how fresh they are. Set aside 1/4 cup of the toasted slivers for garnishing the soup. Pulverize the remaining 1/2 cup in a food processor until reduced to a paste. Divide the paste into two parts, one for the sausage, one for the soup.

Tagine is the signature dish, harissa is the signature hot condiment, and merguez is the signature spicy sausage of North Africa. Quince would be more usual for the fruit, but they are only fleetingly available in late fall, and the stew is quite divine throughout the year. So, I use apples, available all the time. Couscous, the signature tiny-bead pasta of North Africa that fluffs up in a hot-water soak without further cooking, is the accompaniment, the bed, in any variation.

This lamb, green bean, and tomato soup-stew, known as fasoulia in the home of my childhood, was the by-product of a regular event: my father dissecting a leg of lamb into its parts, from the most highly treasured, neatly cubed pieces for shish kebab to the fattier but still tender parts for grinding into sausage. A sidebar of the ritual was putting the bone and all the gristly bits into a pot, covering them with water, and gently simmering them into a broth for fasoulia. Even though the dish was a by-product of making shish kebab, it enjoyed a humble stature on our dinner table. These days when I desire a taste of lamb home cooking and am not deconstructing a leg of lamb, I use a bit of purchased ground lamb for meatballs. The green beans are key here, and though I usually turn up my nose at frozen vegetables, I make an exception for fasoulia, so that it can be enjoyed throughout the year. I find this soup-stew doesn’t need anything in the way of a side dish. A slice of bread, a spoon, and family company suffice, but Armenians would include pilaf on the side.

Hamburgers reign supreme in the annals of American food, indeed in the annals of fast food around the world. Establishments that proffer them have made incursions into seemingly unlikely places to the extent that it is hardly surprising to see hamburgers on menus almost anywhere from Paris to Beijing. In fact, the humble beef patties have become such big business that there’s just no stopping them. And what is this icon of American enterprise? The answer is simple: it’s ground beef seasoned with salt. In other words, hamburger is quintessential sausage, and people love it. So do I. In fact, hamburgers-for-dinner is one of my default meals. For my house hamburger, I choose organic, pasture-raised beef, which, though slightly more expensive, is definitely tastier and more healthful than average ground beef. I lightly season the meat with salt and chill it for a few hours to let the salt do its work tenderizing the meat and making it more succulent. The Dijon mayo, pickled onions, and crunchy lettuce are fundamental, as are the artisanal buns, my favorite being ciabatta buns. Where are the tomatoes? I left them by the wayside in the development of my house hamburger. Their acid element and red color is supplied by the pickled onions. But, sometimes I add sliced heirloom tomatoes if it’s tomato season, or perhaps a splash of ketchup on one side of the bun. A hamburger is, after all, a personal thing, subject to whims of the moment.

Vindaloo originated in the tiny state of Goa, on India’s southwest coast, which was colonized by the Portuguese in the sixteenth century. Because the Portuguese are traditionally Christian, pork is not proscribed in Goa, as it is almost everywhere else in India. Vindaloo, however, has been embraced throughout India and beyond, reinterpreted sometimes with chicken, sometimes with beef or lamb, so that it can be enjoyed within religious bounds. In fact, vindaloo with any meat, or even as a vegetarian dish, has an irresistible sweet-salty-sour-hot flavor. And though it seems intimidatingly spicy at first, one taste and you are hooked. A fruit chutney, to both soothe and stimulate the palate, is an expected complement for many Indian meals. Here, dried plums fit that bill in a chutney that can be enjoyed year-round not only with this dish, but with nearly any pork, poultry, or game dish, as well. I won’t tell you any lies: this dish is for a day when you feel like cooking. The good news is that it is a one-pot meal and worth it.

Minestrone has a long history in Italian cuisine and, not surprisingly, many interpretations. Old tales recount how Roman soldiers lived on a diet of minestrone and chickpeas, a strange assertion since many of the soup’s classic ingredients—tomatoes, potatoes, beans—are New World foods that were not available at the time. By the end of the sixteenth century, the core concept had become a tasty mixture of vegetables, including dried beans, with pasta and/or potatoes. If you can find them, use borlotti (cranberry) beans, a specialty of Tuscany. Swirling a pesto of arugula, rather than the more prosaic basil, into the minestrone imparts a refreshing change. Other unusual elements in the soup are a tiny spritz of vinegar and the use of shallot instead of garlic. The pesto is also good for dolloping on plain boiled potatoes or a simply cooked fish fillet or chicken breast, or on bruschetta, for serving as an appetizer.

In the 1970s, when everyone and their sisters and brothers became enchanted with French cooking, with Julia Child leading the way, quiche became the savory custard pie. The classic, quiche Lorraine, made with bacon and Gruyère cheese to enrich the custard, enjoyed star status as an elegant staple for brunch or for a first course in a multitiered dinner à la français. Variations in great numbers soon followed, and quiche in one or another guise turned into a favorite on buffet tables and appetizer menus. Here, with Toulouse sausage and a green splotch of spinach, the lovable custard-in-a-crust reinvents itself into an uncomplicated light dinner. Even though it is easier to purchase a prepared pastry crust, to settle for that is to miss the flaky, unctuous mouth delight of a homemade one. A food processor provides a quick, simple, and almost hands-free way to make an exceptional crust. A removable-bottom tart pan, such as the type the French would use for quiche and sweet dessert tarts, makes it easy to present the pie standing alone rather than in a dish, which is more awkward to serve from.

Tomatillos are a member of the nightshade family, which includes New World tomatoes and potatoes and such Old World relatives as eggplants. Although those wide-ranging kin have become familiar around the globe, tomatillos remain something of a country cousin, not much appreciated or grown outside Mexico and its neighbors to the south in Central and South America and to the north in California and the American Southwest. Tomatillos are an everyday must in Mexican cooking and dining, however, especially for one of Mexico’s great table sauces, salsa verde. Here the sauce, usually used as a dip for tortilla chips, becomes the medium for simmering meatballs. Make this recipe in summer, when tomatillos are in season. Canned versions are available, but they should be reserved for thickening chile verde and the like, much as okra is used in southern cooking.

Chorizo, at home in many cuisines, appears with multiple ethnic faces from Spain and Portugal to Mexico, South America, and the Latino-inspired cooking of the American Southwest. It can be stuffed into hog casing and used fresh, or briefly aged in the casing to dry out and intensify the flavors. Sometimes it is smoked, becoming more like a salami in texture. Often it is used fresh in bulk for dishes that benefit from a hit of red and spice. This version comes from Anzonini, a flamenco guitarist and world-class chorizo maker, who generously offered his recipe to Pig-by-the-Tail. We made tons of it, and it was always special! On chorizo-making day, the links were hung on the baking-tray rack for a few hours to dry and compact. The dangling sausages festooned the kitchen like chile-red curtains. It was a spectacle of hospitality and appreciated, judging by the number of customers who came to purchase some to take home when they were “done.”

There’s no reason to settle for the sorry excuse for bread crumbs available commercially. All you need to make your own is a food processor and some day-old bread. Since I use a lot of bread crumbs in my cooking, I use my freezer for stockpiling bits and pieces from unfinished loaves, eventually to be turned into crumbs. In fact, if I’m out of my freezer inventory, I deliberately “stale” fresh bread for crumb making by drying it out in a low oven until it’s no longer squeezable. The best bread for all-purpose crumbs is bâtard, ciabatta, or a similar artisanal French or Italian bread without seeds, walnuts, olives, or the like.

Season: more or less anytime. A good vegetable bouillon or stock can be the making of many a soup, risotto, or sauce. Preparing your own stock from scratch is easy enough–but it does take a little time, so an instant alternative is often welcome. The choice of vegetable bouillon powders and stock cubes on the market is pretty limited. There are one or two good products, but if you use them frequently, you might find an underlying uniformity creeping into your cooking. This is my solution. Whip up your very own souper mix–a concentrated paste of fresh vegetables simply preserved with salt. It’s quick and easy to make and the stock it produces is delicious. You can use just about any herbs or vegetables you like–the important thing is that they are fresh and taste as vegetable-y as possible. My preferred ingredients are indicated in this recipe, but you could also use young turnips, shallots, celery, rutabagas, beets, or peppers, as well as bay leaves, thyme, lovage, or mint–almost anything, really. Just bear in mind that the character of the stock will vary depending on the ingredients you choose. The following are prepared weights; i.e., the ingredients should be washed, trimmed, and peeled (where necessary).

Season: July to September: Harissa is a North African ingredient used to enhance many fish and meat dishes, as well as couscous and soups. I also like to use my version to make a fruity, fiery dipping sauce (see below) to serve with pork, fish, or prawns. The strength of the paste depends on the variety and quantity of chiles used. The chances are that this recipe, which I would describe as moderately hot, will merely tickle the palate of out-and-out chile freaks. But all you need do to make it more fiery is increase the amount of chiles, include more of their seeds (see below), or perhaps add one or two very hot little dried chiles.

Season: July to August. The big, platelike leaves of the nasturtium plant (Tropaeolum majus) are abundant throughout the summer and often well into the golden months of autumn. With their peppery flavor, they make the perfect base for a fiery pesto. Add a sprig or two of garden mint, a few golden marigold petals, and some spicy nasturtium seeds and you have a wonderful sauce to stir into pasta, swirl on soups, or just smear in a sandwich. Pick the leaves on a warm, dry day–ideally, earlier in the summer, before the caterpillars have decided to feast on them. Whenever I make pesto, I replace the traditional Parmesan with a hard goat’s cheese, matured for a year. It makes an excellent alternative to Parmesan in all kinds of dishes.

Season: Late September to October. The shapely rosehip is the fleshy fruit of the rose. The orange-red berries that appear in the autumn contain a crowd of creamy-white seeds protected by tiny irritant hairs, which is why they should never be eaten raw. Rosehips are rich in vitamins A and C and have long been used for making jams, jellies, wine, tea, and, of course, syrup. This recipe is based on one issued by the British Ministry of Defence during the Second World War when rosehips were gathered by volunteers. The syrup made from the fruit was fed to the nation’s children. Use this rosehip syrup mixed with hot water as a warming winter drink. I also love it drizzled neat over rice pudding or pancakes. Or try this recipe of Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s for a refreshing summer cocktail: pour 2 tablespoons of rosehip syrup into a tall glass. Add 1/4 cup of white rum and mix well. Add a few ice cubes and pour in about 2/3 cup of tart apple juice. Garnish with a sprig of mint and serve with a straw.