WITH THE RIGHT APPROACH, anyone can turn an average meal into an inspired one. That’s what this book offers: a straightforward way of cooking that makes your food more flavorful and your time at the market and in the kitchen more rewarding.
I call my approach “Brooklyn Rustic” because it mixes country simplicity with urban complexity. If you’re like me, you love the food that you’re familiar with, but you seek a little adventure in your life. My recipes show you how to begin with familiar ingredients and dishes and easily make them intriguing with the hint of something new, fresh, or different that’s often right under your nose. This is old-world cooking that comes to life with modern ingredients.
I cook this way in Brooklyn, but you can and should cook this food anywhere. These recipes are built on staples that are available nationwide and use simple techniques that anyone can master. (If you want proof in a single recipe, try my tomato salad here.) I tested them in my home kitchen using modest equipment, and backed those tests up with the experiences of friends and family.
I also include practical tips on approach, technique, and presentation to give you confidence, as well as essays about why I make the choices I do. Simple habits like shopping thoughtfully, taking a minute to finish a dish, or setting up your kitchen in a sensible way can make a big difference in your food and how much fun you have preparing it.
Because cooking and eating are so central to our lives, I also encourage you to think about the role of food in your world. For me, cooking the Brooklyn Rustic way actually means living the Brooklyn Rustic way: finding ways to listen to the rhythms of the natural world amid the tumult of a big city. That juxtaposition feeds me creatively and generates energy and ideas.
I’ve cooked in four-star kitchens and over campfires in the woods. What makes a great meal is not technique or formality. It’s the experience of sharing something handmade and witnessing the pleasure it brings. This is why I cook. With this book I return to the true purpose of preparing a meal: to fill your belly and to give something you created to people you love.
When I moved to the Prospect Heights neighborhood of Brooklyn in the mid-1990s, I thought Brooklyn was where you lived only if you couldn’t afford Manhattan, not a destination of its own. I was wrong. Brooklyn has always had an attitude of independence, and exploded with a community of artists, craftsmen, and chefs seeking relief from the formality and expense of Manhattan.
I landed here after traveling around as a culinary journeyman, living out of my backpack as I bounced from the city to the countryside. I loved how the beauty and tempo of bucolic life contrasted with the energy and diversity of the city. As a cook in Manhattan, I didn’t get to experience big skies and fresh air, but I soon discovered Brooklyn was a mash-up of those urban and rustic pleasures.
Around the same time, talented chefs began drawing attention to unique nooks on unheard-of avenues in Brooklyn. Untethered from high rents and demanding investors, they found the freedom to cook what they wanted. Farmers’ markets sprang up. Community and rooftop gardens sprouted in industrial neighborhoods. The pioneer spirit took root.
My moment came when the restaurant I was living above went up for sale. I knew it was time. (It had been a bodega with bulletproof glass surrounding the cash register a few years earlier.) I had opened restaurants before, but with deep-pocketed investors, veteran restaurateurs, and teams of experts. This time it had to be mom-and-pop style—personal and hands-on. It was a daunting undertaking. But one day, poking around the new space, I discovered an original tin ceiling from the turn of the century hidden under a cheap drop ceiling. It was perfectly preserved, and at that point I knew everything was going to be all right.
James opened on June 15, 2008. It is named after my great-grandfather, who was a chef at the turn of the twentieth century in New York, around the time our building was erected. We were busy from the first day. Guests felt all the hands-on attention my business partner, Deborah Williamson, and I put into James, and they seemed to like what we had done. It felt personal and genuine. That’s the reason why people cherish little corner neighborhood restaurants all over the world, and the reason why our kind of Brooklyn restaurant has become so popular.
Three months after we opened, Lehman Brothers filed for bankruptcy and business began to dwindle along with the economy. The most impressive dishes became the ones that weren’t selling. I realized, with Deborah’s help, that the kind of food I liked—the dishes that could be eaten frequently and enjoyed consistently—was selling the most, not the “special-occasion” dishes that I thought I had to cook.
As the economy spiraled downward, our real customers emerged. They wanted thoughtful, uncomplicated food made from quality ingredients and served in a comfortable atmosphere. To accommodate their tastes and wallets without skimping on quality, I had to ask myself hard questions. What if I use a less expensive cut of meat? Does this dish really need two sauces? Am I showcasing the ingredients or obscuring them?
My strategy shifted from what I should add to the plate to what I should take off.
Simpler food means fewer cooks, fewer ingredients, and lower costs. Fewer ingredients means less waste and a more efficient kitchen. We could charge less without sacrificing quality and have more money to buy better ingredients. It was a good scenario.
Many small businesses in Brooklyn grew with the same approach. Thoughtful, handmade products emerged from independent entrepreneurs who wanted to live their own lives and do things their own way. Everything from pickles to clothing appeared: handcrafted, sustainable, owner-operated, and personal. A diverse but definitive style was born, more of an attitude than a single specific approach. That’s Brooklyn Rustic, and it’s how I cook and live.
This way of cooking has taught me to embrace diversity and express my values through the choices I make. What we eat, where we shop, and how we cook are daily experiences that define who we are and what we believe. Witnessing and encouraging the beauty in our communities gives a reprieve from the stress of modern life. For me, it all starts with food. Respecting simplicity in ingredients and craftsmanship allows us to experience wonder at our surroundings—whatever and wherever they might be.