Producers to Look For
Makes 6 servings
Grüner veltliner (GROO-ner VELT-lee-ner) is among the best grapes of Austria and accounts for the plantings in more than 30 percent of the country’s vineyards. Grüner, as it’s often called, is also found in neighboring countries, such as the Czech Republic. At its simplest, grüner is stony and can smell of white pepper, green grass, and lime zest. At its best, grüner takes on a beautiful complexity where the fruit appears riper and richer (think pink grapefruit and white nectarines), and it has a waxy mouthfeel. It’s nearly always a high-acid wine with a refreshing tartness, which makes it fantastic with foods that have any richness, such as salmon and avocado. Some Austrian grüners will be labeled with the words Steinfeder, Federspiel, or Smaragd, indicating levels of ripeness and alcohol. We don’t often see Steinfeder-level wines in the United States, but they are considered the easiest drinking at less than 11% alcohol. Far more common are the Federspiel-level bottlings for everyday drinking and the Smaragd-level wines, which certainly are the richest and most powerful. You’ll surely find Austrian grüner, but do seek out versions from other Central and Eastern European countries.
This recipe is one of those magical wine and food moments. Separately, this wine and this rice bowl are tasty, but together they make each other ten times better. We wanted to jazz up the now-ubiquitous rice bowl with a floral and fragrant alternative, so we chose black rice (also marketed as Forbidden Rice), which cooks up with a snappy bite and a gorgeous hue. The salmon gets a quick soy marinade before the skins are baked to a crispy bacon texture. The fish is slow-roasted, and it’s all finished with that classic cucumber salad with sweetened rice vinegar dressing and creamy chunks of avocado.
2 cups black rice (also labeled as Forbidden Rice)
2½ cups water
2½ teaspoons sea salt
6 (4- to 5-ounce) skin-on wild salmon fillets, scaled (see Note)
1 tablespoon dry white wine
1½ teaspoons honey
1½ teaspoons soy sauce
¼ teaspoon toasted sesame oil, plus more for drizzling
⅓ cup unseasoned rice vinegar
1 tablespoon sugar
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1 English cucumber, quartered lengthwise and cut crosswise into ¼-inch-thick triangles
¼ red onion, thinly sliced crosswise and soaked in cold water for 10 minutes and drained
1 avocado, diced
¼ cup black or toasted white sesame seeds, or a combination
1 sheet toasted nori, cut with scissors into matchsticks
Preheat the oven to 450°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
Put the rice in a medium saucepan and add the water and 1½ teaspoons of the salt. Bring to a boil over high heat. Decrease the heat to low, cover, and cook until the water is absorbed, about 30 minutes. Set aside, still covered, for at least 5 minutes to finish steaming. The rice will keep warm like this for up to 30 minutes before serving.
Meanwhile, remove the salmon skins from each fillet (if it wasn’t done by your fishmonger) and scrape off any remaining bits of flesh. The goal is to have paper-thin, flesh-free skins that will get crispy in the oven.
In a medium bowl, whisk the wine, honey, soy sauce, and sesame oil to make a marinade. Dredge the skins in the marinade, allowing the excess to drip off. Spread the salmon skins on the prepared baking sheet, stretching them completely flat, with the scale side facing up. Add the salmon fillets to the marinade and turn each to coat all sides. Set the fillets aside to marinate for 20 to 30 minutes.
While the fillets marinate, bake the skins until they are crispy and deeply browned in spots and feel generally dehydrated, which will take anywhere from 5 to 10 minutes. They can get quite dark, but if it seems like they are starting to burn but still feel a little soft in the center, take them out; they will continue to crisp up as they cool, and even a little chewiness is okay. Peel the skins off the parchment paper and set them aside to cool and crisp. Discard the parchment paper.
Decrease the oven temperature to 250°F and put a fresh piece of parchment paper on the baking sheet.
After marinating, transfer the salmon fillets from the marinade to the baking sheet and roast until they reach about 120°F in the center for medium doneness, 8 to 12 minutes.
In a medium bowl, whisk the vinegar, sugar, pepper, and remaining 1 teaspoon salt to dissolve. Add the cucumber and onion and toss to coat. Add the avocado and toss gently, taking care not to mash it up.
Fluff the rice and divide it among shallow bowls. Place a salmon fillet in each bowl and top with the cucumber-avocado salad, plus some of the dressing from the bottom of the bowl. Crumble or tear a crispy salmon skin over each serving. Sprinkle each generously with sesame seeds, drizzle with a little toasted sesame oil, top with a pile of nori strips, and serve.
Note
If you aren’t comfortable skinning salmon fillets yourself, ask your fishmonger to do it, but keep the skins.
Makes 4 servings
Croatia has to be one of the most beautiful countries in the world. Its entire western border stares out at the aquamarine waters of the Adriatic Sea, dotted with more than one thousand islands. The northwest part of the country, known as Istria, butts up to Slovenia and is a literal stone’s throw from Italy. The northeast presses into Slovenia and Hungary, and the entire south, Dalmatia, spoons Bosnia-Herzegovina. It could not be more diverse. Wine is made in every part of the country, with the north being dominated by continental-climate whites and the south by Mediterranean reds. It’s as if the white grapes know their vineyards precariously overlook the ocean, and that the seafood bounty that comes from it feeds everyone along the coastline. You’ll find Croatian whites to be extremely refreshing, aromatic with vibrant stone fruit and white flowers, all balanced by a good dose of sea air that is almost always noticeable in the glass. These wines are meant to be enjoyed with seafood. Look for varieties such as malvazija, grk (gerk), and graševina (GRAH-sheh-vee-nah).
There’s something very fun about serving a delicate piece of white fish that has been cooked in a paper packet. Not only is it easy to put together and cleanup is a breeze, but who doesn’t love to tear into that steaming pouch to peek at what’s inside? Choose a quick-cooking piece of fish, such as cod, snapper, or sole—we went for cod here—surround it by vegetables that steam up nicely, a handful of briny clams, and herbs on their stems, and douse it all with good olive oil. Twist the parchment paper into a tight package that will trap the steam that cooks the fish. Slide those steamy packets onto plates and get them to the table swiftly so everyone can rip into them. The fish will be perfectly flaky, the veggies tender. The clams will have burst open, their juices making a delicious sauce that practically begs for a seaside white wine. And when it’s all devoured, just slide the empty parchment into the compost, toss your plates in the dishwasher, and finish off your bottle of wine. This recipe can easily be scaled up or down to accommodate the number of hungry people you’re cooking for.
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
10 ounces waxy potatoes, peeled and sliced ⅛ inch thick
Sea salt
Freshly ground black pepper
4 (4- to 6-ounce) skinless cod fillets
20 green beans, trimmed and halved lengthwise
12 cherry tomatoes, halved
24 small black olives, such as Niçoise
20 Manila clams, scrubbed
12 thyme sprigs
2 teaspoons minced garlic
1 lemon, cut into 4 wedges
Preheat the oven to 450°F.
Cut four 12½ by 16-inch sheets of parchment paper. Fold one of the sheets of parchment paper in half crosswise and open it up like a book. On one side, close to the crease, drizzle about ½ teaspoon of the oil and lay down about one-fourth of the potato slices, slightly overlapping them like scales, to cover an area a little larger than the size of one of the fish fillets. Season the potatoes with salt and pepper. Season a fish fillet generously with salt and pepper and place it atop the potatoes. Disperse one-fourth of each of the remaining ingredients (except for the lemon) around the fish fillet: 10 halves of the green beans, 6 tomato halves, 6 olives, 5 clams, 3 thyme sprigs, and ½ teaspoon of the garlic sprinkled over everything. Drizzle with 1 teaspoon oil.
To close the parchment packet, fold the other half of parchment over the fish. Starting at the top, leaving enough space within the packet to allow air flow around the ingredients, begin making small, very tight overlapping folds, working your way along the outside edge of the parchment to the bottom. Twist the bottom end and fold it under the packet to seal tightly.
Repeat to make 3 more packets, and place them all on a large rimmed baking sheet. Place the packets in the oven for 10 minutes. If they are sealed tightly, they will balloon up as they cook from the steam trapped inside.
Place a hot packet and a lemon wedge on each of 4 plates. Cut or rip them open at the table.
Producers to Look For
Makes 4 to 6 servings
Aligoté is the white grape of Burgundy you’ve possibly never heard of. While it may not be as prolific as chardonnay, there are stunning examples to be had, and they’re definitely worth finding. Burgundians love aligoté, and they keep it in their vineyards even though it doesn’t fetch the prices that chardonnay can, because it’s a more quaffable, lighter expression of Burgundy’s terroir. It has a citrus brightness to it and a light floral quality, and it doesn’t need to be aged to be delicious, unlike most white Burgundy. In general, aligoté will be labeled with the generic Bourgogne Aligoté AOP, although there is one specific town known for its perfect soils, Bouzeron, that gets to have its name on the bottle.
With its pay-attention-to-me acidity, aligoté is a no-brainer for our updated take on the fifties’ classic tuna noodle casserole. We took the flavors we love about the dish and spun it into a sophisticated pasta, coated with a creamy sauce and finished with crispy fried capers. The toasted walnuts offer a lovely crunchy bite that make a wonderful match with aligoté, and the flourish of parsley and Parmigiano take this from the nostalgia of your childhood to your next dinner.
Sea salt
1 pound linguine
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 (3.5-ounce) jar capers, rinsed and patted dry
4 cloves garlic, minced
¼ teaspoon red pepper flakes
¼ cup dry white wine
2 (6- to 7-ounce) cans best-quality tuna in olive oil, drained
½ cup heavy cream
½ cup finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup freshly grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1 cup chopped walnuts, toasted for 5 to 7 minutes (see Note, this page)
Bring a large pot of heavily salted water to a boil over high heat and add the linguine. Cook it 2 minutes less than called for on the package directions, to keep it just slightly firmer than al dente. Drain, reserving 1½ cups of the cooking liquid.
Warm the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the capers (they will spatter) and fry until they crisp and burst open, 2 to 3 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and use a slotted spoon to transfer the capers to a plate, reserving the oil in the pan.
Return the pan of oil to medium heat and add half of the garlic and all of the red pepper flakes. Cook until the garlic is golden, 1 to 2 minutes. Pour in the wine, bring to a simmer, and reduce by half, about 3 minutes. Add the tuna and cream and bring to a simmer, breaking up the tuna into chunks.
Add the drained pasta, the parsley, the remaining garlic, and several grinds of pepper and toss. Alternate adding the cheese and just enough of the pasta water to create a creamy sauce that coats the noodles. Stir in half of the walnuts.
Serve in warmed pasta bowls, topped with the remaining walnuts and the fried capers.
Makes 4 servings
Tempranillo is a natural pairing for piperade, with its rustic fruitiness and tomato-leaf notes. It’s an easy wine to find in shops and on wine lists, given that it’s the most widely planted grape in Spain. But tempranillo has its challenges: there are less-than-enjoyable styles made at huge industrial wineries, and nowadays it’s all too easy to find big-bodied versions from Rioja, Toro, and Ribera del Duero, all aged in American oak barrels, giving the wines toasty vanilla flavors and too much tannin—enough to erase the summery brightness of this piperade. But there are also the small-volume producers who make dynamic tempranillo that truly speaks to how and where it’s grown. They’re working with grapes grown all over the country, from vines planted in soils that range from sand to limestone, and are pushing the limits of what most consumers expect tempranillo to be.
The producers we suggest make a variety of wines that are mostly aged in stainless-steel or cement vats or older barrels, which lets the best of the grapes sing without the background noise of oak. And check out this added benefit: these types of tempranillo tend to be a steal because oak-aging, especially in new barrels, generally makes wines more expensive. You might be surprised at how fresh and vibrant tempranillo can be, especially if you’re accustomed to more modern versions. Be adventurous and look to Castilla y León, Penedès, and Valdepeñas for their versions of tempranillo that offer very different characteristics from those of the more popular Rioja.
We love eggs for dinner. Most of us have them around the house as part of our staple groceries, and they quickly and easily add richness to a dish. Eggs on toast are perfect for breakfast. But eggs over a summery stew of farmers’ market sweet peppers, onions, and fruity piment d’Espelette says dinner to us. Don’t cut corners on the peppers here—get a mix of sweet yellow, orange, and red peppers at the height of summer. Choose a selection of sizes and shapes so the piperade has varying texture, and definitely pass on green peppers, which give the stew an astringent, vegetal flavor.
2 pounds mixed sweet peppers, such as bell, Italian, pimento, and Jimmy Nardello, cored, seeded, and cut into ⅓-inch-thick slices or rings
1 large sweet onion, such as Walla Walla, halved and sliced ¼ inch thick
½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
4 cloves garlic, smashed
1 tablespoon piment d’Espelette, or sweet paprika, plus more for sprinkling
Kosher salt
1¼ pounds juicy ripe tomatoes, cored and diced
2 teaspoons sherry vinegar
8 large farm-fresh eggs
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
Crusty bread, for serving
Put the sweet peppers, onion, ¼ cup of the oil, the garlic, piment d’Espelette, and a few big pinches of salt in a 12-inch skillet or a Dutch oven. Partially cover and cook over medium heat, stirring rarely, until the peppers are tender and the onion just becomes translucent, 15 to 20 minutes.
Stir in the tomatoes and continue cooking, still partially covered and stirring rarely, until the peppers are quite tender but not mushy, and the tomatoes give up their juice to make a jammy sauce, 15 to 20 minutes more. Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the vinegar. Taste and adjust the seasoning; the piperade should be sweet, but with a hint of bright acidity from the vinegar. Cover and set aside momentarily while you fry the eggs. (The piperade will keep, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.)
Warm an 8-inch nonstick skillet over medium-high heat, then add 2 tablespoons oil. When it’s shimmering hot, crack in 4 of the eggs (they will spatter). The bottom of the whites will set almost on contact. When they do, sprinkle the eggs with salt and 1 tablespoon of the lemon juice and immediately cover the pan with a lid. Let the eggs cook for about 1 minute longer for molten yolks and crispy whites. Slide them out of the pan and onto a plate, and repeat to cook the remaining 4 eggs. Sprinkle the eggs with piment d’Espelette.
To serve, divide the piperade among 4 warm plates and top each with 2 of the fried eggs. Pass the bread at the table.
Producers to Look For
Makes 4 to 6 servings
Beaujolais is home to one of the greatest grapes on Earth, gamay. This thin-skinned, fruity variety had a long history of making bubblegum-flavored, soft wines that were drunk by the gallons in the seventies and eighties. Now, though, it’s easy to find gorgeous Beaujolais, still with a fruity foundation, but also with a certain seriousness and structure. The region sits just south of Burgundy in Eastern France, and while you can drink very inexpensive versions simply labeled Beaujolais or Beaujolais-Villages, we definitely think it’s worth spending just a tiny bit more to enjoy gamay from one of the ten crus. In other parts of France, the word cru identifies a specific vineyard, but in Beaujolais, cru refers to an entire village or area. North to south, the crus are Juliénas, Saint-Amour, Chénas, Moulin-à-Vent, Fleurie, Chiroubles, Morgon, Régnié, Cote de Brouilly, and Brouilly. Cru Beaujolais has all of the things necessary for a simple chicken dinner. It’s big on the fruit, but also on minerality, as the soils range from quartz to granite to clay, and whether more elegant or sturdy, the crus always make wines with an inherent smokiness and structure. If you’re feeling adventurous, grab a bottle from any of these places. If you like a wine with a bit more gutsy fruit and structure, choose a Morgon or Moulin-à-Vent, but if you fancy something more elegant, go for a Fleurie or Brouilly. Honestly, you won’t go wrong no matter which cru you choose.
Chicken and Beaujolais is hands down our favorite everyday dinner. As simple as roasting a chicken and pouring a glass of red wine can be, we’ve made it even simpler by putting it all on one baking sheet, popping it in the oven, and suggesting that you drink a glass of wine while everything cooks. A spatchcocked chicken sounds much more daunting than it is. Just cut the backbone from a whole chicken (or even easier, ask your butcher to do it for you) and press it flat. That’s it. Think of it like a mock rotisserie: all of the fatty, luscious chicken drippings are soaked up by creamy potatoes and tender green cabbage. Everything is seasoned with a smoky spice rub that perfectly complements a great bottle of Beaujolais.
1 (4- to 4½-pound) chicken, patted dry
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon kosher salt
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 cloves garlic, finely grated
1 tablespoon dried sage
1 tablespoon dry mustard
1 tablespoon onion powder
1 tablespoon smoked paprika
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, plus more for sprinkling
1 (2-pound) green cabbage, halved, cored, and cut into 12 wedges
1½ pounds Yukon gold potatoes, cut into 1-inch chunks
1 yellow onion, cut into ¾-inch chunks
3 bay leaves, preferably fresh
At least 1 hour and up to 3 days before roasting, set the chicken on a cutting board and, starting at the neck, use poultry shears or a chef’s knife to cut out the backbone, snipping through the ribs on each side. Lay the bird breast-side down and press on each flank to flatten it. Season the chicken all over with 2½ teaspoons of the salt, cover, and refrigerate, breast-side up, for up to 3 days, or set it aside at room temperature if it will be roasted within 1 hour.
Preheat the oven to 450°F.
In a small bowl, mix the oil, garlic, sage, dry mustard, onion powder, paprika, and black pepper. Rub half of this mixture on the chicken, coating all sides and being sure to get under the folds of the wings and legs and in all crevasses. Tuck the wing tips behind the bird’s shoulders.
Arrange the cabbage wedges in a single layer on a large rimmed baking sheet and season with ½ teaspoon salt. Toss the potatoes, onion, and bay leaves with the remaining half of the spice rub, remaining 1 teaspoon salt, and several grinds of pepper. Spread the potatoes and onion over and around the cabbage. Place the chicken, breast-side up, over the vegetables, put the pan in the oven, and immediately decrease the temperature to 375°F. Roast until an instant-read thermometer inserted in the thickest part of each breast registers 150°F, 45 to 55 minutes.
Transfer the chicken to a carving board to rest for about 10 minutes. Toss the roasted vegetables on the baking sheet to coat them in the chicken drippings and return the pan to the oven to continue cooking while the bird rests.
After 10 minutes, carve the chicken into 10 pieces: 2 drumsticks, 2 thighs, 2 wings, and 2 breasts each halved crosswise. Pile the roasted vegetables on a platter, arrange the chicken pieces on top, and serve.
Makes 6 servings
Piedmontese barbera instantly becomes this dish’s best friend, with its high-toned red fruits and bright acidity to complement the comforting richness of the risotto. Barbera, one of the great grapes of Northern Italy, has become among the most recognizable and easy-to-find wines today, thanks to its inexpensiveness and proliferation in growing regions outside of Piedmont. This is a great pairing because barbera is just so drinkable. It offers what we most enjoy in a good bottle of wine: balance.
The marriage of these humble dishes may seem bizarre at first, but reimagine them this way: replace the boxed chicken broth from your everyday risotto recipe with homemade beef broth spiked with vibrant beets. Stir the rice to creamy perfection, toss in some toasted caraway seeds, and finish with a dash of vinegar for that borscht sourness. You’ll have a bowl of gorgeous, ruby-red risotto, flecked with tender shreds of beef and finished with a dollop of sour cream. What’s not to love?
Borscht
1 pound beef chuck, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 2-inch chunks
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
½ onion, cut into 2-inch chunks
1 large carrot, cut into 2-inch chunks
1 rib celery, cut into 2-inch segments
¼ cup dry red wine
12 ounces small red beets, tops trimmed, scrubbed, and peeled
1 quart beef broth
1 bay leaf
2 cups water
Risotto
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
⅓ cup finely diced yellow onion
1 teaspoon caraway seeds, coarsely crushed
2¼ cups arborio rice
1 cup dry red wine
Hot water, as needed
1½ teaspoons red wine vinegar
½ teaspoon kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Sour cream, for serving
Dill fronds, for serving
To make the borscht: Season the beef with 1 teaspoon salt and several grinds of pepper. In a Dutch oven, warm the oil over medium-high heat. Sear the beef, working in batches if needed, until a deep crust forms on all sides, 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer the seared beef to a plate and set aside.
Add the onion, carrot, and celery to the rendered fat and cook until the vegetables start to take on some color, about 5 minutes. Pour in the wine and scrape up the bits from the bottom of the pan. Add the beef and any accumulated juices, the beets, beef broth, bay leaf, 1 teaspoon salt, and the water. Increase the heat and bring to a boil, then decrease the heat to maintain a gentle simmer, cover, and stew until the beets are fork-tender in the center and the beef shreds easily, 2 to 2½ hours.
Transfer the beef and beets to a cutting board. When cool enough to handle, shred the beef using two forks and cut the beets into ¼-inch dice; set both aside. Strain the borscht broth into a saucepan, discarding the solids. Set aside to cool, skimming and discarding the fat as it rises to the surface; this will be your broth for cooking the risotto. (The beets, beef, and broth will keep, in separate covered containers, in the refrigerator for up to 4 days.)
To make the risotto: Set the saucepan of borscht broth over low heat. Melt the butter in a large, heavy skillet over medium heat. Add the onion and caraway seeds to the melted butter and cook until soft and fragrant, about 5 minutes. Add the rice, stirring to coat, and toast for about 2 minutes. Pour in the wine and simmer until it’s absorbed, about 1 minute. Begin adding the warm broth in 2-cup increments, maintaining a gentle simmer and stirring often (not constantly!). Keep adding broth and simmering until the rice becomes plump and creamy but still has a chewy bite left to it, about 20 minutes. Begin adding hot water once all the broth has been used. The risotto should drink up about 6 cups of liquid total, while remaining a little loose and saucy. If it seems too thick, stir in one more splash of water just before serving. Stir in the shredded beef, diced beets, and vinegar and season with the salt and pepper.
Serve the risotto in warm shallow bowls, topped with a dollop of sour cream and a smattering of dill fronds.
Makes 6 servings
Dolcetto is the quiet little sister of the Northern Italy wine family, often thought of as easy-drinking, not-so-serious wine. And while we can’t totally argue with that description, there are some delicious, rustic bottlings that really go the distance with dishes such as this crostata. Dolcetto has softer tannins, a range of blue- and black-berried fruits, and good acidity, all of which pair really nicely with both a savory crostata and a weeknight dinner. If possible, ask your wine steward for an earthier-style dolcetto, as we found the funky layers of buckwheat in the crust and honey were truly elevated with a wine that wasn’t too fruity.
You could think of a savory crostata as a grown-up pizza of sorts. The crust is easy to make yet unbelievably flaky; the filling can be any combination of cheese, veggies, and meat; and it all comes together in a quick bake and lunch, brunch, or dinner is served. This is our Italian version, pairing fennel-flecked pork sausage with sweet delicata squash, creamy ricotta, oregano, and assertive buckwheat honey.
Crust
¾ cup cold unsalted butter
1 cup all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
½ cup buckwheat flour
¼ teaspoon kosher salt
⅓ cup ice-cold water
Filling
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
8 ounces mild Italian bulk sausage or links, casings removed
1 teaspoon fennel seeds, coarsely crushed
1 (12-ounce) delicata squash, halved, seeded, and thinly sliced
¾ teaspoon kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1 pound whole-milk ricotta
1 tablespoon chopped fresh oregano
1 tablespoon buckwheat honey, plus more for drizzling
1 large egg, beaten
Flaky sea salt
Oregano leaves, for garnish
To make the crust: Cube the butter, put it in a small bowl, and stick it in the freezer until firm and really cold, about 10 minutes. In a food processor, pulse the chilled butter with both flours and the kosher salt until no butter chunks are larger than the size of a pea. Add the water and process just until the dough comes together in a shaggy mass.
Line a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper. Transfer the dough to a lightly floured countertop and gather and pat it into a smooth ball. Using a floured rolling pin, roll it out to a 15-inch circle, rotating it occasionally to be sure it isn’t sticking, and dusting with additional flour as needed. Roll the dough up loosely onto the rolling pin and unroll it onto the baking sheet. Loosely fold in any overhanging edges, cover with plastic wrap, and place the dough in the refrigerator until cold and firm, about 20 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 400°F.
To make the filling: Warm the oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the sausage and fennel seeds and cook until the meat is browned, about 5 minutes. Set the pan off the heat and stir in the squash, ½ teaspoon of the kosher salt, and a few grinds of pepper, coating it in the fat and bits of pork and spices.
In a medium bowl, stir the ricotta with the oregano, honey, and remaining ¼ teaspoon kosher salt.
Remove the chilled dough from the fridge. Spread the ricotta mixture in the center of the dough, leaving a 2-inch border. Scatter the squash-sausage mixture in an even layer over the ricotta. Fold the edges of dough over the filling, overlapping every 4 inches or so to create an evenly pleated crust. Brush the crust lightly with some of the beaten egg and sprinkle generously with flaky salt.
Bake the crostata until nicely browned and crisp, 40 to 45 minutes. Remove it from the oven and immediately drizzle generously with honey. Scatter oregano leaves over the filling and cut the crostata into wedges to serve.
Store, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 2 days. Reheat in a 350°F oven until crisp.
Makes 6 to 8 servings
Here, Texas terrain meets Italian terroir. A humble dish like all-American chili needs a fruity, deep red wine with enough structure to stand up to lamb and warm spices. Perhaps nothing better fits that description than the rustic aglianico grape of Campania and Basilicata in Southern Italy. Most of Italy’s “noble” grapes, like nebbiolo and barbera, are located in the northern reaches of the country. Even sangiovese, the king of Tuscany, is out of the far reaches of the south. Southern Italy used to be considered wild and off the radar and paid little attention to its wines, except for aglianico, which has been, and remains, the south’s stalwart grape variety. It’s full of brambly forest fruits and in the only DOCG noted for aglianico, called Taurasi, the wines are tannic and broad and age incredibly well. They have acidity to balance their meatiness, too, which is a necessity for pairing with food. If you pick up a bottle of Taurasi, we recommend decanting it for about an hour. A little air will do wonders for a tannic, muscular wine, opening it to open up so that you can enjoy it sooner.
This chili is our take on the meat-and-bean stew. We’ve swapped ground lamb for beef and added cubes of comforting butternut squash to soak up the chili spice.
2 teaspoons extra-virgin olive oil
1¼ pounds ground lamb
1 yellow onion, diced
2 large poblano chiles, seeded and chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 tablespoons chili powder
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 teaspoons dried oregano
1 cup dry red wine
1 (28-ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes
2 cups low-sodium beef broth
½ small butternut squash (about 1¼ pounds), peeled, seeded, and cut into ½-inch cubes
1 (14-ounce) can black beans, drained
1 (14-ounce) can pinto beans, drained
2 teaspoons kosher salt, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
Sour cream, for garnish
Toasted pumpkin seeds, for garnish
In a large heavy pot, warm the oil over medium-high heat. Add the lamb and break it up into small chunks. Stir in the onion, poblanos, and garlic and cook until the excess liquid evaporates, the lamb is browned, and the vegetables are soft, 10 to 15 minutes.
Drain off most of the fat and return the pan to the heat. Stir in the chili powder, cumin, and oregano and cook for about 30 seconds. Pour in the wine and scrape up any bits from the bottom of the pot. Simmer until it’s reduced by about half, 2 to 3 minutes. Stir in the tomatoes and their juices, breaking them up a bit with a wooden spoon. Pour in the broth, then add the squash, all the beans, salt, and several grinds of pepper. Bring it to a boil, then decrease the heat to maintain a gentle simmer and cook until the squash is tender when pierced with a fork and the chili thickens slightly, about 25 minutes. For a thicker chili, leave the pot uncovered, or partially cover when it reaches your desired consistency. Taste and adjust the seasoning. Serve the chili topped with sour cream and pumpkin seeds.
Producers to Look For
Makes 4 to 6 servings
The universe of sherry has been somewhat shrouded in mystery for many, many years, although its place in the history of wine is as important as port, Champagne, and Bordeaux. Grown and produced only around Jerez de la Frontera, Sanlúcar de Barrameda, and El Puerto de Santa María in southwestern Spain’s famed “Sherry Triangle,” sherry is singular in its ability to express the place it comes from. The unique salty and oxidative flavors come from a combination of the chalky albariza soil, the warm sea breezes off the Atlantic Ocean, and flor, the special yeast veil that grows over certain styles of sherry. It is one of the world’s great drinking wines, gaining popularity in recent years for its ability to pair with everything from a hunk of good cheese to Japanese food.
Oloroso is the older, oxidized sister of the sherry family. Unlike fresh fino and manzanilla sherries and briny amontillado, oloroso is all about notes of toasted nuts, tobacco, and salty caramel. After some time under flor the base sherry is fortified, bumping its alcohol above 17%, creating an environment where the yeast veil can’t survive. The wine is left to age without flor, but with some space in the top of the barrel where it comes into contact with air. As time passes, the wine evaporates in small amounts, it concentrates, and it oxidizes ever so perfectly. While certainly a dry wine, the richness of oloroso sherry can give hints of dried fruit. We think it makes the perfect partner for sweet onions cooked into a luxurious soup, topped with hearty torn bread and umami-rich Stilton. Both are complex and delicious in the most complementary way. It’s exactly what you want in a pairing.
4½ pounds mixed onions, such as 2 large yellow, 2 large red, and 2 large sweet onions, halved and thinly sliced from root to stem
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
¼ cup oloroso sherry
6 cups low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth (homemade would be great)
6 to 8 thyme sprigs
1 tablespoon kosher salt, or to taste
¾ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper, or to taste
2 teaspoons sherry vinegar
3 cups bite-size pieces of stale whole-grain country bread
4 ounces Stilton blue cheese, thinly sliced by your cheesemonger, or very coarsely crumbled
Put the onions, oil, and butter in a stockpot set over medium heat and toss them all together. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions are meltingly soft and deeply caramelized, 1 to 1½ hours. As they start to caramelize, they’ll begin sticking to the bottom of the pot, which is good, but be sure to scrape it often and decrease the heat as needed to prevent burning.
When the onions are ready, pour in the sherry and deglaze the pot, scraping up any browned bits. Simmer over medium heat until the sherry is mostly evaporated, 2 to 3 minutes. Stir in the broth, thyme, salt, and pepper. Decrease the heat, partially cover, and cook at a gentle simmer until the flavors marry, 20 to 25 minutes. Stir in the vinegar and wait about 1 minute, then taste and adjust the seasoning. (The soup will keep, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. It can be frozen for up to 6 months.)
Divide the hot soup among oven-safe crocks or bowls. Add a handful of the bread chunks to each and gently push them down so they’re fully submerged but still at the top of the soup. Lay a slice of cheese (or a handful of crumbles) over the top. Broil until melted, bubbly, and browned in spots, about 2 minutes, then serve.
The history of Sicilian wine is fraught with everything from interloping mafia to massive production of bianca carta—juice that tasted as plain and boring as white paper looks. Marsala was often made with the addition of caramel coloring. Winery cooperatives with more than two thousand members owned 5 percent of Sicily’s vineyards, and the island was a major contributor to Europe’s bulk-wine market. But there are many heroes in Sicily’s wine story: those who have worked tirelessly to celebrate the diversity of the island’s terroir and to reshape what we know as Sicilian wine today. It is now possible to drink tremendously well-made wine from the mainland as well as the beautiful satellite islands of Pantelleria and Lipari. The western side of Sicily is known for more international varieties, such as cabernet sauvignon and chardonnay, which don’t really speak to the unique history and soils of the area, so keep an eye out for the native varieties instead.
The wine producers we’ve suggested for our Sunday Sauce are all revolutionaries in one way or another, and represent three distinctive parts of Sicily: the greenest and coldest corner that climbs over 3,500 feet up Mount Etna is home to nerello mascalese (neh-ray-LO mah-scah-LAY-zsay), a grape that is at once light and bright as well as powerfully tannic. The rocky outcroppings of Palermo and its surroundings have given birth to the peppery fruitiness of inky perricone (pear-ih-COH-nay). And the idyllic country roads of the southwest nestle up to vineyards teeming with lithe, floral frappato and juicy nero d’avola. Although part of Italy, Sicily has a culture and history all its own, being that it sits so close to North Africa, and is still considered “wild” by many who love the island. The wines here are undoubtedly Italian, with their rusticity and boldness, but they are also distinctively different from anything else in the world with their off-the-beaten-path flavors. While there are tremendous white wines made across the expanse of Sicily, a platter of rich polenta topped with meltingly tender meat calls for nothing other than a parade of red wines from every corner of the island.
Our version of the Sicilian-American Sunday Sauce is a dramatic feast fit for Don Corleone himself. Hand-rolled beef braciole (bra-JOAL), spicy Italian sausages, and pork riblets simmer away in a pot of garlic-scented red sauce until they’re fall-apart tender and ready to be scooped onto a heap of soft polenta. Start with a platter of antipasti, including hot soppressata, olives, pepperoncini, marinated artichoke hearts, caponata, and cheeses like buffalo mozzarella and sliced caciocavallo. Toss together a chopped Italian salad and you have a seriously delicious Sunday supper.
Makes 8 to 10 servings
Braciole
10 (¼-inch-thick) slices beef top round (cut on a meat slicer by your butcher)
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
4 cloves garlic, minced
⅓ cup finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
10 slices provolone cheese
Sauce
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
1 head garlic, separated into cloves, smashed, and peeled
5 hot Italian sausages, halved crosswise
2 racks (2 pounds) baby back pork ribs, cut into individual ribs or 2-rib sections
3 (28-ounce) cans whole peeled tomatoes, partially crushed with your hands
½ teaspoons red pepper flakes
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
Polenta
9 cups water
Kosher salt
2½ cups polenta or coarse cornmeal
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
4 ounces finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
About 20 basil leaves
2 ounces finely grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
To make the braciole: One at a time, place the beef slices between 2 large sheets of plastic wrap. Using a meat mallet or rolling pin, lightly pound the beef to an even thickness, just a little thicker than ⅛ inch. Season both sides of the beef slices with salt and pepper. Sprinkle one side of each with the garlic and parsley and divide the cheese among the short ends. Roll up from one short end to the other, tucking in the sides to prevent the cheese from melting out during cooking. Tie with twine crosswise at each end and once lengthwise. Set aside.
To make the sauce: Set a large rimmed baking sheet next to your stove. In a large Dutch oven (at least 6½ quarts), warm the oil over medium-low heat. Add the garlic and cook until golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes. Transfer the garlic to the baking sheet. Add the sausages to the Dutch oven and sear until deeply browned, 4 to 5 minutes per side. While cooking the meat, adjust the heat as needed to prevent burning, but keep it hot enough to develop a rich brown color. Transfer the sausages to the baking sheet with the garlic. Add the ribs to the pot, in two batches if needed, and sear until deeply browned, 4 to 5 minutes per side. Transfer the ribs to the baking sheet with the sausages and garlic. Finally, add the braciole, again working in batches if needed; it’s okay if they fit snugly as long as they’re in one layer. Sear the braciole until deeply browned, 4 to 5 minutes per side. Transfer the braciole to the baking sheet with the other meats and garlic.
Now add the tomatoes and red pepper flakes and return the cooked garlic to the pot. Bring it to a simmer over medium-high heat, scraping the bottom to release all the meaty bits. Season with a few big pinches of salt and several grinds of pepper.
Add the braciole and ribs back to the pot, nestling them into the sauce, along with any accumulated juices from the baking sheet. Partially cover and cook at a gentle simmer for 1½ hours. Add the sausages and continue simmering, partially covered, until the braciole is exceptionally tender and the meat easily shreds, the ribs are falling-off-the-bone tender, the sausages are fully cooked, and the sauce is full of amazing flavor, 30 minutes to 1 hour more. (The sauce will keep, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.)
To make the polenta: In a 3-quart heavy-bottomed pot, bring the water with several big pinches of salt to a boil over high heat. Slowly pour in the polenta while whisking. Bring it to a simmer, whisking often. Decrease the heat to maintain a simmer and cook until the polenta begins to spit, about 15 minutes. Decrease the heat and continue cooking, stirring and scraping the bottom often with a sturdy wooden spoon, until the polenta is tender and pulls away from the sides of the pot, 45 minutes to 1 hour. You’re looking for it to be very thick and creamy, but not too stiff and dry. (If the polenta is too firm at any stage of cooking, add a little more water.) When it’s at a good consistency, stir in the butter and Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese. Taste and adjust the seasoning.
Just before serving, stir the basil leaves into the sauce and meat and allow them to wilt in, about 5 minutes. Pour the polenta into a very large, shallow serving bowl. Allow it to set up, about 1 minute, then make a giant well in the center and spoon in the meat and some of the sauce. Present your festa Siciliana with the remaining sauce and Parmigiano at the table.
