Producers to Look For
Makes 6 to 8 servings
Chicken and chardonnay may very well be the greatest wine pairing in the history of food and wine being consumed together. What’s more, chicken, Dijon mustard, and chardonnay are like a rogue ménage à trois, which makes sense since Dijon comes from…Dijon, as in Burgundy, as in one of the most significant places in the world for chardonnay and chicken. So, how can this match-up be bad? It can’t. But do look for white Burgundy that isn’t overtly oaky; a little oak can go a long way with the chardonnay grape, giving it body and texture without making it taste like a two-by-four. Keep in mind that you can find extremely delicious, affordable white Burgundy by looking for “village” wines from Mâcon, for example, or wines simply labeled Bourgogne, and avoiding Premier Cru or Grand Cru bottlings. Unless, of course, you like the idea of a lowbrow dish with a highbrow wine as much as we do.
Before you think we’re crazy for including a recipe for chicken pot pie that doesn’t have a bottom crust, allow us to explain. This is a rustic pie loaded with chunks of juicy chicken, fragrant celery root, and ruffly mustard greens, all packed into a cast-iron skillet and designed to feed a small crowd. We like the layers of mustard flavor, using both the condiment and the greens, while the buttery crust begs for another sip of crisp white Burgundy. It’s a family-style meal guaranteed to earn you some serious ooohs and ahhhs as you pull it from the oven. The sauce will be bubbling, the deeply golden crust will be crackly, and your house will smell like Grandma came to make dinner, with lots of butter. Simply put, this pot pie is so delicious that no one will ever miss a bottom crust.
Crust
2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
½ teaspoon kosher salt
13 tablespoons cold unsalted butter, cubed
6 tablespoons sour cream
6 tablespoons ice water
1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
2½ pounds bone-in, skin-on chicken breasts and thighs, patted dry
3½ teaspoons kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil, plus more as needed
1½ pounds cremini mushrooms, quartered
¼ cup dry white wine
1 large leek, white and light green parts, halved lengthwise and sliced
1 large yellow onion, diced
3½ cups low-sodium chicken broth
½ cup sour cream
1½ tablespoons Dijon mustard
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
1 bay leaf
6 tablespoons all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
1 small (about 12 ounces) celery root, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes
1 bunch (about 8 ounces) mustard greens, thick stems removed, leaves and tender stems cut crosswise into ½-inch strips
1 large egg
1 teaspoon water
Flaky sea salt, for topping
To make the crust: In a large bowl, whisk the flour and kosher salt. Using your fingertips, work the butter into the flour mixture until it looks mealy, with no pieces larger than the size of a pea. In a small bowl, whisk the sour cream, ice water, and vinegar. Add the sour cream mixture to the flour mixture. Mix with a fork to combine until a shaggy mass forms. Dump the mixture out onto a countertop and press and pat it together to form a ball, dusting with flour as needed if it’s sticky. Press it into a smooth disk about 1 inch thick. Wrap the disk tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate until well chilled, at least 1 hour. The dough can be made up to 2 days in advance and kept in the refrigerator.
Season the chicken pieces all over with 1½ teaspoons of the salt and several grinds of pepper. Warm 2 tablespoons of the oil in a 12-inch heavy skillet (preferably cast-iron) over medium-high heat. Brown the chicken, working in two batches, if needed, until golden and crisp on both sides, 10 to 15 minutes total. Transfer the chicken to a plate and set aside. Add the mushrooms to the remaining fat in the pan and cook until they are deeply browned and kind of crusty at the edges, 10 to 12 minutes. Pour in the wine and scrape the bits up from the bottom of the pan. Season with ½ teaspoon salt and a few grinds of pepper. Transfer the mushrooms to a bowl and set aside.
With the pan still over medium-high heat, add the remaining 2 tablespoons oil and the leek and onion. Season with ½ teaspoon salt and cook until softened and lightly browned, 6 to 8 minutes. Stir in the broth, sour cream, Dijon mustard, thyme, bay leaf, and remaining 1 teaspoon salt and bring to a simmer. Nestle the browned chicken and juices into the sauce, cover, and gently simmer until the chicken is cooked through and shreddable, about 30 minutes. Transfer the chicken to a cutting board and discard the bay leaf. Set the pan of sauce aside until the fat rises to the surface, about 20 minutes.
Preheat the oven to 425°F with a rack positioned in the middle.
When the chicken is cool enough to handle, use two forks to shred it into large bite-size pieces, discarding the skin and bones. Skim the chicken fat from the sauce using a wide spoon and reserve it. Measure the fat and add enough additional olive oil to equal a total of ¼ cup. In a medium bowl, use a fork to mix the fat with the flour until a cohesive paste forms. Pour in a ladleful of the warm sauce and whisk until smooth with no lumps. Now whisk in another ladleful to loosen the paste and then set aside.
Bring the pan of sauce to a simmer over medium-high heat. Stir in the celery root, then add the mustard greens a handful at a time, tossing the greens into the sauce to wilt. Stir in the fat-flour paste, followed by the cooked mushrooms and pulled chicken and any juices. Bring to a gentle simmer as the mixture thickens. Taste and adjust the seasoning. (The filling can be made up to 2 days in advance; rewarm before continuing with the recipe.)
In a small bowl, whisk together the egg and water to make an egg wash. On a lightly floured surface, roll out the dough to a large circle that is wide enough to cover the pan with about 1 inch of overhang on all sides. Brush the outside edges of the pan with some of the egg wash and place the dough over the top, pressing gently to adhere it to the egg wash. Working quickly, so the dough doesn’t melt into the warm filling, cut a few 1-inch slits in the dough for venting and brush the top and edges with the remaining egg wash. Sprinkle the crust generously with flaky salt. Bake until the crust is a rich golden brown and flaky and you can see that the filling is bubbling through the vent holes, about 30 minutes.
Remove the pot pie from the oven and set aside to rest for at least 5 minutes. It will stay warm for about 30 minutes before serving.
Serve the pot pie in warm shallow bowls, scooping out spoonfuls of the filling, along with some of the crust along the edges of the pan.
Store, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 1 day. Reheat in a 350°F oven until hot and bubbling, 30 to 45 minutes.
Makes 4 servings
Orange wine, aka amber wine, aka skin-contact white wine, is, without a doubt, some of the most interesting (and delicious) wine on the planet. With flavors of overripe autumn apples and pears, sun-baked hay, toasted nuts, and wild herbs, orange wines are a touch like cider, quite savory, and very special. Their history goes back thousands of years to our friends in the Republic of Georgia, who took whole clusters of white grapes, put them into qvevri (underground clay vessels), and left everything to macerate and ferment. The juice that was pulled from the qvevri had a distinctive deep amber color that came from long months of the juice and skins hanging out together. Think of them as white wines made like a red wine: white grape skins have color, tannin, and texture, too, so if you leave them in contact with the juice, you’re bound to end up with something much more complex than a typical white wine. There are a wide variety of orange wines made throughout Italy, concentrated in Friuli, which shares a border with Slovenia, also known for its beautiful skin-contact whites. Georgia, of course, has maintained its tradition of making amber wines for the past four thousand years. France, Spain, the United States, and Australia also boast a handful of exceptional orange wines. We encourage you to seek out these wines and drink them with lots of different savory foods. They go well with grilled meats, sauces, and umami-rich foods like wild mushrooms and aged hard cheeses. Orange wines can be challenging to drink on their own; they taste entirely different when enjoyed with food. Even just a simple wedge of cheese will do in a pinch. We like to serve orange wine somewhere between completely chilled and room temperature, and a decanter will be your friend. Allowing your orange wine to really open up will be a much better experience than drinking it straight from the bottle.
Given that porcini mushrooms push the savory and umami buttons, we decided to stew them into a dreamy, soul-satisfying stroganoff. Our sauce is rich in shallots, garlic, and thyme, but also uses fresh porcini as well as porcini powder to accentuate the mushroominess. The powder is available at many specialty stores, but it’s also very simple to make at home: just buzz a handful of dried porcinis to a fine powder in a food processor. It not only amps up the porcini flavor, creating layers and depth in the final dish, but it also acts as a thickener for the sauce. You could substitute all-purpose flour, but you’ll be missing out on that serious kick of earthy, mushroomy goodness. Fresh porcinis come into season in the fall, which makes this the ultimate cozy stew to coat a bowl of old-school egg noodles.
¼ cup unsalted butter
4 ounces shallots, thinly sliced
3 cloves garlic, thinly sliced
2 pounds fresh porcini mushrooms, cut into bite-size chunks
2 tablespoons porcini mushroom powder or 1 tablespoon all-purpose flour (if you must substitute)
½ cup orange wine or dry white wine
1 cup mushroom or vegetable broth
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
2 teaspoons kosher salt, or to taste
Freshly ground black pepper
½ cup crème fraîche or sour cream
¼ cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley, plus more for garnish
12 ounces extra-wide or wide egg noodles
Melt the butter in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the shallots and garlic and cook until lightly browned, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the mushrooms and cook, stirring, until they have softened and released most of their liquid, then turned nicely brown, 5 to 8 minutes. Add the mushroom powder and stir it into the mixture. Pour in the wine and cook until it’s mostly absorbed, scraping the bottom and sides of the pan, about 1 minute. Add the broth, thyme, salt, and several grinds of pepper and bring to a simmer. Allow the sauce to gently simmer until thickened slightly, 2 to 3 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and stir in ¼ cup of the crème fraîche or sour cream and the parsley. Taste and adjust the seasoning.
Meanwhile, bring a large pot of water to a boil over high heat, season generously with salt, and stir in the noodles. Cook the noodles, stirring occasionally, until al dente according to the package instructions. Drain, reserving about ½ cup of the cooking water.
Add the noodles to the sauce and toss to combine. Warm briefly over low heat to blend the flavors, adding just enough of the cooking water to loosen the sauce and coat the noodles. Serve in warm bowls, topped with a dollop of the remaining crème fraîche and a sprinkling of parsley.
Makes 6 to 8 servings
It’s nearly impossible to encapsulate one of the world’s undisputed great wine regions in a paragraph or two. So, we’ll give you the abridged version. Burgundy is the home of pinot noir and chardonnay, and is the place that most people look to for benchmark wines made from those grapes. Sitting in Eastern France running south from the city of Dijon to the village of Mâcon, Burgundy is full of bucolic rolling hills, quaint villages, and gently sloping vineyards as far as the eye can see. Soils are mostly limestone based, with some clay and small stones, and evidence of sea creatures from millions of years ago can be found in many vineyards. There are four main parts of Burgundy (excluding Chablis), including the Côte de Nuits, heralded for its pinot noir, the Côte de Beaune, celebrated for chardonnay, the Côte Chalonnaise, for less expensive reds and whites, and the Mâconnais, known for its affordable and beautiful chardonnay. Some of the most expensive wines on the planet come from the grand cru vineyards dotted along the Côte de Nuits and Côte de Beaune, and those are probably out of reach for a harvest dinner of stuffed pumpkin. Instead, look for more reasonably priced red Burgundy labeled as Bourgogne AOP, or for village-labeled reds from the Côte Chalonnaise. Of course, if you feel like splurging, or you have some red Burgundy aging away in your cellar, by all means, go for it. Think about these wines as “feminine” pinot noirs with bright cherry, dry summer dust, and mushroom aromatics. No jammy, big New World pinot flavors here.
A giant stuffed pumpkin is a fantastic conversation piece, and so much fun to serve for a gathering of friends on a chilly fall evening. After watching an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown in which famed chef Daniel Boulud roasted a whole stuffed pumpkin in a wood-burning oven on his family’s farm in Burgundy, Andrea was determined to create this recipe. She served it with copious bottles of red Burgundy for a birthday celebration, and we dare say the pumpkin was the star of the evening. It would make an excellent vegetarian centerpiece on the Thanksgiving table, too. You’ll want to find a big heirloom pumpkin, which will roast up with much more flavor than a plain orange jack-o’-lantern style. The stuffing is a bit like a savory bread pudding, with multiple layers of crusty country bread, sautéed mushrooms and kale, nutty alpine cheese, and warm spices. You’ll press everything into the squash, cover it with its lid, and let it roast until the pumpkin starts to slump just a tiny bit and the stuffing is melty and steaming. Carry it to the table and scoop the filling and sweet flesh right from the pumpkin. Your house will smell so good that your neighbors will be wondering what’s going on, so you should probably have a little extra Burgundy on hand.
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for rubbing
8 ounces wild mushrooms, torn into bite-size pieces
2 cloves garlic, minced
¼ cup water
1 large bunch kale, stemmed and coarsely chopped
3½ teaspoons kosher salt
1 (11- to 12-pound) pumpkin, such as Long Island Cheese or Cinderella, or a Sweet Meat squash
1¼ cups heavy cream
1¼ cups milk
2 teaspoons sweet paprika
½ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
½ loaf of levain bread, or crusty sourdough, sliced and toasted
12 ounces Comté or Gruyère cheese, or a combination, grated
3 tablespoons thinly sliced fresh chives
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a baking sheet with aluminum foil.
Warm the oil in a large, deep skillet or wide saucepan over medium-high heat. Add the mushrooms and cook until tender and beginning to brown, 5 to 6 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook 1 minute more. Pour in the water, then add the kale and ½ teaspoon of the salt. Use tongs to toss the leaves into the mixture. Cover and cook, stirring occasionally, until the kale is wilted and just tender, 5 to 7 minutes. Remove the cover and continue cooking until any liquid in the bottom of the pan is evaporated, 1 to 2 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat and set aside, uncovered, to cool slightly.
Cut a cap off the top of the pumpkin that gives a large enough opening to fill it, 8 to 10 inches in diameter. Scoop out and discard the interior stringy bits and seeds. Place the pumpkin on the prepared baking sheet and rub all over the outside with oil. Sprinkle the inside with 2½ teaspoons salt.
In a large bowl, whisk the cream, milk, paprika, nutmeg, pepper, and remaining ½ teaspoon salt.
Fill the pumpkin beginning with a layer of about one-third of the toasted bread slices, followed by one-third of the cheese, then half of the chives, and half of the cooked mushrooms and kale. Pour in about one-third of the cream mixture. Add another one-third of the bread slices and firmly press them down to pack the filling a little tighter. Repeat layering with another one-third of the cheese and the remaining half of the chives and mushrooms and kale. Pour in another one-third of the cream mixture. Top with the remaining one-third of the bread slices, pressing down as needed to fit in as much as possible. Top with the remaining one-third of the cheese. Pour the remaining cream mixture over the top. (Don’t be surprised if all of the filling doesn’t quite fit in the pumpkin. Pumpkins differ in thickness, which will affect how much you can pack inside.) Replace the cap, trimming excess flesh from the bottom of it, if needed, so that it fits snuggly. The pumpkin can be stuffed up to 1 day in advance and kept in the refrigerator. Bring to room temperature before roasting.
Roast the pumpkin until the filling is hot in the center, the pumpkin flesh is very tender, and the exterior looks browned and wrinkly, 2½ to 3 hours. Remove the pumpkin from the oven and set aside to rest for about 10 minutes. With the cap on, it will stay hot for about 30 minutes before serving.
Serve the pumpkin at the table, scooping out spoonfuls of the filling, along with some of the interior flesh, into warm shallow bowls.
Makes 6 servings
The Jura is Eastern France’s mountainous region that butts right up along the border of Switzerland. It’s known for pastoral views, brown-and-white cows with clangy bells around their necks, and one of our favorite cheeses, Comté. The Jura is also home to some of the world’s most exotic and sommelier-sought-after wines. The whites are often nutty and oxidized, and the reds are fruit juicy with flavors of cranberry, currants, raspberries, and mountain herbs. They’re high-altitude reds at their finest: tangy acidity, light in color, and delicious with typical white-wine foods such as poultry and fish. There are two main reds grown in the Jura: poulsard and trousseau. While either will be tasty with this dish, we think trousseau is the winner. It’s got more body and savory notes than poulsard, which can look almost like a dark rosé, and it definitely fits the bill for a warm dinner on a cold, dark evening. Because of their unusual nature, wines from the Jura cost a little bit more than a Tuesday-night wine, and they really do want to be enjoyed with food, especially something savory.
Chicken and wine have gone together since the beginning of time, or so it seems. Long before Julia Child touted the magic of coq au vin in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, wine-braised chicken was a rustic peasant dish, meant to use the last dregs in the bottom of a jug and an old rooster from the yard. A long, slow braise turned that tired bird into fall-apart tenderness, surrounded by a luxurious sauce. Fast-forward a few generations, and chicken cooked in wine isn’t much more complex than it used to be. A few details, like giving the chicken a crackly, golden crust before braising, and drinking it with a really great wine from the Jura, make a huge difference. Don’t skimp on the mushrooms and bacon, as they add just the right amount of earthy smokiness to make your trousseau sing. And since this is a dish for a cozy night, we recommend serving it over silky pureed potatoes or buttered egg noodles for soaking up that seductive sauce.
6 chicken hindquarters
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons fresh thyme leaves, plus 3 sprigs
¼ cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
3 ribs celery, chopped
1 large carrot, chopped
½ large onion, chopped
½ ounce dried porcini mushrooms
2 large cloves garlic, smashed
2 bay leaves
2 tablespoons tomato paste
2 cups dry light red wine, preferably trousseau
1 quart chicken broth
1 pound pearl onions
8 ounces slab bacon, cut into ½ by ½ by 2-inch rectangles (lardons)
1 pound cremini mushrooms, halved
Season the chicken hindquarters all over with salt and pepper, followed by the thyme leaves and parsley. Arrange the herby chicken in a single layer in a large baking dish, cover, and chill for at least 4 hours and up to overnight. Set them out to come to room temperature about 1 hour before cooking.
Select a large, shallow braising pan or skillet that will hold the chicken in a snug single layer and set it over medium-high heat. Add 2 tablespoons of the oil. When you just begin to see wisps of smoke, add half of the chicken hindquarters, skin-side down. Cook until a deep golden crust forms, 8 to 10 minutes. Turn and cook on the other side until crusty, about 5 minutes more. Transfer the seared chicken to a platter and cook the remaining chicken in the same way in the rendered fat in the pan. Transfer the second batch to the platter and set the seared chicken aside.
Pour off all but about 2 tablespoons of the rendered fat in the pan, reserving the excess. Set the pan over medium heat and add the celery, carrot, chopped onion, dried porcini mushrooms, garlic, and bay leaves and cook, stirring often, until the vegetables take on a little color, 6 to 8 minutes. Add the tomato paste and cook while stirring to coat the vegetables, about 2 minutes. Pour in the wine and scrape up the bits from the bottom of the pan, then increase the heat to high and bring it to a boil. Continue boiling until the wine is reduced by about half. Pour in the broth and bring to a boil. Nestle the seared chicken into the braising liquid and vegetables. Cover tightly with a lid or aluminum foil and adjust the heat to cook at a gentle simmer until the meat is tender and pulls away from the bone easily, 1½ to 1¾ hours.
Meanwhile, preheat the oven to 450°F. Toss the pearl onions (unpeeled) in a bowl with the remaining 2 tablespoons oil and the thyme sprigs. Season with a couple big pinches of salt and several grinds of pepper. Spread them out on a rimmed baking sheet and roast until tender, 15 to 20 minutes. When they are cool enough to handle, pinch the onions to slip off their skins. Set aside.
Once the chicken is done, take it out of the braising liquid and set it aside. Strain the liquid into a large wide saucepan, pressing the solids to extract as much liquid as possible. If the layer of fat that rises to the surface of the liquid seems excessive, you can skim it with a large spoon, but leave a thin layer of fat. Bring the braising liquid to a boil over high heat and cook until it is reduced to a thin sauce that just barely coats the back of a spoon, 10 to 15 minutes.
While the sauce reduces, add 1 tablespoon of the reserved chicken fat to the braising pan and set it over medium-high heat. Add the bacon and cook until it’s lightly browned but still fatty and meaty, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the cremini mushrooms and cook until they are tender and browned at the edges and the bacon is a rich reddish brown color, about 5 minutes.
Pour the reduced sauce into the pan of bacon and mushrooms. Nestle in the chicken and pearl onions and bring it to a gentle simmer over medium heat, cooking just until the chicken is warmed through. Serve the chicken in warm shallow bowls, with plenty of the sauce, bacon, mushrooms, and onions all around.
Store, covered, in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Reheat before serving.
Producers to Look For
Makes 6 servings
Corsica sits southeast of France, and although it’s a French island, it hovers much closer to Western Italy and nearly touches Northern Sardinia. It’s one of the most beautiful islands in the world with rocky plateaus, snow-capped mountain peaks, crystal-clear water, and the scent of maquis, wild evergreen underbrush, in the air. Often referred to as “the scented isle,” Corsica is home to more than 2,500 species of wildflowers as well as scrub brush and native trees. Imagine the scents of eucalyptus, rosemary, sage, thyme, rose, wild fennel, marjoram, and lavender wafting along the ocean breeze in the heat of summer. That is the essence of the maquis. Intoxicating. And that’s basically how we feel about Corsica and her wines. Some of the world’s most energizing and stunning wines come from the island where the vines grow straight from the granite and schist bedrock and the maquis-laced winds cool the Mediterranean heat. Red varieties include nielluccio (neel-OO-chee-yo), which is genetically identical to sangiovese, and sciaccarellu (sha-ca-RAY-lyoo), which is the same grape as Tuscany’s mammolo. Given Corsica’s proximity to Tuscany, it makes sense that these two grapes have a home here, although they couldn’t taste more different than their Italian counterparts. Nielluccio tends to be planted more predominantly on the northern part of the island, and makes medium-bodied wines that are at once deeply fruited and earthy, but replete with the maquis aroma. The southern part of Corsica is where sciaccarellu is king, and makes wines with more elegance and finesse. Think medium-bodied wines with brighter, fresher red fruits and dusty notes.
We would normally suggest white wine with a seafood-heavy dish, but this is a red wine stew, without a doubt. Given the fact that Corsica is completely surrounded by water, and that they produce such incredible reds on the island, Corsican-inspired food is naturally a great way to experience red wine with seafood. Be sure to get the freshest, nicest mussels, clams, shrimp, and squid you can find. It might require buying them at a few different stores, but it’s worth the effort. Our stew is all about texture with the creamy chickpeas, tender fennel, and meaty squid. And it’s equally flavorful from as much maquis-inspiration as we could interject. Fennel pollen and marjoram play large, with saffron and tomato rounding out the aromatics. Fregola looks quite similar to Israeli couscous, but is the toasty version that comes from Sardinia and adds a toothsome bite to the dish. The seafood cooks in just minutes but adds so much depth of flavor. We’ve enjoyed this dish in both summer and winter, but there’s something about a richly flavored seafood stew in wintertime that transports us to the wilds of Corsica.
5 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for drizzling
1½ cups fregola sarda or Israeli (pearl) couscous (see Note)
3 cups hot water
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon sea salt
1 leek, trimmed, white and light green parts halved and thinly sliced
½ sweet yellow onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, slivered
2 bay leaves
½ cup dry white wine
4 cups seafood or fish stock
1 (14.5-ounce) can diced tomatoes and their juices
Juice of 1 orange
1 large fennel bulb, trimmed, reserving fronds, halved lengthwise, cored, and sliced crosswise
1 teaspoon fennel pollen or ground fennel seeds
1 teaspoon saffron threads
Freshly ground black pepper
1 cup canned chickpeas, drained and rinsed
2 tablespoons chopped fresh marjoram or oregano
1 pound clams, scrubbed
1 pound mussels, scrubbed and debearded
18 extra-large (about 1 pound) shrimp
12 ounces squid tubes and tentacles, tubes cut into ½-inch-thick rings
Baguette or country bread, for serving
Warm 2 tablespoons of the oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Stir in the fregola until well coated, then pour in the hot water. Season with 1 teaspoon of the salt. Bring to a simmer over high heat, stirring occasionally. Continue simmering until the fregola is slightly firmer than al dente (when you bite into one, it should have just a slight crunch in the very center), 6 to 8 minutes. Drain and rinse the fregola under cold water to stop the cooking. Leave in the colander to drain until needed.
Warm the remaining 3 tablespoons oil in a 6-quart Dutch oven or stockpot over medium heat. Add the leek, onion, garlic, and bay leaves and cook until softened, 6 to 7 minutes.
Pour in the wine, increase the heat to medium-high, and cook until it’s mostly evaporated, about 2 minutes. Add the stock, tomatoes and juices, and orange juice. Stir in the fennel, fennel pollen, saffron, remaining 1 tablespoon salt, and several grinds of pepper. Increase the heat to high and bring to a boil. Decrease the heat to medium to maintain a gentle simmer, cover, and cook until the fennel is tender, about 5 minutes.
Uncover the pot and stir in the chickpeas and marjoram. Increase the heat to medium-high and return the broth to a simmer. Add the clams and mussels, cover, and cook at a rapid simmer. After 2 minutes, uncover and add the shrimp and squid. Return the lid and continue cooking at a gentle simmer until the mussels and clams are open and the shrimp and squid are opaque throughout, 3 to 4 minutes more. Discard any mussels or clams that don’t open. Stir in the fregola sarda and remove the pot from the heat.
Ladle the stew into warmed bowls. Drizzle each portion with oil and garnish with fennel fronds. Serve with bread for sopping up the fragrant broth.
Note
Fregola sarda is a Sardinian pasta that is very similar to Israeli-style pearled couscous, but it is toasted, which gives it a nutty flavor. If it’s unavailable, substitute toasted Israeli couscous. To toast the couscous, follow the instructions in the recipe for cooking fregola, but after the couscous is added to the oil, continue cooking it, stirring almost constantly, until the couscous is lightly toasted, 4 to 5 minutes. Proceed with adding the water and cooking the couscous as the recipe instructs.
Makes 6 to 8 servings
Dana spent three and a half years in the Peace Corps in Romania, and she ate approximately 637 cabbage rolls during that time. The chitter-chatter of her Romanian neighbors and the aroma of dill are burned in her memory, as are the hands-on lessons in how to roll the parcels just right. Cabbage rolls are a common part of nearly every Eastern European festivity, and sarmale, as they’re called in Romania, are stuffed with an aromatic mixture of pork, rice, paprika, and dill and slow-braised in a bacon-enriched tomato sauce until tender. Traditionally served with a dollop of thin soured cream and a firm polenta, they are eaten by the dozens to celebrate weddings, holidays, and community gatherings. Washed down with homemade palincă, Romania’s famed fruit brandy, cabbage rolls are as soulful and delicious as food gets.
They drink wine in Romania too, but unfortunately very little of it comes to the States. So we turn to neighboring countries that are making exceptional wines to accompany the stewed, smoky flavor of these cabbage rolls. With miles and miles of coastline, one might assume Croatian wines are all white, but they make absolutely beautiful reds from grapes such as refošk (RAY-foshk; the same grape as Italy’s refosco) and plavac mali (PLA-vacks mah-ly). You can expect them to be medium-bodied, peppery, and slightly tannic. If you can find blatina (BLAH-tee-nah), grown in Bosnia and Herzegovina, you’ll have a wonderful pairing in its spicy, almost coffee notes. Teran (TEH-rahn), which is related to refosco and grown throughout the region, is wonderful when it comes from Slovenia, bursting with a distinctive iron mineral note and juicy dark berries. This is a fantastic recipe for splurging on a few different bottles so you can experiment, tasting multiple wines with the same dish.
¼ cup distilled white vinegar
¼ cup kosher salt
1 large (2½- to 3-pound) head green cabbage, cored but left whole
½ cup long-grain white rice
1¼ pounds ground pork
½ yellow onion, finely chopped
1 cup coarsely chopped fresh dill, plus 6 sprigs
⅔ cup chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 tablespoons fresh thyme leaves
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons sweet paprika
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
8 ounces thick-cut bacon, cut crosswise into ¼-inch strips
1 (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes
Crème fraîche, for serving
Fill a large stockpot with 4 quarts water and add the vinegar and 3 tablespoons of the salt. Bring it to a boil over high heat.
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Place a large rimmed baking sheet lined with a clean kitchen towel next to the stove.
Submerge the whole cabbage in the boiling water, cover, and cook at a gentle simmer until the outer leaves are tender and begin loosening from the head, about 2 minutes. Using tongs, begin peeling off the outer leaves as they become loose and pliable and transfer them to the baking sheet. Continue cooking the cabbage until all of the leaves that are large enough to fill have been removed. Remove the ball of smaller leaves from the water and set aside. Pat the larger leaves dry with the towel. Trim away any remaining core attached to the leaves. Cut the largest leaves in half, but keep most whole. You should end up with about 18 leaves. Cut the ball of smaller leaves into ½-inch-thick shreds. Set the cabbage leaves and shreds aside.
Fill a small saucepan about two-thirds full of water and bring it to a boil over high heat. Add the rice and cook at a gentle simmer for 5 minutes. Drain the par-cooked rice in a strainer and rinse under cold water to cool; drain well.
In a large bowl, combine the cooled rice with the pork, onion, ⅔ cup of the dill, the parsley, thyme, garlic, paprika, remaining 1 tablespoon salt, and pepper. Using your hands, mix the ingredients until everything is well incorporated and the mixture sticks together (like meatballs), but don’t overwork it to the point that the meat becomes mushy.
Working with one cabbage leaf at a time, fill each leaf with about ¼ cup of the filling mixture. Lay a leaf in front of you with the cup-shaped side facing up and the core end closest to you and place the filling in the center of the leaf. Fold the sides over the filling and then roll it up toward the tip end to completely encase the filling. Repeat to use up all of the leaves and the filling. If there are excess leaves, just shred them and add that to the rest of the shredded leaves.
Scatter half of the shredded cabbage in the bottom of a large Dutch oven. Arrange half of the cabbage rolls in a single, snug layer over the shredded cabbage. Top with 3 of the dill sprigs and half of the bacon. Add another layer of cabbage rolls. Top those with the remaining dill sprigs and bacon. Pour the crushed tomatoes over the cabbage rolls and tap and wiggle the pan to get them to sink down between the layers. Spread the remaining shredded cabbage over the top. Cover the pot and place it in the oven to bake the cabbage rolls until the rice and meat are cooked through and the cabbage is very tender, 1½ to 2 hours.
Spoon the cabbage rolls into warm shallow bowls, along with plenty of the shredded cabbage, bacon, and sauce. Top with crème fraîche and garnish with the remaining ⅓ cup chopped dill. Serve immediately.
The stuffed cabbage is even better the next day; allow leftovers to cool in the pot, then cover and refrigerate for up to 4 days. Reheat, covered, in a 350°F oven for 10 to 20 minutes.
Makes 6 servings
Barolo is a very special wine, and one that’s worth the extra money it costs to enjoy. Made entirely from nebbiolo grown in Italy’s Piedmont region, it’s a wine of strength but also of elegance. While nebbiolo has a long history in the Piedmont, Barolo only poked its head into the spotlight in the forties, and it’s had a tumultuous and interesting seventy years since then. Barolo has traditionally been made by allowing the nebbiolo grapes to macerate on their skins for extended periods of time, sometimes for weeks, and then slowly aging in large, old barrels to help calm the harsh tannins. But the eighties and nineties gave rise to the Barolo Boys, a group of young winemakers who wanted to revolutionize how Barolo was made. Consumers across the world were drinking rich, juicy, oaky red wines, and the Boys decided to upend the old style of nebbiolo production for something more modern and international. This ignited a storm of controversy with the traditionalists in the region. The Barolo Boys used a host of methods to make their wines more immediately drinkable, including shorter maceration periods and aging in new, small barrels, and the international market took notice. They completely flipped custom on its head, and money poured into the region. Today, you can find wines made in both styles. Traditional wines will have a good grip of tannin to them when young, plus floral and savory characteristics and notes of warm cherries. In modern Barolo, you’ll find richer, darker berry fruits, softer tannins, and vanilla and baking spice notes from new oak barrels. Our preference lies with the traditionalists. By law, Barolo must be aged a minimum of three years before release. Young Barolo will drink with a mouth-puckering dryness, lively red cherries, and berries, and it really benefits from decanting. If you can find a bottle that has ten years or more of age on it, you’ll be in for a treat. As Barolo ages, you can expect the fresh fruit notes to settle into flavors of black tea, wet leaves, and dried roses. Look for wines simply labeled Barolo if you’re trying to mind your budget. Bottles with vineyard names listed will open your wallet a bit more. And those labeled Riserva are a definite splurge.
Nothing says “comfort food” like a bowl of pasta in a long-cooked lamb ragù with a spoonful of creamy ricotta. The meat has braised to textbook tenderness so it pulls apart with a fork, the pasta is perfectly al dente, and the tomato sauce is deeply fragrant with oregano and rosemary. Combined with a splurge-y bottle of Barolo and a movie on the couch, you’d almost wish every night was a cozy night in. This pasta is a go-to for us because it checks off all of the boxes: hearty, flavorful, textural, and soul-satisfying. When we cooked this for our guys, they admitted that if it were healthy to eat a third bowl, they would.
1 (2-pound) boneless lamb shoulder roast, halved (see Note)
2½ teaspoons kosher salt, or to taste
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for finishing
1 large yellow onion, finely diced
1 (6-ounce) can tomato paste
1 cup dry red wine
1 (28-ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes
½ cup water
¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons fresh oregano leaves
6 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon red pepper flakes
1½ pounds dried rigatoni
1 tablespoon minced rosemary
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
Whipped Ricotta
1 cup whole-milk ricotta
½ cup whole milk
½ cup packed freshly grated Pecorino Romano cheese
½ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
½ teaspoon kosher salt
Season the lamb on all sides with 2 teaspoons of the salt. Warm a large Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the oil, and when you just begin to see wisps of smoke, add the lamb. Sear on all sides until a deep brown crust forms, 7 to 10 minutes. Transfer the lamb to a plate and set aside.
Add the onion to the pot and cook until just softened and lightly browned, adjusting the heat as needed, about 4 minutes. Add the tomato paste and cook, stirring almost constantly, until it darkens slightly and a deep brown crust forms on the bottom of the pot, about 2 minutes. Pour in the wine and scrape up the bits from the bottom of the pot. Stir in the tomatoes, water, ¼ cup of the oregano, the garlic, red pepper flakes, and remaining ½ teaspoon salt. Nestle the seared lamb back into the pot and bring to a rapid simmer. Decrease the heat to maintain a gentle simmer, cover, and braise until the lamb is tender and easily shreds apart, about 2 hours.
Remove the lamb from the sauce and shred it into bite-size pieces using two forks. Return the shredded lamb to the sauce. (It will be quite thick now, but will be thinned with pasta water later.) Taste and adjust the seasoning. (At this point the ragù can be cooled to room temperature, then covered and refrigerated for up to 3 days before serving.) Return the ragù to a gentle simmer and keep it warm over low heat.
Cook the rigatoni in boiling salted water until al dente according to the package directions. Drain, reserving 2 cups of the cooking water, and return the rigatoni to its pot.
Stir some of the cooking water into the ragù to loosen it and add the remaining 2 tablespoons oregano, the rosemary, and vinegar. Add a few ladlefuls of the ragù to the pot of rigatoni to lightly coat. Place the rigatoni pot over medium-low heat and cook, stirring often, to allow the pasta to absorb some of the sauce, about 2 minutes.
To make the whipped ricotta: In a medium bowl, whisk the ricotta with the milk, cheese, pepper, and salt until it is loose and creamy, about 30 seconds. Use immediately, or cover and refrigerate for up to 3 days.
Serve the rigatoni in warm bowls, with a ladleful of the ragù spooned over each portion. Top with the whipped ricotta and a drizzle of oil.
Note
Special-order a boneless lamb shoulder roast from your butcher, or substitute cubed stew meat and decrease the braising time by up to 30 minutes.
Producers to Look For
Makes 4 to 6 servings
Spicy foods often have limited pairing options. Riesling and gewürztraminer are go-tos, as their fruitiness can help balance the heat of chiles, pepper, and curry. But what about a full-bodied red wine? It’s kind of a no-brainer with beef. So we turned to the dark, floral broodiness of malbec to match with this stew’s spices. While you could choose a juicy malbec from Argentina, we suggest seeking out Cahors for its deep fruitiness, crunchy tannins, and beautiful limestone minerality, not to mention lower alcohol than its Argentine counterpart. Cahors is only required to be 70 percent malbec (also known as côt), with the balance comprising tannat and merlot; however, many producers choose to use 100 percent malbec.
Long-cooked hunks of fall-apart meat, vegetables simmered to just-this-side-of-tenderness, and a rich sauce meant to be sopped up with crusty bread or ladled over a tangle of noodles. But sometimes even the homiest dishes can be rediscovered. While writing this book, Andrea spent her birthday in Vietnam eating her way from north to south, and discovered the deliciousness that is bò kho: the Vietnamese version of the worldwide favorite, beef stew. Back in the States, she sought out the dish and found a delicious version at her neighborhood Vietnamese restaurant. She turned to her friend Andrea Nguyen, author of Into the Vietnamese Kitchen, for further inspiration on our take on bò kho. Paired with a deeply rich malbec-based wine from Southwest France’s Cahors region, the warm star anise and fragrant lemongrass really sing.
2¼ pounds boneless beef chuck, trimmed of excess fat and cut into 1½-inch cubes
¼ cup matchsticks of peeled ginger
2 tablespoons fish sauce, plus more for serving
2 teaspoons light brown sugar
5 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 tablespoons annatto seeds
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tablespoon Vietnamese or Indian yellow curry powder
3 cups beef broth
2 tablespoons soy sauce
2 lemongrass stalks, loose outer leaves and dry tops discarded, cut into 3-inch lengths and crushed with the side of a large knife
1 bay leaf
1 pound carrots, cut 1 inch thick on a bias
1 large shallot, thinly sliced
1 red jalapeño, Fresno, or cherry bomb chile, seeded and sliced
2 star anise, ground
½ cup fresh Asian basil leaves
Asian wheat-and-egg noodles or French bread, for serving
Small cilantro sprigs, for serving
In a bowl, combine the beef with the ginger, fish sauce, and brown sugar; toss to coat; and leave to marinate for about 30 minutes.
Meanwhile, warm the oil in a small saucepan over medium-low heat. Add the annatto seeds and stir briefly to coat, then remove from the heat and set aside for 10 minutes to infuse the oil. Strain and discard the seeds, reserving the oil.
In a 5-quart (or larger) Dutch oven, warm about 2 tablespoons of the annatto oil over medium-high heat. Sear half of the marinated beef until a light crust forms, turning once, 4 to 5 minutes total. Transfer the seared beef to a plate and repeat to sear the remaining beef. Transfer that to the plate and set aside.
Decrease the heat to medium and add the onion and about half of the garlic. Cook until softened and fragrant, scraping up the bits from the bottom of the pan, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the curry powder and stir briefly until fragrant and well combined. Add the seared beef and any accumulated juices, the broth, soy sauce, lemongrass, and bay leaf. Increase the heat to bring to a boil, lower it to maintain a gentle simmer, cover, and cook until the meat is chewy-tender, about 1½ hours. Add the carrots and cook until both the beef and carrots are tender but not falling apart, 15 to 20 minutes more. Taste and adjust the seasoning. (The stew will keep, covered in the refrigerator, for up to 3 days.)
Meanwhile, put the remaining annatto oil back into the small saucepan over medium heat. Add the remaining garlic, the shallot, chile, and star anise and cook until the shallot is just beginning to soften and the mixture is fragrant, about 1 minute.
Just before serving, stir the aromatic shallot mixture and about half of the basil into the hot stew. Serve in big warm bowls, poured over noodles or with bread on the side (or both!). Pass the rest of the basil, the cilantro sprigs, and additional fish sauce at the table.
Producers to Look For
Makes 4 to 6 servings
The styles of red Bordeaux can be split by the Gironde River, which separates the region into two distinct parts: the left bank, with its gravelly soils, is dominated by cabernet sauvignon and the right bank is planted mostly with merlot on clay. Left-bank wines include those from Pauillac, Saint-Julien, Saint-Estèphe, and Maurguax, and tend to be deeper and richer, and with a healthy backbone of tannin. Right-bank villages, including Pomerol, Fronsac, and Saint-Émilion, are renowned for softer, fruitier wines with plenty of brightness and minerality. Regardless of which side of the river the wine comes from, it is most likely blended with some combination of cabernet franc, malbec, or petit verdot. We love the way right-bank wines taste with this recipe. The acidity of merlot-based Bordeaux nicely cuts through the richness of the duck, and the clove and peppercorn spiciness of the garam masala almost mirrors the notes of the wine.
Duck is one of those foods that most home cooks shy away from cooking. A perfectly cooked duck breast or fall-apart-tender confit leg can seem like restaurant-only fare. But you can cook duck at home! It primarily comes down to searing the fatty skin of the duck so that it renders crispy and the meat is a perfect rosy pink. Rubbed with the warm Indian spices of garam masala, these duck breasts become something slightly exotic when served with browned cipollini onions and sweet, saucy grapes. And while Bordeaux is certainly one of the textbook pairings for duck, this is a bit of a twist on classic French cooking.
4 (8- to 10-ounce) duck breasts
Kosher salt
2 teaspoons garam masala
8 ounces small cipollini onions, preferably red ones
1 cup dry red wine
1 cup chicken broth
2 cups seedless black or red grapes
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 teaspoons fresh thyme leaves
Pat the duck breasts dry with a paper towel. Using a sharp knife, cut a ½-inch crosshatch pattern into the fatty skin, taking care not to penetrate the flesh. Season generously with salt all over. Sprinkle the meat sides only with 1 teaspoon of the garam masala. Set aside with the skin side up for 30 minutes to 1 hour to marinate as they come to room temperature.
Fill a large saucepan with water and bring it to a boil. Add the onions and cook for 30 seconds, then drain and rinse them under cold water to stop the cooking. Trim the roots, but keep them intact, and slip off the skins. Halve each onion through the root and set them aside.
Place the duck breasts, skin-side down, in a cold large skillet. Set the skillet over medium-high heat and cook until the skin is crisp and most of the fat is rendered, 6 to 9 minutes. Turn and cook on the meat side until the thickest part of each breast registers 125°F on an instant-read thermometer for medium-rare doneness, 2 to 3 minutes more. Transfer the duck breasts to a cutting board to rest, skin-side up, while you finish the dish.
Pour off all but about 1 tablespoon of the fat from the pan (reserve the excess duck fat for another use). Add the onions to the pan with their cut sides down and cook over medium-high heat, without turning, until deeply browned, about 2 minutes. Turn the onions over and pour in the wine (it will spatter).
Simmer until the wine is reduced by about half, 2 to 4 minutes. Add the broth and bring to a simmer. Cook for about 3 minutes, then add the grapes and a pinch of salt. Continue to simmer until the grapes burst but hold their shape and the sauce is slightly thickened, 3 to 5 minutes more. Decrease the heat to medium-low and add the butter, thyme, and remaining 1 teaspoon garam masala. Swirl the pan over the heat until the butter is melted, then remove it from the heat and taste and adjust the seasoning.
Cut the duck into slices against the grain. Spoon the sauce, grapes, and onions into warm shallow bowls. Fan the duck slices over top and serve.
Producers to Look For
If we were left on a desert island with only one bottle of wine to drink, it would undoubtedly be Champagne, and it would definitely be in magnum so that we’d have twice as much. (And, no, that’s not cheating.) While it can be expensive for an everyday wine, it’s at the top of our list for a special dinner or celebration of any sort. We’d like you to think of Champagne as wine for food, not just for toasting, as good Champagne is incredibly layered and complex in both flavor and mouthfeel, and should be enjoyed with a meal. (For more information about Champagne production, see this page).
If you’re throwing a party that’s centered around a special occasion, perhaps a birthday or winter holiday, there’s no reason not to go big with the wine. Magnums are awesome for a few reasons: (1) they look impressive, (2) they evoke more excitement than a standard bottle, and (3) they’re fantastic for aging. Let’s talk about that last one. Consider the little space of oxygen in the neck of a bottle, between the wine and the cork. That space, or ullage, is necessary for the wine to contract and expand during temperature changes, but it also has an effect on the wine itself: the more oxygen the wine is exposed to, the quicker it ages. Therefore magnums, and their bigger brothers and sisters (see this page for a list of bottle sizes), with their higher ratio of wine to oxygen exposure, are a great size for the precise, mature aging of special wines. But, for our purposes, they’re just fun to have on the table.
The spicy and colorful flavors of this menu respond well to wines that are just a touch sweet. You’ll want to choose bottles that are labeled extra-dry, brut, or extra-brut, all styles that have a small amount of sugar in them. Extra-dry and brut Champagnes may not even taste the faintest bit sweet, but they’ll have the right amount of fruitiness to stand up to the food. Avoid anything labeled nature, brut nature, cuvée zero, or other Champagnes made without dosage—the sugar mixture added to the wine in various amounts—they’ll be much too dry for this complex food.
This is a dinner that celebrates the West Coast’s sweet-meat Dungeness crabs, the intoxicating flavors of Southeast Asian cuisine, and the fabulousness of big bottles of Champagne. Andrea’s birthday falls in December, right at the start of crabbing season, so every year she celebrates with crabs and Champagne and requests that friends bring it in magnum form. Because, well, it’s her birthday. One year, the party took a turn from a Stateside crab boil with vats of drawn butter to a Southeast Asian feast with big bowls of noodles and lots of fish sauce, and it’s never gone back. The high-low of popping Champagne and cracking crab legs, alongside vibrant salads inspired by Vietnamese street stalls, was exactly what the party needed to make it even more fun. It’s informal, it’s messy, but it also feels special.
Makes 8 to 10 servings
8 stalks lemongrass
4 limes
2 tablespoons black peppercorns
¼ cup sea salt
5 or 6 (12 to 14 pounds) live Dungeness crabs
Fill a 16- to 20-quart seafood boiling pot with 10 quarts water (or divide the water between two large stockpots). Trim the lemongrass stalks and remove the dry outer leaves. Cut each stalk into thirds and bash the segments with a mallet or the back of a knife. Toss the bruised lemongrass into the pot of water. Halve the limes, squeeze the juice into the pot, and drop in the peels. Very lightly crush the peppercorns in a mortar with a pestle or with the back of a knife, and add them to the pot, along with the salt. Set the pot over high heat, cover, and bring the water to a boil.
One at a time, grasp the crabs from the tail end, between the legs, and plunge them headfirst into the boiling water. Cover and cook for 15 minutes, adjusting the heat as needed to maintain a steady simmer.
Set a large rimmed baking sheet near the stove. Using tongs, remove the crabs from the pot and place them on the baking sheet. (Reserve 2 cups of the crab-boiling broth for the rice noodles [see this page]).
With the aid of a kitchen towel to protect your hands from the heat, begin cleaning the crabs on a cutting board with a moat to collect the juices. One at a time, turn a crab on its back with the belly side facing up. Pull back the triangular flap on the belly and discard it. From the tail end, pull the body away from the top shell, taking care to reserve the golden “crab butter” that will pool in the bowl-shaped shell. From the body section, clean away any of the remaining reddish membrane and pull off and discard the gills. Cut the bodies in half to get two sets of legs. Pour the crab butter into a bowl and reserve it. Scrub the top shells under hot water, then return the crab butter to the cleaned shells.
You can choose to pre-crack the crab claws and legs with a mallet or hammer, or serve the crab with sets of crackers for everyone to crack their own at the table. Pile the crab on two large platters and serve family-style, with the crab butter for dipping the meat.
Makes 8 to 10 servings
Noodles
1½ pounds rice stick noodles
Sea salt
½ cup dried shrimp
1½ pounds green mangos (see Note)
1 seedless cucumber, thinly sliced on the bias
2 cups mung bean sprouts
1 bunch green onions, thinly sliced on the bias
1 cup fresh Vietnamese cilantro leaves (rau ram), or regular cilantro
1 cup fresh Asian basil leaves
1 cup fresh mint leaves
1 batch Fried Garlic (see this page)
Sauce
1 cup coconut cream (see Note, this page)
½ cup fish sauce
⅓ cup fresh lime juice
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon sugar
6 cloves garlic, minced
4 to 6 green Thai chiles, minced, or 2 to 3 serrano chiles, seeded and minced
To Serve
Vietnamese cilantro sprigs (rau ram), or regular cilantro
Asian basil sprigs
Mint sprigs
Mung bean sprouts
Sliced red and green Thai chiles
Fish sauce
Up to 2 cups hot crab-boiling broth
To make the noodles: Place the rice noodles in a large bowl and pour in enough hot water to cover them by 1 inch. Allow the noodles to soak for 15 minutes to soften, then drain.
Meanwhile, fill a large pot with 4 quarts water and bring it to a boil. Salt the water and add the softened noodles. Cook until just tender, about 1 minute, stirring to prevent the noodles from sticking together. Drain the noodles in a colander and rinse them under cold water to stop the cooking. Transfer the drained noodles to an extra-large, wide serving bowl (or two bowls, if needed) and set aside.
Put the dried shrimp in a large, dry skillet and place it over medium heat. Toast the shrimp, stirring often, until they appear dry and crackly on the outside and some take on a golden color, about 5 minutes. Transfer the shrimp to a mortar and pound with a pestle to break them up into a very coarse, crumbly powder. Alternatively, put them in a zip-top bag and pound them with a rolling pin. Set aside.
Peel the green mangos. Using the fine julienne attachment on a mandoline, cut the mango flesh into long, thin shreds, working down to the pit on both sides. Alternatively, you can cut the flesh away from the pit and process it through a spiralizer.
Top the rice noodles with the shredded mango, cucumber, bean sprouts, green onions, cilantro, basil, and mint, keeping each item separated in piles around the perimeter of the bowl. Pile the toasted shrimp and fried garlic in the center of the bowl. Cover and set aside at room temperature for up to 2 hours, or refrigerate for up to 8 hours. Bring to room temperature for 1 hour before serving.
To make the sauce: In a medium bowl, whisk the coconut cream, fish sauce, lime juice, sugar, and garlic. Add the smaller quantity of chiles to start. Taste and adjust the seasoning, adding more chiles if you’d like the sauce a little spicier. The sauce will keep in a covered container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.
To serve: Arrange the herb sprigs and bean sprouts on platters. Put the sliced chiles and fish sauce in small bowls and nestle them on the platters too.
Place the noodle bowl in the center of the table to finish the dish as your guests look on. Pour the sauce over the ingredients in the bowl and toss with salad servers to coat and distribute everything well. Add a ladleful of the hot crab-boiling broth and toss again. Add another ladleful of the broth if you think it needs it; the goal is to just slightly warm the dish and create a loose, brothy sauce. Pass the herbs, chiles, and fish sauce at the table.
Note
Green mangos are crunchy, tart mangos that are grown specifically to be eaten when underripe. They can be found at most Asian markets, but if you can’t locate them, Granny Smith apples would be an interesting substitute.
