Stir, Sizzle, Bake

When overachiever Michelle Rizzolo sent me her focaccia recipe, it arrived with a topping and everything! Giardiniera, she explained, is a spicy, salty Italian accompaniment that can be made with whatever vegetables are readily available. In a two-hour quick-pickling process, salt and vinegar do the seasoning and fermenting; oil does the preserving. I’ve discovered it tastes great with Charred Green Pea Hummus and egg salad.

1 By hand or using a mandoline, cut the cauliflower florets, shallots, and garlic to ⅛-inch thickness. Julienne the carrots, cucumber, and peppers. In a large nonreactive bowl, combine all the vegetables and toss them with the thyme, fennel seeds, red pepper flakes, salt, and vinegar to thoroughly incorporate. Let the mixture sit for a few hours at room temperature.

2 Strain off the liquid and transfer the drained vegetables to a plastic storage container. Cover them with enough olive oil to submerge. Seal the container and store it in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.

Usually, I know, pesto is made from a raw herb, like basil, or a leafy green (people have been using anything from carrot tops to dandelion greens these days), but sage doesn’t perform so well raw; it’s bitter. Unless you’re using a small amount as a seasoning, you really ought to cook it. Toast the garlic in the oil you’re using to pan-fry the herb, then combine it with all the other ingredients to end up with a standout pesto.

1 Preheat a 10-inch cast-iron skillet on the stovetop, gradually raising the heat from low to medium-high. When the pan is hot, add the pine nuts and toast them for about 3 minutes, shaking the pan continuously to move them around, until they start to brown. Quickly take the pan off the stovetop, emptying the pine nuts into a small bowl before they have a chance to burn.

2 Return the pan to the heat and add the olive oil. Once it’s hot, add the garlic and cook it for about a minute, flipping it with a wooden spatula every few seconds so each side has a chance to toast and making sure it doesn’t burn. Place the toasted garlic in a large mortar (or a food processor) and add the sage leaves to the pan. If the oil begins to spatter heavily, reduce the heat to medium.

3 Using the wooden spatula, stir the sage continuously for about 1½ minutes, so it wilts, darkens, and cooks through without burning or becoming too crisp. It should resemble sautéed spinach. Add the cooked sage to the mortar with the toasted garlic and turn the stove off.

4 Add the salt to the mortar and, using the pestle (or running your food processor), crush the ingredients together to begin to break the garlic and sage down and form a paste. Add the pine nuts, and continue pounding to combine. Do the same with the Parmesan.

5 Slowly incorporate the extra-virgin olive oil, pouring it in a bit at a time and using the pestle to stir and grind it into the paste, which should become thicker and more like a sauce as you continue to add more oil. Store the pesto in a sealed container in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.

Having become perniciously allergic to walnuts at age seventeen, I can almost imagine how Jody Williams’s pesto di noci tastes. At her gastrothèque Buvette, one of my neighborhood canteens and everyone’s idea of the quintessential French wine bar, I longingly watch open-face tartines mounded with a glistening, chunky, amber-colored paste pass by. It looks like a pâté, but it’s made of walnuts. They’re bound by olive oil, Parmesan, thyme, and, the surprise ingredient, sun-dried tomato. I saw no reason not to try it with crumbly, meaty, starchy-sweet chestnuts—castagne. (Those I can eat.) Now I have my own pesto. I’ll never know how it compares to the original. I only know I’d happily order it off any menu, and not as a booby prize.

1 Preheat a 10-inch cast-iron skillet on the stovetop, gradually raising the heat from low to medium-high. When the pan is hot, add the chestnuts. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring frequently, to toast and darken the nuts, being careful not to burn them.

2 Transfer them to a food processor. Add the cheese, garlic, thyme, basil, salt, and vinegar and process for a few seconds until you have what resembles a coarse bread crumb mixture. Pour it into a medium bowl and stir in the olive oil and sun-dried tomatoes, mixing to combine and form a thick pesto. Serve it on toast. Stored in a sealed container, it can stay in the refrigerator for up to 1 week.

Most experienced preservationists would probably blanch at the thought of making jam in a cast-iron skillet. They would also probably encourage me to do the whole canning thing with the sterilized jars and the airtight sealing. That’s not my style. I’m a refrigerator jam kind of girl. I make a small amount, and I store it in my fridge for up to two weeks—it’s usually gone before then.

1 Preheat a 10-inch cast-iron skillet on the stovetop, gradually raising the heat from low to medium.

2 Meanwhile, in a medium bowl, combine the strawberries and sugar and, using a potato masher or whatever resourceful version of a masher you’ve got, mash them together to break down and macerate the berries. Add the lemon juice, rose water, and salt and, using a wooden spoon, stir to combine. While you’re at it, you can use the spoon to break apart any strawberry pieces that are too large; you want a chunky jam with bits of fruit in it, but nothing unwieldy.

3 Pour the strawberry mixture into the hot skillet. Add the tarragon. Using the wooden spoon, stir continuously over medium heat for 20 to 25 minutes, until the mixture is bubbling aggressively and, more important, has thickened up. If you drag your spoon through, it should leave a clear trail.

4 Take the pan off the heat and discard the tarragon sprigs. Transfer the mixture to a glass jar and stir in the pepper. Let the jam cool to room temperature, cover it with a lid, and store it in the fridge for up to 2 weeks (though you’ll probably eat it a lot faster than that).

The Roman Test

Here’s how food editor Alison Roman determines if her jam is ready: Refrigerate a plate before you start the recipe. When you think it’s done, spoon some of the cooked fruit onto the cold dish and chill it in the fridge for 5 minutes. The blob should be “slightly jellied.” If it’s still runny, cook it for another 5 minutes, until it reaches optimal thickness.

Philadelphia chef Eli Kulp gave me the recipe for the roasted butternut squash hummus he serves at High Street on Market, and I ate that dip like chocolate mousse, by the spoonful. His removal of garbanzos may have been controversial—for some—but he kept the spread’s adjunct mainstays: garlic, tahini, lemon juice, and olive oil. I wondered how I could rig a similar outcome using another vegetable. Green peas seemed the most likely to produce comparable results. With a cast-iron pan, I could put some char on them, getting them crispy and brown. Then into the food processor they went. I chucked in fresh mint, scallion, and, as a garnish, chives, which, starting with the necessary garlic, brings your allium tally to three. These additions gave the purée a greater profundity of green flavor to match its gorgeous hue.

1 Preheat a 10-inch cast-iron skillet on the stovetop, gradually raising the heat from low to medium-high. When the pan is hot, add 1 teaspoon of the extra-virgin olive oil and tilt to coat. Add the peas and cook for 15 to 17 minutes, until they’ve begun to char. Use a wooden spoon or spatula to stir them every couple of minutes so they don’t burn and are evenly cooked. Remove the skillet from the heat and let it sit for 10 minutes to cool down a bit.

2 Set aside ¼ cup of the charred peas and place the rest in a food processor. Add the tahini, garlic, scallion, lemon juice, remaining ½ cup olive oil, mint, and salt and purée for a few seconds until you get a smooth, hummuslike consistency. Transfer the mixture to a medium bowl. Stir in the reserved ¼ cup charred peas. Taste and add more salt if necessary. Garnish with the chives. Store the hummus in a sealed container in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days.

There is another item at Alex Raij and Eder Montero’s aforementioned La Vara restaurant that pulled my remix trigger: crisp-battered eggplant batons, sticky with floral honey, sitting on a pungent puddle of creamy, melted cheese, and scattered with nigella seeds, those small, black, slightly acrid grains that taste mostly of onion, with hints of caraway, oregano, and cumin. It’s the kitchen’s take on a classic Andalusian dish, and it got me thinking about eggplant dip. Roasted garlic’s funky sweetness strengthens the connection between the nightshade and the orange blossom honey. Pan-roasted in oil, the garnishing seeds gain in onion aroma as they get nice and toasty. Once stirred into the purée, they disperse firecrackers of crunch throughout the soft pulp. A final, necessary splash of sherry vinegar opens everything up, letting a neon burst of acid in.

2 Slice across the top of the head of garlic to expose the tops of the cloves. Place the head on a square of aluminum foil and drizzle 1 teaspoon of the olive oil over the exposed cloves. Surround the garlic with the thyme sprigs and wrap it up in the foil. Place the garlic bundle in the hot skillet and roast for 40 minutes. The head should be soft enough that you can squeeze the cloves right out of it.

3 While the garlic is roasting, split the eggplants lengthwise. Place the eggplant halves in a large bowl and rub them all over with 1 tablespoon of the salt. Let the eggplants sit for at least 30 minutes (while the garlic roasts).

4 Remove the garlic from the oven and place the aluminum bundle on the countertop to cool. Return the skillet to the oven and reduce the heat to 350°F.

5 Rinse the eggplants thoroughly to remove the salt and pat them dry with an absorbent paper towel or a kitchen towel. Coat each half with ½ teaspoon of the olive oil. Place the oiled eggplant, flesh-side down, in the skillet. Roast for about 30 minutes, until the flesh is soft and mushy.

6 Scoop out the eggplant flesh and place it in a food processor (or a blender), discarding the skin. Purée the flesh until it resembles applesauce. Squeeze the garlic cloves out of their skins into the food processor and process again to combine. Add 2 tablespoons of the honey, the remaining 1 teaspoon salt, and the peppercorns and process to incorporate, stopping when all the peppercorns have been cracked.

7 Transfer the purée to a small serving bowl, and set it aside while you prepare the garnish.

8 The skillet should still be hot from roasting the eggplant; if it isn’t (or if you’ve had to rinse it to remove any residue), preheat it on the stovetop, gradually raising the heat from low to medium-high. Once the pan is hot, add the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil. When the oil is hot, add the nigella seeds and shake the pan to distribute them across the surface. Fry the seeds in the hot oil for about a minute, until they begin to pop and emit a nutty, toasted odor.

9 Pour the oil and toasted seeds over the top of the eggplant purée. Drizzle it with the vinegar and remaining 1 teaspoon honey. Finally, sprinkle it with fresh thyme leaves. Once it’s on the table, stir it up and spoon it onto a torn piece of the flatbread of your choice. Store leftover spread in a sealed container in the refrigerator for 3 to 4 days.

NOTE You could get muskier with a buckwheat honey, smokier with a chestnut honey, or tangier with pomegranate molasses.

When pastry chef Katzie Guy-Hamilton taught me how to bake a Provençal breakfast bread called gibassier, she served it with a thick, whipped-caramel look-alike that was a combination of brown butter, orange blossom honey, and salt. I realized the ridiculously nutty velvety goo could be even more awesome in fiery form. I adapted the recipe for a cast-iron skillet, trying one batch with Aleppo pepper, and another with shichimi togarashi, a Japanese seven-spice powder with chiles, sesame seeds, and dried orange peel. You should take as many liberties as you like: Add more or less fire, to your taste, or, even change the heat source with your own ground dried chile mix. And slather with abandon—on flatbreads, on biscuits, on cornbread, on gibassiers, on everything.

1 Preheat a 10-inch cast-iron skillet on the stovetop, gradually raising the heat from low to medium. Once the pan is hot, add the butter, tilting to coat. As it melts, it will sizzle and foam. Cook it until the foam dissolves and the butter turns the color of hazelnut, a rich brown. (Make sure it doesn’t burn.) If it’s spattering too much, reduce the heat a bit.

2 Once the butter is brown, immediately add the honey, stirring vigorously with a wooden spoon or spatula, for about a minute, starting in the center and swirling outward, to thoroughly incorporate. Bring the mixture to a boil and let it cook for a minute more; it will bubble and foam rather dramatically.

3 Remove from the heat and pour it straight into a blender. Pulse for a few seconds so it emulsifies and is glossy and grease-free. Pour it into a bowl, and while it’s still hot, whisk in the Aleppo to combine. Add the salt and whisk again to incorporate. Taste and adjust the seasoning as needed.

4 Let the sauce sit for 10 minutes to infuse. Serve immediately or place in a sealed container, let cool completely, and refrigerate for up to 3 weeks.

My friend Sierra perfectly articulated my thoughts about this reinterpretation of Nutella when, after taking a spoonful, she said, “It tastes like brownie batter!” It really does, and I like it on toast—buttered brioche or olive oil–drizzled country bread—with some strawberry jam, or old-school booze-soaked cherries (Luxardo maraschinos, ideally). Also encouraged: dipping shortbread cookies into it or daubing it onto a freshly baked, split biscuit to make a filled sandwich.

1 Preheat a 10-inch cast-iron skillet on the stovetop, gradually raising the heat from low to medium. When the pan is hot, add the pistachios and cook the nuts for 3 to 4 minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon or spatula, until they exude a pronounced toasted smell.

2 Transfer the toasted pistachio nuts to a food processor. Let them sit for 5 to 10 minutes to cool down a bit so they’re not too hot. Process the nuts for 2½ to 3 minutes until they form a paste. Stop the machine midway through processing to smooth and, using a rubber spatula, scrape down the sides of the food processor bowl. Add the cocoa powder, sugar, vanilla, salt, and canola oil and process for up to 90 seconds to get a smooth, integrated, thick spread, scraping down the sides of the bowl in the middle of processing, if necessary.

3 Transfer the chocolate-pistachio mixture to a medium bowl. Add the mascarpone and, using a rubber spatula, fold it into the spread until it’s thoroughly incorporated. It will keep in the refrigerator, in a sealed container, for 2 weeks, at least.