Sides, Nothing Fancy

It implies something that exists only to serve as an accompaniment to something else. No disrespect to a great chicken or an expensive steak, but it’s no secret that sides are often the most delicious thing on the table. In fact, I make a meal of “just sides” all the time and don’t see anything wrong with your doing that, either. Side dishes deserve our unrestrained love and utmost respect! Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

Anyway, if salads bring their bright, clean, tangy texture, sides provide a hearty, starchy, warm, comforting moment. They can be anchored by vegetables prepared literally every way (Steamed! Grilled! Roasted! Sautéed!), served spicy or saucy or both. Sides can be a pot of well-cooked grains tossed with caramelized fennel (this page) or a few cans of rinsed legumes crisped up in olive oil with feta and oregano (this page). A creamy cauliflower gratin (this page) is a side and so is a platter of halved long-roasted eggplant with crunchy, garlicky bread crumbs (this page). If there was a time for butter, extra carbs, and lots of cheese, sides are it (but don’t forget to finish with lemon and plenty of fresh herbs to stay on brand here, okay?).

I’m rarely ambivalent about anything, but right now I’ll level with you. When it comes to this particular recipe, it doesn’t really matter how you cook the green beans. The key is to have just-cooked green beans, lightly dressed and topped in a tangy, mustardy dressing, with toasted, garlicky, anchovyed walnuts. The most interesting way to cook the beans in my opinion is grilling, because you can do it hot and fast so they get nicely charred without overcooking, but unless you have fat green beans or a grill with small grates, it can be heartbreaking (and annoying) to watch them slip through and fall into the coals. That said, roasting is great, especially when cooking for a crowd because you can roast a lot at a time in only a few minutes (just make sure not to crowd the baking sheet). That also said, I mean, if you want to just sauté them, you can do that, too! It’s honestly a real “choose your own green bean adventure.”

1 cup raw walnuts, coarsely chopped

½ cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided, plus more for drizzling

4 anchovy fillets

1 garlic clove, finely grated

1½ pounds fresh green beans, trimmed

1 lemon, thinly sliced, seeds removed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons whole-grain mustard

1 tablespoon distilled white vinegar or white wine vinegar

¼ cup fresh dill, finely chopped

2 Heat the walnuts and ¼ cup oil in a medium pot over medium heat. Cook, swirling occasionally, until the walnuts are toasted, 2 to 3 minutes. Remove from the heat and add the anchovies and garlic, swirling to dissolve the anchovies; set aside.

3 Place the green beans and lemon on a rimmed baking sheet and drizzle with enough olive oil to lightly coat and season with salt and pepper. Roast (or grill), tossing green beans and lemon once or twice, until they’ve started to char and brown in spots, 12 to 15 minutes (closer to 8 to 10 if grilling).

4 Combine the mustard, vinegar, and the remaining ¼ cup olive oil in a large bowl and season with salt and pepper. Add the green beans and toss to coat. Transfer to a serving platter and top with the reserved walnuts and the dill.

DO AHEAD Green beans can be cooked and dressed a few hours ahead, stored loosely covered at room temperature (this is an excellent room-temperature dish).

Grilled corn is good, yes, but have you ever had a grilled carrot? Super high in sugar content, the carrot caramelizes and chars like no other and cooks in a fraction of the time corn does (because, you know, smaller circumference and all). Of course, you don’t have to grill these carrots, but grilled carrots are good as hell, and if you have the opportunity to do so, grill ’em. (Don’t worry, they are just as delicious roasted in a hot oven.)

No matter how you get there, the moral of the story is you’re charring and crisping carrots, dousing them in a slightly sweet, very limey, kinda spicy sauce and then sprinkling them with cheese, making yourself and anyone you feed them to extremely happy.

1½ pounds small to medium carrots, scrubbed and halved lengthwise

3 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for drizzling

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup fresh lime juice

½ jalapeño, seeds removed if you want less heat, finely chopped

1 small garlic clove, finely grated

2 teaspoons honey

1 cup fresh cilantro, tender leaves and stems

1–2 ounces cotija or crumbled queso fresco, mild feta, or ricotta salata

2 Toss the carrots on a rimmed baking sheet with the olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill (or roast), turning occasionally, until the carrots are deeply browned and caramelized on all sides, 8 to 10 minutes (15 to 20 minutes in the oven). Remove from the grill and let cool slightly.

3 Meanwhile, combine the lime juice, jalapeño, garlic, and honey in a small bowl; season with salt and pepper.

4 Place the carrots on a large serving platter or plate and drizzle with a bit of olive oil. Spoon the limey hot sauce over and scatter with the cilantro and cotija, serving any remaining hot sauce alongside for serving, dipping, etc.

DO AHEAD Carrots can be cooked up to 2 days ahead (they are excellent cold), covered tightly, and refrigerated.

NOTE These carrots are almost better at room temperature (or even cold) so if you’re grilling something else (like the chicken on this page), throw these on first and let them hang out while you do everything else.

If you thought I was going to write a book and not include yet another variation on the world’s two most perfect ingredients together (radishes and butter), then you were mistaken. These radishes are roasted hot and fast, with their tops on, so you get a nice, golden brown and tender radish (which tastes like a turnip, if you ask me), and crispy, crunchy tops (which taste like kale chips, if you also ask me). When they come out of the oven, they get laid on a bed of herby, garlicky, anchovy-rich butter, which will slightly melt under the residual heat of the vegetables but generally stays creamy, ideal for dipping, swooping, and scooping.

If you have extra Green Goddess Butter (and you will), serve it over seared steak, swordfish (this page), whole fish (this page), chicken, or on toast, melted into pasta, on a spoon directly into your mouth, and so on. It’s so versatile and delicious, you’ll want to put it on everything.

FOR THE GREEN GODDESS BUTTER

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, room temperature

½ cup fresh parsley, tender leaves and stems, very finely chopped

¼ cup fresh tarragon leaves, very finely chopped

¼ cup very finely chopped fresh chives

4 anchovy fillets, very finely chopped

1 garlic clove, finely grated

2 tablespoons white wine vinegar

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

FOR THE VEGETABLES

2 bunches radishes or baby turnips with tops on, scrubbed well and halved lengthwise

3 tablespoons olive oil

1 lemon, halved

Flaky sea salt

Freshly ground black pepper

1 Make the Green Goddess Butter. Combine the butter, parsley, tarragon, chives, anchovies, garlic, and vinegar in a medium bowl. Smash with a fork until well blended (alternatively, place all ingredients in a food processor and blend until well combined). Season with salt and pepper.

3 Prepare the vegetables. Toss the radishes and olive oil together on a rimmed baking sheet, making sure to get olive oil on the leaves as well. Roast until the radishes are tender and the tops are browned and crispy, 12 to 15 minutes.

4 Spread the Green Goddess Butter on a serving plate or in a shallow bowl. Top with the radishes and squeeze lemon juice over everything. Sprinkle with flaky salt and pepper and serve.

DO AHEAD Green Goddess Butter can be made up to 2 weeks ahead, covered tightly, and refrigerated. Bring the butter to room temperature before serving.

This recipe involves a bit of good news and a bit of bad news. Which do you want first? I’ll go ahead with the good news: Once these artichokes are cooked in their oily, white wine bath, you can eat them without teaching anyone how to navigate the thorny beast or deal with the feathery choke. The bad news: You have to clean them while they are raw, which, depending on how much you’ve had to drink, could be at worst dangerous and at best pretty annoying. So why am I telling you to do it that way? Because it’s worth it. Hey—at least I’m not asking you to deep-fry anything.

The two-step cooking process achieves two things. First, you steam the artichokes covered in foil until tender, making each leaf down to the heart soft and edible (do not skip this part, or the leaves will not be soft enough to eat). Second, you uncover the artichokes to evaporate the excess liquid, and caramelize the bottom, and you get the outer leaves all crispy, which are so good for nibbling on (do not skip this part, or the whole thing will not be as delicious).

Seasoned with acidic white wine from the inside out, these artichokes need nothing more than the garlicky oil they’ve sizzled in for dipping, but I am a “more is more” person when it comes to artichokes and would welcome a lemony aioli or creamy labne, as well.

2–3 large artichokes (1½–2 pounds total)

1 cup white wine

1 cup water

¼ cup olive oil

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, cut into ½-inch pieces

4 garlic cloves, smashed

Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Lemony Aioli (this page), optional

2 Trim the very ends of the artichoke stem, but leave most of it (it’s an extension of the heart and will taste just as good). Using a serrated knife, slice the first 1½ inches off the top, exposing the yellow-y purple rose-like interior. Using your hands, peel away the first two to three layers of those tough, dark green outer leaves, leaving the most tender, paler green ones behind. Using kitchen scissors, trim any lingering thorns on the leaves.

3 Cut the artichokes in half lengthwise. Using a spoon, dig out the fuzzy choke of each half, making sure to scrape clean any lingering bits. Place the artichokes, cut side down, in a large baking dish (size will depend on whether you’re doing 2 or 3, but a 9 by 13-inch pan should do the trick either way). Don’t worry about storing them in acidulated water to prevent browning—they are going to brown regardless once you roast them, so who cares? I never really understood this.

4 Pour the wine, water, and olive oil over the artichokes. Add the butter, garlic, and crushed red pepper flakes, if using; season everything with salt and pepper. (Remember you’re seasoning the artichokes and the cooking liquid, so be generous.) Cover tightly with foil and roast until the artichokes are totally tender, 45 to 55 minutes.

5 Remove the foil and continue to roast until the liquid is mostly evaporated (the olive oil will linger behind), the tops of the artichokes are nicely browned, and the garlic begins to sizzle and brown in the olive oil (the cut sides of the artichokes will also be sizzling and browning), another 15 to 20 minutes.

6 Transfer the antichokes to a large serving platter or bowl. Scrape any of the garlicky oil at the bottom of the baking dish into a small bowl for serving alongside the aioli, if you like.

DO AHEAD Artichokes can be roasted a few hours ahead, kept loosely covered at room temperature. There is no need to reheat before serving, but you can definitely pop them into a hot oven for a bit to warm them through, if you like.

I have a few unwavering preferences including, but not limited to: I will never be a morning person, I will never use a top sheet, and I prefer my vegetables crispy. The last one means I’m almost always roasting my vegetables hot and fast, or grilling them even hotter and faster.

But once in a while a person, dish, or moment changes my mind (although I will never use a top sheet!). Recently, my friend Amiel told me how he loves to “cook the shit out of” his vegetables, long and slow, beating every ounce of texture out of them until they’re lifeless and soft and flavorless, probably. I mean, sure, dude! Sounds not good! I thought. But then he stewed a pot of them (for one million years), until they were fall-apart tender and, yes, intensely flavorful. Because I can admit when I’m wrong I’ll tell you (and him): a stewed green bean can be just as good as a crisp, barely cooked one.

That said, I still prefer a bit of “al dente” texture, so my version of “braised long and slow” is only about 30 minutes. This way, they maintain their lovely green color and touch of snap but still qualify as tender.

2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more as needed

2 tablespoons harissa paste

4 garlic cloves, smashed

1 large ripe tomato, quartered

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup dry white wine

1½ pounds fresh romano, wax, or green beans, stems trimmed

1 cup mixed tender fresh herbs, such as parsley, cilantro, dill, and/or mint

½ cup finely chopped fresh chives

2 tablespoons finely grated lemon zest

1 Heat the olive oil in a medium pot over medium heat. Add the harissa and garlic, and cook, stirring occasionally, until the harissa has started to caramelize, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the tomato and season with salt and pepper. Cook until the tomato begins to break down into a pulpy mash, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the wine and cook until reduced by about half, 2-ish minutes.

2 Add the beans and stir to coat in the spicy tomato-y business. Season with salt and pepper, reduce the heat to medium-low, and place the lid on top. Let them do their thing in there for 15 to 20 minutes before stirring. Continue cooking until the beans are starting to turn a more olive, army green color and are delightfully softened but not yet mushy, 10 to 15 minutes more. Top with the herbs and lemon zest before serving.

DO AHEAD Green beans can be made 2 days ahead, kept tightly covered and refrigerated; gently rewarm before serving.

Roasted carrots are sweet enough that they don’t really need much help in that department, but I still like adding maple syrup or honey when roasting because I love how they get all shiny and sticky. The perfect thing to do here is to channel the powers of an excellent PB&J and smear a bit of seasoned nutty tahini sauce (the peanut butter, naturally) on the bottom of the plate, then eat those sticky carrots with some jammy, roasted citrus slices (the jelly, of course). To keep things decidedly savory, the carrots are also roasted with red onion that’s taken a bath in lemon juice, because the only thing better than a roasted onion is a roasted pickled onion.

1 small or ½ medium red onion, peeled and cut into ½-inch wedges

2 tablespoons fresh lemon or lime juice, plus more for seasoning

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 bunches small carrots (about 1 pound), tops removed, scrubbed, quartered lengthwise

1 small, unpeeled blood orange, tangerine, or lemon, thinly sliced, seeds removed

4 chiles de arbol, lightly crushed, or ½ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

2 tablespoons pure maple syrup or honey

¼ cup olive oil, plus more for drizzling

¼ cup tahini

3 tablespoons water

2 Toss the onion and lemon juice together in a small bowl. Season with salt and pepper and let sit 8 to 10 minutes to lightly pickle.

3 Drain the onion, discarding the liquid. On a rimmed baking sheet, toss the onion with the carrots, orange, chiles, maple syrup, and olive oil.

4 Roast, tossing occasionally until the carrots and citrus slices are totally tender and caramelized at the ends, 25 to 30 minutes.

5 Meanwhile, combine the tahini and water in a small bowl; season with salt and pepper.

6 Spoon some of the tahini sauce on the bottom of a large serving platter or plate and top with the carrots, onion, and citrus. Serve extra tahini sauce alongside.

DO AHEAD Carrots and citrus can be roasted a few hours ahead, kept loosely wrapped until ready to serve (no need to reheat). Tahini sauce can be made 1 week ahead, kept in a sealed container and refrigerated.

I love to keep boiled potatoes around for out-of-hand snacking, to place on my platter of “thoughtfully arranged vegetables” (this page), and as a quick addition to things like a skillet full of chicken fat. But aside from the crispy kind, there is no better application for smashed boiled potatoes than a potato-y salad. No, not potato salad, a potato-y salad. (Calling this a “potato-y salad” allows me the freedom to express myself without judgment since defining potato salad really gets people riled up—Mayonnaise? No mayonnaise! Celery? Always!).

Here, the potatoes are crushed so the chunkiness (for texture) can coexist with the more broken-up pieces (for creaminess) while those exposed craggy edges absorb that lemony, scalliony, salty dressing. The tinned fish are optional, but they are truly good in this application—little pieces of fatty, salty fish to be snacked on between bites of dilly, tangy potatoes and crunchy celery.

1½ pounds small, waxy potatoes, such as golden creamers or fingerlings (preferably the size of a golf ball, no larger than a tangerine)

Kosher salt

⅓ cup olive oil

¼ cup finely chopped fresh dill, plus more for garnish

1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, plus more as needed

4 scallions, white and green parts, thinly sliced

Coarsely ground black pepper

4 celery stalks, thinly sliced on the bias

1 cup celery leaves or tender leaves and stems of fresh parsley

1 tin of sardines, anchovy fillets, or other fish of your dreams, torn or cut into bite-sized pieces (optional, but come on)

1 Boil the potatoes in salted water until they’re completely tender, 10 to 15 minutes depending on the size of the potato. Drain and let sit until they’re cool enough to lightly crush with the palms of your hands.

2 Meanwhile, combine the olive oil, dill, lemon zest, lemon juice, and half the scallions in a small bowl; season with salt and pepper and more lemon juice.

3 Add the crushed potatoes and celery and toss to coat; season with salt and pepper.

4 Transfer the potatoes, celery, and any dressing to a large serving platter. Top with the celery leaves, remaining scallions, more dill, and more pepper. Serve with sardines or anchovies alongside or scattered over.

DO AHEAD Potatoes can be boiled up to 1 week ahead, covered, and refrigerated. Potato salad can be made up to 2 days ahead, covered, and refrigerated.

Following in the great tradition of crispy smashed potatoes, these potatoes are also twice cooked, but with different results (because a sweet potato, after all, is not a regular potato). Less crispy than its starchy friend, this is more about the creamy interior than the crispy exterior.

You can, of course, use larger sweet potatoes, but I will say that the final product will not be as adorable.

1½ pounds small sweet potatoes (about 4–6)

1 cup sour cream

2 tablespoons fresh lime or lemon juice

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil

6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter

⅓ cup pure maple syrup

¼ cup toasted buckwheat groats (kasha)

2 tablespoons fresh thyme leaves

Flaky sea salt

2 Using a fork, prick the sweet potatoes all over so that they don’t explode in the oven (which might happen!). Place directly on the wire rack and bake until totally tender, 50 to 60 minutes. Remove from the oven to cool.

3 Meanwhile, combine the sour cream and lime juice and season with salt and pepper. It should be fairly tart and salty. Smear on the bottom of a serving platter.

4 Once the potatoes are cool enough to handle, use the palm of your hand to crush them slightly.

5 Heat the olive oil and butter in a large skillet over medium heat. Working in batches, add the potatoes, pressing lightly to make contact with the skillet. Season with salt and pepper and cook until lightly crisped and browned on one side, 3 to 4 minutes. Flip and continue to cook until browned and crisped on the other side. Transfer potatoes to the serving platter and repeat with any stragglers.

6 Without wiping out the skillet, add the maple syrup and cook until it’s thickened and starting to caramelize, about 2 minutes. Pour all over the sweet potatoes. Top with the buckwheat, thyme, and lots of flaky salt.

DO AHEAD Sweet potatoes can be baked up to 5 days ahead, covered, and refrigerated.

Steamed broccoli is awesome. Not since “I love boiled potatoes” have I written something so boring, but there you have it. Now, let me take up an entire page telling you why.

Finding a vegetable that is as good blanched or steamed as it is roasted or grilled is a true miracle and something that should be celebrated. Broccoli and all its affiliates—broccoli rabe, baby broccoli, broccolini—manage to shine in nearly all applications, but I can say with total honesty that on many occasions, especially when it relates to a table full of food, I prefer it blanched or steamed—even more so when it gets assaulted with an insane amount of fresh lemon juice, drizzled with a good amount of olive oil, and sprinkled with crunchy, flaky sea salt.

It doesn’t need much more than that. In fact, resist the urge to sprinkle with cheese or drag through a pool of sour cream. Both of those would be very good, obviously, but the beauty here is in picking up an assertively lemoned neon-green stalk and popping it all into your mouth in between bites of cheesy pasta or brothy, braised meat. It’s the palate cleanser (made of broccoli) you never knew you needed, until now.

TO MAKE
Vis-á-vis blanching or steaming, which route I’ll take largely depends on what else I’m doing. For example, if I’m making pasta that night, I’ll blanch the broccoli in the pasta water before I add my pasta (sure, the water turns a little green, but my pasta doesn’t seem to care—just make sure the water is plenty salted!). If I’m braising something in the oven, while I wait, I’ll set up a little steam situation on top of the stove. Both are great.

To blanch, cook 1 to 1½ pounds (for 4 to 6 people) in a pot of salted boiling water until bright green and just tender (30 seconds or so for broccoli rabe, which is also great here, 60 seconds or so for baby broccoli, closer to 90 seconds for spears cut from a head of broccoli).

To steam, fill a large, wide pot with about 1½ inches water. Place a steamer basket in the pot, add the broccoli or broccoli rabe, and season with salt. Steam until bright green and just tender (60 seconds or so for broccoli rabe, 2 minutes or so for baby broccoli, closer to 4 minutes for spears cut from a head of broccoli).

From there, the key to making this truly excellent is make sure you really douse the broccoli in lemon once it’s cooked. Do not hold back. It should be bracingly acidic, so much so that when you serve it to your friends, they might say, “Wow, that is SO lemony,” and then find themselves unable to stop eating it. From there, sprinkle with flaky sea salt, a scattering of fresh herbs if you like, maybe a drizzle of olive oil, and a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes.

I want to use this platform to issue a formal apology to leeks: Leeks, I’ve been ignoring you for years, almost always choosing literally any other allium over you. I’d like to think that those years of neglect were all in preparation for bringing us to this very moment, when you take center stage, shining in a dish that can only be described as “better than it ought to be,” given the limited number of ingredients involved.

Here, leeks sizzle in a spicy olive oil mixture, the wild tendrilly ends crisping up like they’ve been deep fried, looking like an extremely festive and delicious party decoration; the pale green center becoming impossibly tender and creamy, finished with a bright raw lemon. If there was a dish to make you feel bad for ignoring leeks all this time, this is it. Don’t worry—they forgive you!

4 large leeks, dark green parts removed, halved lengthwise

⅓ cup olive oil

2 tablespoons harissa paste

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

½ lemon, seeds removed, very finely chopped

Flaky sea salt

2 Place the leeks cut side down and, without cutting through to the root, slice them lengthwise into ¼-inch strips. (You’ll have a leek that looks like a streamer or palm fan). Place leeks in a 9 by 13-inch baking dish or on a rimmed baking sheet.

3 Whisk the olive oil and harissa together, then massage into the leeks, getting into all their layers. Season with salt and pepper and lay them straight-ish.

4 Roast, without disturbing too much so that they keep their long, wild shape, until they start to fry and sizzle and brown at the ends, 20 to 25 minutes.

5 Remove from the oven and transfer to a serving bowl or platter. Top with the lemon and flaky salt before serving.

DO AHEAD Leeks can be roasted several hours before serving, then kept loosely covered at room temperature. No need to reheat them before serving (they’ll stay crispy and are good at room temperature), but you can if you like.

NOTE Depending on where they are coming from, leeks can be dirty to quite dirty. Rinsing the halved leeks in a bowl of cold water is the best way to free them of dirt.

This recipe almost didn’t make it into the book, but after preparing it for a friend who is often my toughest critic, she demanded that it be included here, if only so she could cook it herself. Seared in a skillet until charred and tender, basted with butter and sizzled anchovies, and finished with a ridiculous amount of black pepper and fresh lemon, this cabbage is one of the most unsuspectingly delicious things in this book.

After eating an entire head of cabbage between the two of us, we both agreed that if more people had cabbage this good (and easy to make) cabbage would be a lot more popular. So here is this recipe, a last-minute gift from us to you, all in the name of spreading the cabbage gospel.

The key here is to stay true to the recipe name—which is to say, cook it just long enough so that it’s softened but not soft. You’ll know you’ve reached this point when the cabbage starts to kind of wilt onto itself but maintains its structure without totally collapsing into a pile of rags.

3 tablespoons olive oil, chicken fat, pork fat, or duck fat

1 large head of savory, cone, or white cabbage (do not use red or napa here), quartered lengthwise

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

4–6 anchovy fillets

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter

1 lemon, halved crosswise

Flaky sea salt

1 Heat your chosen fat in a large skillet, preferably cast-iron, over medium-high heat.

2 Season the cabbage with salt and pepper. Once the fat is super hot, add the cabbage, cut side down, and cook until it’s well browned and caramelized, 4 to 6 minutes. Using tongs or a spatula, turn the cabbage and sear on the other cut side until it’s just as browned and caramelized, 4 to 6 minutes. Transfer the cabbage to a large serving platter.

3 Add the anchovies and butter to the skillet, letting it foam up and get all browned while the anchovies melt into the fat, about 2 minutes.

4 Spoon the butter mixture over the cabbage and squeeze all over with both lemon halves. Sprinkle with flaky salt and pepper.

DO AHEAD This should be made right before you sit down to eat, which is to say, sorry, there are no do-aheads here!

NOTE Olive oil always works, but this is an excellent opportunity to use any leftover fat from something you may have just cooked in that same skillet (chicken thighs, pork chops, steak) to cook many vegetables, like fennel, mushrooms, garlic scapes, and radishes.

Baked potatoes are underrated, and I want you to love them as much as I do. As with steamed artichokes, this is less of a recipe and more of a loud reminder that we should be making baked potatoes all the time, especially when having people over.

Now, I could see how if you’ve only known under-seasoned baked potatoes with soft skins and too few toppings, this idea might not excite you. However, I grew up eating the world’s most perfect baked potatoes, made by my mom, who has an unrivaled preference for crispy things. Those potatoes were not microwaved (not because we were microwave averse but because it’s impossible to get a crispy exterior on a potato by microwaving it), and definitely were not wrapped in foil (because how are they going to get crispy wrapped in foil?) but, rather, were rubbed in oil, seasoned with lots of salt, stabbed with a fork repeatedly and placed directly on the racks in a screaming-hot oven.

My mom and I waited at least an hour (even though it felt like five), and our patience was rewarded with a potato that was impossibly fluffy on the inside and shatteringly crispy on the outside. We’d crack them open, still steaming and too hot to eat, then smear them with large pats of butter, assault them with salt and freshly ground pepper, an absurd amount of chopped scallions, and, for my mom, sour cream (I didn’t come to appreciate such an ingredient until later in life).

This “recipe” comes from her dad—my grandpa Bob—a true Renaissance man from Oklahoma, where he raised his own rabbits, grew his own tomatoes, baked his own bread, and, from what I hear, made the world's best baked potatoes. Now you get to, too.

While I frequently enjoy one for a solo dinner, baked potatoes are great when you’re having people over. Not only are they about as crowd pleasing as it gets and require almost zero work on your part, but they are also the perfect opportunity to assemble a Really Cool Toppings Bar, a.k.a. the theme for my wedding, should I ever have one. Even though I find it hard to improve on the simple “lots of butter, salt, and too many scallions” combo, I do love to get dressed up for company and break out the picked herbs, sour cream, and fancy fish eggs. But don’t let the presence of caviar intimidate you—the following are just suggestions, and do not have to be obeyed, by any means.

4–10 medium russet potatoes, scrubbed well and patted dry

Canola oil

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

ACCEPTABLE TOPPINGS INCLUDE BUT ARE NOT LIMITED TO

Sour cream, lots of it (sure, go ahead and use Greek yogurt, but don’t blame me when you wish you had used sour cream)

Chives and/or scallions, finely chopped

Unsalted butter, preferably at room temperature

Flaky sea salt and coarsely ground black pepper

Trout or salmon roe (optional)

Finely chopped fresh dill and/or parsley

1 Preheat the oven to 500°F. This may seem excessive, but I assure you it is not.

2 Using a fork, poke the potatoes all around. This is kind of a violent act, I’ll admit, but it’s necessary so that the steam can escape the potato, allowing the inside to cook evenly and the skin to crisp. You could use a small knife, but I don’t want anyone ending up in the hospital.

3 Drizzle a little oil onto each potato, or onto your hands, and just like you’re oiling yourself up on some fantastic beach, rub the potatoes with a thin, even layer of oil. (My mom would do this with a paper towel; also an option.)

4 Season the potatoes on all sides with salt and pepper, and place directly onto the oven rack and bake until the potatoes are deeply crispy, dark, dark brown on the outside, and totally baked through, 60 to 70 minutes.

5 Carefully remove the potatoes and transfer to a large serving platter. Once ready to eat, slice them open lengthwise and fill to your heart’s content with all the toppings in the land.

NOTE Don’t cut the potatoes open until you’re ready to eat them or else the steam will escape and they will lose heat and the butter won’t melt when you put it on (a true tragedy!).

For those on the East Coast, Winter Squash Season is a real “thing.” At first, it’s very exciting because it also means that it’s Chunky Sweater Season and everyone is feeling extremely cozy, thrilled to be outside without sweating profusely. But soon you realize WSS lasts for approximately 84 years, and one month into it you might feel like dying if you have to eat one more roasted butternut.

The first time I made this it was peak WSS, and I still found myself shamelessly eating it with my hands, dragging each caramelized wedge through the lemony yogurt and buttery pistachios, swiping leftovers with my fingers, licking them clean like some sort of animal. Yes, it truly was that good.

1 winter squash, such as Red Kuri, kabocha, or acorn, sliced into 1½-inch wedges (1½–2 pounds)

3 tablespoons olive oil

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

6 tablespoons unsalted butter

¼ cup raw pistachios, finely chopped

½ teaspoon ground cumin

½ teaspoon ground turmeric

Pinch of ground cinnamon

Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

Flaky sea salt

1 cup full-fat Greek yogurt

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice

2 Remove the seeds from the squash if you want (I leave them in, as I enjoy their crunchy texture as they roast, but whatever you like!) and toss the squash on a rimmed baking sheet with the olive oil. Season with salt and pepper, and roast until the squash is totally tender and golden brown with caramelized bits, 40 to 50 minutes.

3 Meanwhile, melt the butter in a small pot over medium heat. Cook, swirling occasionally, until the butter has browned and started to foam, 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and add the pistachios, cumin, turmeric, cinnamon, and red pepper flakes, if using. Season with flaky salt and set aside.

4 Combine the yogurt and lemon juice in a small bowl and season with salt. Spoon the yogurt sauce onto the bottom of a large serving platter or bowl. Arrange squash nestled into each other and spoon the buttered pistachios over everything. Top with flaky salt and a grind of black pepper or a pinch of red pepper flakes.

DO AHEAD Squash can be roasted several hours ahead of time, wrapped loosely, and stored at room temperature. It doesn’t need to be reheated before serving, but you can if you like.

NOTE Most winter squash works here, but my favorites are the larger, thick-skinned varieties such as Red Kuri, kabocha, and acorn, because you can eat the skin (and the seeds!). If using something like a butternut or honey nut, slice it into 1-inch-thick slices rather than wedges.

Something special happens to cauliflower when it’s roasted for a very long time. It transforms from simply tender and soft to complexly crispy and toothsome, a word I really try to avoid using but sometimes can’t. It’s important to resist the urge to take out the cauliflower once it’s just cooked through. You must push through, continuing to roast until the flavors have concentrated, the sugars have caramelized, the spices have toasted, and the bits have crisped.

The spices are light enough to vibe with nearly anything on your table, and this side dish can easily take the place of a grain or other starch. Not to complicate things, but you can even add a can of rinsed and drained chickpeas to the cauliflower before roasting. They’ll cook and crisp along with the cauliflower, and then maybe you put a fried egg on top and serve with a crispy and crunchy salad, and then all of a sudden you have dinner.

1 large head cauliflower, about 2 pounds

4 garlic cloves, finely grated

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1 teaspoon fennel seeds

½ teaspoon ground coriander

½ teaspoon ground turmeric

⅓ cup olive oil

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup finely chopped fresh chives, mint, parsley, or cilantro, tender leaves and stems (optional)

Crumbled feta, seasoned yogurt, or labne (optional)

2 Break the cauliflower into very small florets, about the size of a large bean. I just use my hands to do this, but you can use a knife.

3 Toss the cauliflower with the garlic, crushed red pepper flakes, fennel seeds, coriander, turmeric, and olive oil on a rimmed baking sheet and season with salt and lots and lots of pepper. Place in the oven and don’t even think about touching it for at least 15 minutes. No, it won’t burn! I promise.

4 After 15 minutes, toss the cauliflower occasionally to promote even browning, until each little friend is deeply browned and caramelized, another 15 to 20 minutes, with the smaller bits even darker and crispier (those are my favorite parts).

5 Transfer the cauliflower to a large platter and top with the herbs. Serve alongside feta, yogurt, or labne, if you just must.

DO AHEAD Cauliflower can be roasted a few hours ahead, covered loosely, and stored at room temperature.

NOTE I find myself satisfied without the addition of crumbled feta or saucy yogurt here, but it’s no secret that either would be super delicious served on top, underneath, or alongside.

I am one of those people who’d never entertain the idea of replacing carbs with vegetables à la zoodles or cauliflower rice, but once this dish was born, I realized I was essentially using cauliflower as a replacement for pasta in this pasta-less version of what reminds me of macaroni and cheese. Believe me, I, too, was horrified, but it was so good that I did not and could not care.

This gratin is the easiest and most delicious way to make superlatively tender, creamy, cheesy cauliflower without any additional steps (no bechamel, roux, or other fancy sauce required). Bake the cauliflower, covered, in the cream, just to cook it through and get it tender, then uncover it so the cream can reduce, becoming thick and rich, and the cheese can get all browned and crispy.

It may seem like a crazy thing to do, but I left the bread crumbs optional for two reasons. One, because without them, it is a really great time for people who don’t indulge in gluten to get on the gratin train (which is usually either bolstered with a roux made from flour, covered in nonnegotiable bread crumbs, or both); and two, I think this gratin is really, really good (and, superficially, more beautiful) without them. So good in fact, I couldn’t choose between the two preparations, but would rather saddle you with this Sophie’s Choice. Alternatively, make both versions and then decide for yourself.

1 cup heavy cream

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter

2 garlic cloves, finely grated

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2½- to 3-pound cauliflower, leafy green parts removed

½ small sweet or yellow onion, very thinly sliced

6 ounces Gruyère or white cheddar cheese, grated (about 2½ cups)

Crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

2 cups fresh coarse bread crumbs (see this page) or panko (optional)

3 tablespoons white sesame seeds

¼ cup olive oil (if using bread crumbs)

2 Bring the cream, butter, and garlic to a simmer in a small pot over medium heat. Season with salt and pepper and remove from heat.

3 Slice the cauliflower into ½-inch-thick slabs (some of the bits will fall away and crumble into tiny florets; this is fine).

4 Place the smallest bits of cauliflower on the bottom of a 9-inch pie plate or cake pan (I like the roundness of the pie plates and cake pans, but a 2-quart baking dish of any shape will work). Scatter with some of the onion, followed by some of the cheese. Repeat with the remaining cauliflower, onion, and cheese until all of it is used, ending with the cheese.

5 Pour the cream mixture over (leave the garlic in or remove), followed by a good sprinkle of crushed red pepper flakes, if using.

6 Cover with aluminum foil and bake until the cauliflower is tender and cooked through, 20 to 25 minutes.

7 Remove the foil and continue to bake until the top is bubbly and golden and the cream is mostly reduced, another 15 to 20 minutes (it will look slightly runny and creamy in the oven but will set and thicken once you take it out of the oven and let it cool a few minutes).

8 If using the bread crumbs: Now is the time to put them to use. Combine the bread crumbs, sesame seeds, and olive oil in a medium bowl (alternatively, just use sesame seeds). Season with salt and pepper.

9 Scatter the bread crumb mixture (alternatively, just scatter the sesame seeds) over the top and bake until those are deeply and thoroughly crispy and golden brown, 8 to 10 minutes.

DO AHEAD Gratin (sans bread crumbs) can be baked 2 days ahead, then kept covered and refrigerated. To reheat, place in a 400°F oven, uncovered (adding bread crumbs, if using), until returned to its bubbling, golden state, 10 to 15 minutes.

Peeling a freshly roasted beet is one of those therapeutic kitchen tasks I truly enjoy, like shelling peas and picking the stems off green beans. It’s even more therapeutic when they’re golden beets rather than red, so I don’t stain my clothes, hands, kitchen towels, and countertops, but I still enjoy the task, regardless. Because of their intense sweet, earthy flavor, for me to really love a beet I have to eat it with something very creamy, very tangy, and very herby. Luckily, this dish has all of that, plus nutty crunchiness from some toasted walnuts (although you can use another nut, if you like) and cumin seeds.

1½ pounds medium golden or red beets, scrubbed and tops trimmed

¼ cup red wine vinegar, white wine vinegar, or distilled white vinegar

Kosher salt

½ small red onion, thinly sliced

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, plus more to season

Freshly ground black pepper

½ teaspoon ground sumac (optional)

½ cup buttermilk (see this page)

¼ cup sour cream or full-fat Greek yogurt

½ cup coarsely chopped walnuts, pecans, or hazelnuts, toasted (see this page)

1 tablespoon cumin seeds, finely chopped or crushed

Olive oil, for drizzling

2 Place the beets in a large baking dish and pour the vinegar over. Season with salt and cover the baking dish with foil. Roast until the beets are totally tender and can easily be pierced with a fork, 50 to 60 minutes. Let cool.

3 Combine the onion and lemon juice; season with salt and pepper. Let sit a minute or two, then add sumac, if using.

4 Meanwhile, combine the buttermilk and sour cream; season with salt, pepper, and some lemon juice.

5 Spoon the buttermilk mixture on the bottom of a large shallow bowl or sloped serving platter. Peel and slice the beets about ½ inch thick. Arrange them on top of the buttermilk mixture, then top with the onions, walnuts, and cumin. Drizzle everything with olive oil before serving.

DO AHEAD Beets can be roasted and peeled a few days ahead, covered tightly, and refrigerated. Buttermilk mixture can be made a week ahead, covered, and refrigerated.

Eggplant is a truly special vegetable (okay, it’s a fruit) with special powers. The texture, depending on how it’s cooked, can be crispy, tender, or creamy, not unlike a potato. But unlike a potato, it also has the potential to be downright custardy. I’m talking, “Is this a flan? Are there eggs in this? Am I eating chawanmushi?” custardy. I don’t want to make the other vegetables jealous, but I’m not sure there is anything else out there that can do what eggplant does.

Here, that custardy texture is impossibly easy to achieve when the eggplant gets halved lengthwise, drenched in olive oil, and roasted at a very high temperature. It never quite crisps, but it browns. Boy, does it brown. It browns and caramelizes while the rest of it turns to the texture that reminds me of the inside of a perfectly just set 6-minute egg. A true miracle.

So why add the labne, an already very creamy ingredient? Well, even once roasted in a glut of olive oil, eggplant is quite lean, so it takes kindly to those rich, fatty ingredients such as labne, yogurt, sour cream, cheese, and the like. All that is to say: Trust me. Since crunch is my favorite flavor, I like to scatter the whole thing with lots of olive-oily, garlicky fried spicy croutons.

This can absolutely fly as a fantastic main course for vegetarians or whoever just doesn’t feel like eating meat at the moment. If you’re going that route, just make sure there’s at least one large half of an eggplant per person.

3 medium or 2 large globe or Italian eggplants (about 2½ pounds), halved lengthwise

¾ cup olive oil, divided, plus more as needed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 fresh red chile, very thinly sliced, or 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

2 cups torn bread (crusty bread such as sourdough, country loaf, or miche), in ½-inch pieces

1 cup labne, full-fat Greek yogurt, or sour cream

1 preserved lemon, finely chopped

1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice, plus more as desired

1 cup fresh mint or cilantro leaves, tender leaves and stems

2 Using a small paring knife, make a few ½-inch slits into the cut side of each eggplant. (You can do this lengthwise, crosswise, or even diagonally. Knock yourself out with your decorative prowess!)

3 Place the eggplant cut side up on a rimmed baking sheet and drizzle with ½ cup olive oil, distributing as evenly as possible. Season with salt and pepper and turn over so that the eggplant is cut side down.

4 Place in the oven and roast, without moving or disturbing, until eggplant is completely tender, cooked through, and golden brown on the bottom (since the skin is already so dark, it can be hard to tell, but the skin will look shriveled and, when poked, the whole thing should feel tender, on the verge of collapse; you can also use a spatula to lift up the eggplant to check the underside for color), 40 to 45 minutes.

5 Meanwhile, heat the remaining ¼ cup olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Add the garlic and chile and cook, shaking the skillet occasionally, until the garlic and chile are frizzled and fragrant (but not yet browned), 1 or 2 minutes. Add the bread and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring frequently, until the bread is evenly toasted and golden brown, 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside.

6 Combine the labne, preserved lemon, and 1 tablespoon lemon juice in a small bowl; season with salt, pepper, and more lemon juice, if you like. Smear it onto the bottom of a large serving platter or in a shallow bowl.

7 Once the eggplant is good and ready to go, use a fish spatula (or regular spatula) to lift up each eggplant half in one fell swoop, preserving its lovely golden underside. Place the eggplant, cut side up, on top of the seasoned labne. Scatter with the crispy croutons and herbs before serving.

DO AHEAD Eggplant can be roasted a few hours ahead, then kept loosely covered at room temperature (no need to reheat—it’s excellent at room temperature). The labne can be seasoned a week ahead, covered tightly, and refrigerated. The croutons can be made 2 days ahead and kept covered tightly at room temperature.

If you haven’t had grilled broccoli, dare I say “You haven’t lived”? The stalk, which is painfully underused, is so insanely good when charred over actual flames that you may never eat it any other way. (Unless you’re blanching it, as on this page. What can I say? Either light it on fire or dunk it in boiling water, I live in a world of extremes.) This is probably one of the best vegetable dishes to eat at room temperature, so if you’re stressed about getting everything ready at the same time, make this dish and feel relaxed knowing it will only get better as it sits.

2 garlic cloves, finely grated

½ cup toasted hazelnuts, finely chopped

1 tablespoon coriander seeds, finely chopped

¼ cup plus 3 tablespoons olive oil, divided, plus more for drizzling

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2–3 large heads of broccoli, quartered lengthwise, about 1½ pounds

1 large or 2 small bunches lacinato or curly kale

1 lemon, halved crosswise

Flaky sea salt

1 Combine the garlic, hazelnuts, coriander seeds, and 3 tablespoons olive oil in a large bowl. Season with salt and pepper and set aside.

3 Toss the broccoli and kale on a rimmed baking sheet with the remaining ¼ cup olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Grill, turning or tossing occasionally, until the stalks, florets, and leaves are lightly charred, anywhere from 2 to 8 minutes on the grill. (Alternatively, roast on a rimmed baking sheet until lightly charred and crisped, 15 to 20 minutes.)

4 Whether you’re grilling or roasting, once the broccoli and greens are charred and tender (the leaves and stalks will cook at different rates, so keep an eye on them), add them to the bowl with the garlic and hazelnuts, tossing to coat.

5 Once all the goods are in there, transfer the ingredients to a large serving plate, platter, or bowl. Top with a good squeeze of lemon, a sprinkle of flaky salt, and a drizzle of olive oil.

DO AHEAD Broccoli and kale can be cooked and dressed a few hours ahead, then kept loosely covered and stored at room temperature.

My love for creamed greens is directly related to my love for old-school steakhouses, which is deep and unwavering. There, the creamed greens are often so rich and decadent you can hardly eat more than a spoonful, but at my steakhouse (which is my regular house), the wilted greens are tossed with just enough simmered cream to count as creamed, so luckily, you can eat the whole thing.

¾ cup freshly made coarse bread crumbs (see this page) or panko (optional)

2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more if using bread crumbs

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 cup heavy cream

4 garlic cloves, peeled and smashed

⅛ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

2 large bunches kale, mustard greens, spinach, broccoli rabe, or swiss chard, thick stems removed, coarsely chopped (about 16 cups total)

½ cup crème fraîche

1 If using bread crumbs, toss them in a small bowl with 3 tablespoons of olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Toast them in a large skillet over medium–high heat, tossing frequently until they’re well toasted and crisped, 3 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and set aside.

2 Bring the cream to a simmer in a medium pot over medium heat. Add the garlic and nutmeg and season with salt and pepper. Simmer until reduced by about half, 15 to 20 minutes; it should be thick and very, very rich (it’ll dilute a bit once you add it to the greens).

3 Heat 2 tablespoons olive oil in a large Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the greens, a handful at a time, and season with salt and pepper. Cook, adding more greens when the ones in the skillet wilt down. Stir frequently, until all the greens are bright green and the water starts to evaporate, 5 to 8 minutes, depending on the type of greens. Continue to cook until most of the water has evaporated and they’re totally tender, another 5 minutes or so.

4 Add the cream mixture and crème fraîche, season with salt and pepper, and mix to evenly coat everything in the thick, creamy business. Cook a minute or two to make sure everything is hot before transferring to a bowl. Scatter with the bread crumbs, if using, and serve.

DO AHEAD Creamed greens can be made a few hours in advance, stored loosely covered at room temperature. Rewarm over medium heat before topping with the bread crumbs.

I’m always looking for ways to get the effect of something deep-fried (crispy, oily, salty) without having to bring bottles of oil to a terrifyingly high temperature in my own home. I mean, it really just seems too dangerous. That said, roasted potatoes, by all accounts, are almost always just “fine,” but rarely transcendent. Too much soft interior, not enough crispiness, and I want all crispiness.

I find these potatoes are a good example of “having it all.” Magically, they have the texture of something fried without having to be fried. They taste like a salt and vinegar chip without having to open and then eat an entire bag of salt and vinegar chips. Thinly sliced into rounds, they are doused in distilled white vinegar (for tanginess) and olive oil (for crispiness) with a judicious dusting of paprika for heat, color, and je ne sais quoi, roasted and transformed to slightly chewy, mostly crispy, salty, oily potatoes.

2 pounds Yukon Gold potatoes, scrubbed and sliced about ¼ inch thick (better they are too thin than too thick)

¼ cup distilled white vinegar

¼ cup olive oil

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

1 teaspoon smoked paprika

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 small garlic clove, finely chopped

¼ cup finely chopped fresh parsley, tender leaves and stems, or chives

2 Combine the potatoes, vinegar, oil, crushed red pepper flakes, and paprika on a rimmed baking sheet. Season with salt and pepper and toss to coat.

3 Roast, tossing occasionally, until deeply golden brown and starting to crisp, just like a potato chip, 20 to 25 minutes.

4 Meanwhile, combine the garlic and parsley in a small bowl; season with salt and pepper.

5 Let the potatoes cool a little bit. (Resist the urge to eat one straight from the oven: it will burn your mouth, and while I’d like to say they are worth it, nothing is, okay?) Then, sprinkle with the parsley mixture and serve with literally anything.

DO AHEAD These potatoes should not really be done ahead, as they are best served right out of the oven. You can absolutely do the parsley-garlic mixture in advance; just know that chopped garlic intensifies once cut, so be prepared.

This is a very good and very polite grain salad recipe, maybe my favorite one in this book. It is not offensive to any other dish on the table and it’ll get along with any other vegetable or protein you’re serving. It has interesting things to say but doesn’t dominate the conversation, and even if you think you have everything you need for dinner, you’re always happy to see it because it makes excellent leftovers. Am I taking this metaphor too far?

This can also be made with any grain you please (except maybe rice), because, wow, what a polite and accommodating grain salad! Okay, I’ll stop. But seriously, after making this, with the triple fennel (caramelized fennel, toasted seeds, and fresh fronds), softened slivers of garlic, and my favorite ingredient—whole lemon—there’s no way you won’t be this excited, too.

2 cups pearled or semi-pearled farro, barley, Israeli couscous, freekeh, or wheat berries

¼ cup olive oil

6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 tablespoon fennel seeds

1 large fennel bulb, bulb stem thinly sliced, fronds reserved

1 lemon, thinly sliced, seeds removed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes (optional)

1 cup fresh basil leaves, torn

2 Heat the olive oil in a large skillet or pot over medium heat. Add the garlic and fennel seeds, and cook, stirring occasionally until garlic is just starting to brown, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the sliced fennel bulb and half the lemon and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the fennel is totally tender and starting to caramelize, 8 to 10 minutes.

3 Add the farro to the skillet and season with salt, pepper, and a pinch of crushed red pepper flakes, if using. Toss to coat and cook a few minutes, letting the farro absorb some of that garlicky, fennel-y olive oil. Add remaining lemon slices and chopped fennel stem and remove from heat. Transfer to a serving platter or bowl and top with the basil and fennel fronds.

DO AHEAD Farro can be cooked up to 5 days ahead, covered, and refrigerated. The whole dish can be cooked 2 days ahead, but wait to add the fresh herbs and fennel fronds.

NOTE Since this grain salad is so accommodating, feel free to make it your own by adding more herbs (basil! tarragon!), a grating of salty cheese (ricotta salata or pecorino), or handful of toasted and chopped nuts for texture.

For literally no reason other than that they look like little beads of caviar, I have convinced myself that black lentils are somehow the fanciest of all legumes. They appear expensive and complicated, but are actually pretty cheap and can be cooked just like pasta. But I love them the most for their unparalleled texture and resilience to mushiness. They are more grain-like in texture than, say, red lentils, which tend to fall apart at the suggestion of a simmer (great for things like stews and dals, but less so for this). If you can’t find black lentils, French lentils are a good substitute.

These lentils are served kind of like a seven-layer nacho situation (not an accident!), so be sure to serve with a big serving spoon for scooping.

2 cups black (beluga) or French (Puy) lentils

Kosher salt

½ cup olive oil

6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 large shallot, thinly sliced

Coarsely ground black pepper

1 cup labne, full-fat Greek yogurt, or sour cream

2 tablespoons finely grated lemon zest, plus ¼ cup fresh lemon juice, divided

2 cups fresh cilantro or parsley, tender leaves and stems, finely chopped

Flaky sea salt

1 Cook the lentils in a large pot of boiling salted water until tender and cooked through (but not turned to mush), 20 to 25 minutes. Drain and set aside.

2 Meanwhile, combine the olive oil, garlic, and shallot in a medium skillet over medium heat. Cook, swirling occasionally, until the garlic and shallot are nicely browned and starting to crisp, 4 to 5 minutes. Remove from the heat and season with salt and pepper.

3 Combine the labne with 2 tablespoons lemon juice and season with salt and pepper.

4 Toss the lentils with the lemon zest and remaining 2 tablespoons lemon juice, and season with salt and pepper. Spoon half of the lentils into a serving bowl and top with the cilantro. Cover with remaining lentils. Dollop with the seasoned labne and spoon the garlic mixture over top. Sprinkle with flaky salt and pepper before serving.

I’m not sure that “frizzled” is a technical term, but once you cook these onions with these chickpeas, you’ll understand what I mean and realize that there is no other way to describe them. Not quite fried, not quite caramelized, they sizzle and crisp and caramelize in a good amount of olive oil along with smashed garlic, resulting in what can only be described as frizzled.

This is good once you stop there, but adding fresh marjoram and tangy feta makes this a truly dreamy dish that I have eaten as my main meal more than once, nuzzled up next to a very runny, crispy-edged fried egg.

½ cup olive oil

1 large red or yellow onion, thinly sliced

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 (15-ounce) cans chickpeas, drained and rinsed

4 garlic cloves, smashed

Pinch of crushed red pepper flakes

4 sprigs fresh marjoram or oregano, plus more leaves for garnish

2 ounces Greek, Bulgarian, or French feta, very thinly sliced or crumbled

1 Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the onion and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion has softened, and is just starting to brown, 5 to 8 minutes.

2 Add the chickpeas, garlic, red pepper flakes, and half the marjoram leaves. Season with salt and pepper and toss to coat in the oily business. Continue to cook, shaking the skillet occasionally to make sure nothing is sticking and that the chickpeas are getting equal attention from the oil and heat, until the chickpeas are golden brown and appear fried around the edges and the onion is a deep golden brown and looks somewhere between fried and caramelized, a term we now call “frizzled.”

3 Taste a chickpea or two and make sure it’s plenty seasoned, adding salt, pepper, and/or a pinch of red pepper flakes, if you like things on the spicier side.

4 Remove from the heat and transfer to a large serving bowl. Top with the feta and remaining marjoram.

DO AHEAD Chickpeas can be made a few hours ahead, kept covered loosely at room temperature. Feel free to reheat in a skillet over medium-high heat before serving, as they’ll lose a bit of their crispness as they sit.

If there’s an argument for shelling and cooking your own beans, it is the promise of a giant pot of brothy beans. I mean the fresh shell beans you see at farmers’ markets and specialty grocers, and maybe have overlooked because they seem complicated or time-consuming. Well, they are one of those things (time-consuming), but luckily for me, shelling beans is among my top five favorite meditative tasks, next to hot yoga and peeling off a face mask. Aside from the excellent zone-out you’ll get while you absentmindedly shell the beans and dream of an Italian vacation, there is something truly special about a freshly shelled and cooked bean that you will have to taste to understand. Tender yet firm, never mushy or starchy with a delicately vegetal flavor, they really are a different beast.

I’m sure it’s possible, but I have never made less than what could be considered “a giant pot” of beans at a time. This is fine, because their uses are truly endless. Depending on the flavor profile you’re after and what their final destination is, the list of things you can add to the pot is highly customizable, but the basic formula is beans + aromatics + water. If you’re using fresh shelling beans, know that you’ll lose a lot of weight in the shelling process so always overcompensate (i.e., 5 pounds of beans will only get you around 3 cups of beans). If using dried beans, use any type you like: white or black, spotted or freckled, brown or beige, large or small—just make sure they are not old.

TO MAKE (for 4 to 8 people)
In a large pot, place 2 to 3 cups fresh or dried beans (about 5 pounds fresh or 1 pound dried). Start with an oniony or garlicky something (an onion, a few leeks, a couple heads of garlic), making sure to halve them lengthwise to expose their insides. Add a few sprigs of herbs (thyme, marjoram, oregano, or rosemary) and if you like it hot, some crushed red pepper flakes or whole, dried chilies (the smoky ones like chipotle are excellent for flavoring the cooking liquid).

Cover with enough water to submerge the beans by about 4 inches. Season with a good amount of kosher salt (maybe slightly less than what you’d do for pasta water) and bring to a simmer over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to medium-low and let them very gently simmer uncovered until the beans are tender, creamy, and cooked through, 40 to 50 minutes for fresh beans, closer to 80 to 90 minutes for dried (add water as needed to keep them submerged).

Once the beans are cooked, remove from the heat and store them in their cooking liquid. Once drained, you can add to escarole salad (this page), turn them into a spicy, tomato-y side dish (this page), or even marinate ’em in vinegar and garlic for an excellent pre-dinner snack (this page). Kept still in their brothy, beany liquid, they are amazing slightly crushed and served as an unfussy side, spooned over thick cut toast, or added to a pot alongside a very large piece of pork (this page) to braise together.

I love treating my beans like pasta, adding a skilletful of garlicky, caramelized tomato sauce, finished with salty preserved lemon and topped with oily, crunchy bread crumbs. Because they are beans and not pasta, there is no need to worry about them overcooking in the sauce, so feel free to simmer until they are flavorful enough to serve, adding water as needed to keep them saucy.

½ cup olive oil, divided, plus more for drizzling

1 cup coarse fresh bread crumbs (see this page) or panko

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 small white onion, thinly sliced

2 garlic cloves, crushed or thinly sliced

3 tablespoons tomato paste

2 chiles de arbol, or ¾ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

2 cups fresh or dried shell beans, or 2 (15-ounce) cans white beans, drained and rinsed

½ preserved lemon, thinly sliced

1 Heat ¼ cup of the olive oil in a large heavy-bottomed pot over medium-high heat. Add the bread crumbs and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the bread crumbs have become toasted and golden brown, 4 to 6 minutes. Transfer to a small bowl.

2 Wipe out the pot and heat the remaining ¼ cup olive oil over medium-high heat. Add the onion and garlic. Season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring occasionally, until they’re translucent and tender, 5 to 7 minutes. Add the tomato paste and chiles, and continue to cook until the tomato paste has turned a nice brick-reddish color, about 2 minutes.

3 Add the beans and 6 cups water if using shell beans (2 cups water if using canned), shaking the skillet to scrape up any bits that have caramelized on the bottom. Season with salt and pepper and cook until the beans have turned creamy and tender and most of the liquid has evaporated, 45 to 50 minutes for shell beans, 15 to 20 minutes for canned beans.

4 Add the preserved lemon, then transfer beans to a serving bowl and top with the bread crumbs, letting them settle into the juicy bits of the beans.

DO AHEAD Bread crumbs can be made a day ahead, kept wrapped tightly at room temperature. The beans can be made sans bread crumb topping up to 2 days ahead, stored wrapped and refrigerated. Rewarm over medium heat, adding a splash of water if needed to keep things saucy.

NOTE I do think you would be pleased making these with fresh or dried shell beans (this page), but I am a Virgo and we are people-pleasers and so there is, of course, an option for making this with canned beans (a pantry staple I happen to love).

I’ve taken a negative public stance on rice in the past, and generally speaking, I stand by that stance. But people can grow—so let me say this: Rice, sometimes you are great. Through a brief sizzle in butter, you become impossibly toasty, crispy, and full of flavor, which I have accused you of lacking in the past. While other grains like barley or farro would also work here, you are the best thing for this particular dish.

Inspired by classic Tahdig (crispy Persian rice), this version full of fresh herbs and buttery, toasted almonds more or less gets the job done, without requiring the patience or technique (I have neither!).

1½ cups jasmine, basmati, or Jasmati rice (see Note)

Kosher salt

6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter

2 tablespoons olive oil

¾ cup whole raw almonds, finely chopped

2-inch knob of fresh turmeric, peeled and thinly sliced, or ½ teaspoon ground turmeric

1 large shallot, thinly sliced

Freshly ground black pepper

1 cup fresh cilantro, tender leaves and stems, coarsely chopped

½ cup fresh mint and/or dill, tender leaves and stems

1 Cook the rice in a pot of salted boiling water until just al dente, 10 to 12 minutes. Drain, rinse, and set aside.

2 Heat the butter and olive oil in a large cast-iron or nonstick skillet over medium heat. Add the almonds and cook, stirring, until fragrant and toasted and the butter has started to brown, 3 to 4 minutes. Transfer the almonds to a small bowl, leaving all the butter behind, and season with salt.

3 Add the turmeric and shallot to the skillet and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the shallot has softened but is not yet browned, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the rice and, using a spatula or wooden spoon, press the rice gently into the skillet, encouraging even contact all over. Cook, without disturbing the rice (feel free to rotate the skillet to prevent uneven cooking), until it’s starting to brown nicely along the bottom (this will happen faster at the center of the skillet, so use a spatula to lift up the rice to check the progress), 8 to 10 minutes. Transfer to a large serving platter, placing some of those crispier bits of rice on top, along with the cilantro, mint, dill, and almonds.

DO AHEAD The plain rice can be cooked up to 5 days ahead, covered tightly, and refrigerated. The buttered rice can be made an hour ahead, kept in the skillet and covered loosely.

These white beans could potentially be a whole meal themselves, especially if you’re looking for a meatless main kind of deal, but I also love them solo alongside another protein because they’re really pulling double duty as part starch, part salad—great for when you want both but don’t feel like making both. While this dish is beautifully seasonally agnostic, I do dream about eating it with a grilled whole trout (this page) or lamb shoulder with garlicky tomatoes (this page) and lots of cold red or white wine, preferably in the summery, sunny outdoors, even if that just means my stoop, since I do not have a backyard.

¼ cup olive oil

4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

4 anchovy fillets

2 tablespoons salted capers, rinsed, or 1 tablespoon brined

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

2 (15-ounce) cans white beans, such as cannellini, great northern, or navy, drained and rinsed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 head of escarole or chard, trimmed and torn into large pieces, divided

½ cup fresh mint leaves

½ cup fresh parsley leaves, tender leaves and stems

A hunk of parmesan or pecorino cheese, for serving

1 lemon, halved

1 Heat the olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat and add the garlic. Cook, swirling the skillet occasionally until the garlic is pale golden brown, 3 to 4 minutes.

2 Add the anchovies, capers, and crushed red pepper flakes, swirling until the anchovies melt and sizzle, the capers pop slightly, and the red pepper flakes toast and bleed into the oil, about 2 minutes.

3 Add the beans and season with salt and pepper. Reduce the heat to medium-low and toss to coat the beans in all the garlicky business. Let them cook until the flavors have melded and beans no longer taste like they came from a can, 8 to 10 minutes.

4 Add half the escarole and toss to coat, letting it wilt ever so slightly. Transfer the beans and wilted escarole to a large serving platter or bowl, and mix in the remaining escarole. Scatter with the mint and parsley. Use a peeler or box grater to shave some parmesan over all. Squeeze the lemon over everything just before serving.

DO AHEAD This side dish is really best prepared right before it’s going to be eaten—if you must do it ahead, you can do everything up until step 3 a day before. When it’s time to eat, reheat the beans and continue with step 4.

This very Americanized, not-at-all-authentic, sort-of riff on cacio e pepe–risotto hybrid is not much to look at, unless you like to look at a pot of white creamy starch—but holy hell, is it delicious! The egg yolks are optional, but they add that much more creaminess. I would serve this alongside any vegetables to offset the starchy cheese you’re about to eat, but none would go better than aggressively lemony steamed broccoli (this page).

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter

2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for drizzling

6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

3 cups fregola, Israeli couscous, ditalini, or other small pasta (about 1 pound)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

5–7 cups water

1 cup finely grated pecorino or parmesan cheese, plus more for sprinkling

2 tablespoons finely chopped chives, for garnish

4–6 large egg yolks (optional)

1 Melt the butter and oil in a large pot over medium heat. Add the garlic and cook until lightly toasted, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the fregola and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the pasta is well toasted, 2 to 3 minutes.

2 Add 5 cups of water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat to medium and continue to cook at a strong simmer, stirring frequently to encourage the releasing of the starch (almost like you’re making a risotto) until the pasta is cooked through, the water is almost completely evaporated, leaving behind a creamy, starchy sauce, 20 to 25 minutes (add water as needed to keep it saucy while the pasta finishes cooking).

3 Add the pecorino and season again with salt and lots of black pepper. Continue to cook until the pasta has the texture of risotto or a porridge, a few minutes or so (and add a splash of water if needed to keep things saucy).

4 To serve, transfer the pasta mixture to a bowl and top with the chives and egg yolks, if using, plus more black pepper and more pecorino cheese. (Alternatively, spoon the creamy pasta into individual serving bowls and top each with an egg yolk, lots of pepper, and more pecorino.)

DO AHEAD Pasta can be made an hour or two ahead of time, kept covered and stored at room temperature. Reheat low and slow, adding a splash of water to loosen things up, as the pasta will absorb most of the liquid as it sits.