Mains, Nothing Fancy

Deciding what to serve as the main course is often the most stressful part of having people over.

To lessen this emotional burden, I often start by deciding what the main event is going to be (“main course” sounds so formal) and then figure out everything else from there. I’m not suggesting that you need to design a full-blown menu with pairings; choosing what to serve can be as simple as “I feel like a roast chicken,” or as complicated as “I need something that can effortlessly feed 10 to 12 people and they don’t eat beef and I definitely do not want chicken.” (You should make a pork shoulder.)

By design, these mains are relatively fuss-free and easy to execute regardless of how many people are eating. Some take a few hours but are hands-off, some will come together in under a half an hour but will require your attention the whole time. They have bold yet flexible flavor profiles (and therefore they are easy to pair with any number of salads or sides) with tons of optional, casual serving suggestions to enhance or simplify your dinner. That said, everything in this section could be suitable for lunch or a very intense breakfast, so live your truth.

This is not a recipe for tacos, but rather a prelude to tacos, inspired by the food in one of my favorite cities, Oaxaca. There, you’re more likely to find large platters of charred, grilled meats served alongside (not in) fresh corn tortillas with herbs, vegetables, and tons of lime for a more DIY situation, a style of eating I actually enjoy more than assembled tacos. The tangy, smoky, peanutty salsa (a.k.a. salsa macha) is by no means authentic—just a recipe cobbled together from what I remember something tasting like in a place I love very much. If you can, go to Oaxaca and have the real deal. Hopefully, this is good enough to convince you to book a ticket.

FOR THE SALSA

¾ cup canola or grapeseed oil, plus more as needed

2 ounces dried New Mexican chiles, stems removed (see Note)

2 ounces dried Guajillo chiles, stems removed, cut into rings

4 garlic cloves, smashed

¼ cup dry-roasted peanuts or toasted hazelnuts

2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar or distilled white vinegar

Kosher salt

FOR THE STEAK

1½ pounds hangar steak, boneless short ribs, strip steak, or any other beef steak of your choosing

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

½ small onion, thinly sliced

2 tablespoons canola oil

1 bunch watercress, stems trimmed

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice, plus 2 limes, quartered

1 bunch fresh cilantro, tender leaves and stems

8–16 corn tortillas, warmed

1 Make the salsa. Heat the oil, chiles, and garlic in a small pot over medium heat. Cook, swirling occasionally, until the chiles are toasted and the garlic is golden brown, 4 to 6 minutes. Remove from the heat and add the peanuts, swirling to coat. Transfer the mixture to a blender or food processor and pulse until coarsely pureed. Place in a bowl with the vinegar and add more oil as needed to create a spoonable sauce. Season with salt.

2 Make the steak. Season the steak with salt and pepper; set aside. Place the onion in a bowl of ice water and let sit (this rinses away some of that raw onion-y bite).

3 In a large skillet, preferably cast-iron, heat the oil over medium-high heat. Add the steak and cook until deeply, impossibly, golden brown on one side, 4 to 6 minutes. Flip and continue to cook until golden brown on that side as well, another 4 to 6 minutes. Transfer to a cutting board to rest 5 to 10 minutes.

4 Toss the watercress with the lime juice; season with salt and pepper. Slice the steak and serve alongside the onions, watercress, cilantro, lime wedges, chile-peanut salsa, and tortillas.

DO AHEAD The salsa can be made up to 2 weeks ahead, covered, and stored in the refrigerator.

NOTE If you can’t find New Mexican chiles, do not substitute fresh, as they are a completely different beast. If you live in an area where they don’t sell dried chiles at grocery stores, the internet is an excellent resource.

A “Sausage Party” is, as I’m sure you guessed, a fun party wherein you serve many kinds of sausages alongside many interesting and wonderful condiments. This does not have to be an outdoor grilling event (I have seen successful winter sausage parties thrown indoors), although it lends itself very well to summer days when it’s too hot to cook inside.

The Sausage Party doesn’t have rules, but it does have guidelines. First, there can and should be a wide assortment of sausage-like things to cook or grill: bratwurst, knockwurst, chorizo, nitrate-free local organic sausages, and overly salty ballpark-style hot dogs. Aside from that, keep it to things that do not require utensils, like peppers or corn on the cob that can be grilled alongside. It should go without saying, but hamburgers are not and will never be invited to a Sausage Party.

On the bun beat, I would be remiss not to endorse my all-time favorite bun, the Martin’s Potato Roll. But whatever your choice, the bun must be sturdy enough to get lightly grilled or toasted and then filled without falling apart. As for condiments, there should be more than you think you need. Sausage garnish is an extremely personal matter, and sensitivity to that should not be ignored. For example, if I were to attend a sausage party and there was no yellow mustard, I would have to leave and go buy yellow mustard so that I could enjoy myself.

Similarly, I would never, ever put ketchup on a sausage or hot dog, but I know some people for whom it is nonnegotiable, so I will always provide. Even if you don’t like spicy brown mustard, you should probably have it on hand. Generally speaking, the condiments should be purchased, not only because excellent homemade ketchup is a lie we tell ourselves but because this party is supposed to make you feel relaxed and confident, not like you’re scrambling to open a Stonewall Kitchen.

If you’re itching for a more DIY vibe, here’s a little secret: Many dips double as a condiment. I would especially recommend the Labne with Sizzled Scallions and Chile (this page), which is basically ranch dressing, or maybe a Lemony Aioli (this page), which is Brooklyn for “mayonnaise.” This kind of party is also the perfect opportunity to try new things you are “condiment curious” about. Kimchi from the farmers’ market, hot sauce made in the basement of your cousin’s best friend, that crazy harissa paste you’ve been wanting to try. There should be many different types of pickles alongside hot pickled peppers, finely chopped raw onion, maybe a debut of your homemade sauerkraut—anything goes here. Just make sure you have plenty of tangy and spicy things for either eating snuggled alongside or atop the sausages or simply on the plate as an in-between snack.

Aside from the buns and chips (you must have both), there should be a few salady numbers, like a spicy red cabbage situation (this page), crushed potatoes with celery (this page), or a simple grain salad (this page). Remember these are just suggestions. Every Sausage Party is a personal journey!

Historically speaking, I have a bad attitude about meatballs. (I don’t love ground meat, and also I once was dumped the morning after a meatball-forward meal, and, yes, I blame the meatballs.) But I will say that I am coming around. After all, meatballs are undeniably excellent for serving large amounts of people, and here we have crispy, garlicky pork in a delicious, garlicky, tomato-y sauce. What’s not to love?

I will give you a heads-up here: While one is not better than the other, these are less red-sauce Italian and more Isle of Capri Italian (do they even have meatballs there? I’m not sure). They simmer in a light, brothy tomato sauce flecked with toasted spices and lots and lots of garlic, then are finished with fresh herbs, salty cheese, and an ocean of olive oil, if you’re doing it right. Bound by yogurt with no bread crumbs or egg in sight, the meatballs are light, springy, and accidentally gluten-free, which is great—especially if you’re gluten-free, I imagine.

But for me, what really sets these meatballs apart is that they go the fresh-tomato route rather than the canned-tomato route, which I suppose makes them more a late-summer meatball rather than a wintry meatball. If you can get Sungold tomatoes for this, they will light up your life and make this a pot of sunshine that you cannot help but dip some very toasty bread into, so as to not waste any of the delicious, porky sauciness (if not, cherry tomatoes will do the trick).

6 garlic cloves (2 grated, 4 thinly sliced)

½ cup finely chopped fresh chives

½ cup finely chopped fresh parsley, tender leaves and stems, plus more for garnish

½ cup full-fat Greek yogurt

2 teaspoons fennel seeds, plus more for garnish

2 teaspoons hot smoked paprika

1½ teaspoons kosher salt

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes, plus more for serving

1½ pounds ground pork, lamb, beef, and/or turkey (feel free to mix!)

Freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for drizzling

1 large shallot, thinly sliced

2 pints Sungold or cherry tomatoes (about 1½ pounds), halved

¼ cup distilled white vinegar or white wine vinegar

3 cups water

1 cup fresh mint leaves

Piece of pecorino or parmesan, for grating

Toast or crusty bread, for serving

1 Place the grated garlic in a medium bowl along with the chives, parsley, yogurt, fennel seeds, paprika, salt, and crushed red pepper flakes. Mix until well combined.

2 Add the meat, season with pepper, and, using your hands, mix until well combined. Roll the mixture into balls about 1½ inches in diameter (about the size of a plum; I like these meatballs on the smaller side). Place on a baking sheet or large plate.

There are about a million ways to roast a chicken, and someone will always tell you that theirs is the best way. Here is my truth: If you smear a good, high-quality chicken with enough fat, season it with plenty of salt, roast it until it is cooked through and the skin is brown, it will always be excellent. But if you ask me (and you’ve got the time), it’s the slow roast that gives you everything you want: perfectly golden skin, extremely tender meat, and plenty of salty, savory chicken juices to serve as a sauce.

Above all other dishes in this book, this chicken truly embodies the “nothing fancy” mood. From the extremely simple assemblage of ingredients to the ridiculously hands-off preparation, it’s casual in a way that feels almost lazy (but isn’t), with “make sounds after you take a bite” levels of delicious. You could truly put things over the edge and add a few anchovies to the tomatoes. (Mandatory anchovies might make me seem like a one-trick-pony, but let’s pretend I’m not!)

3½- to 4-pound chicken

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup olive oil

1½ tablespoons fennel seeds, crushed in a mortar and pestle or spice mill, or chopped with a knife

1 bunch fresh oregano

1½ pounds small-ish vine-ripened tomatoes (about 6), halved lengthwise

2 heads of garlic, halved crosswise (don’t worry about leaving the skin on; it’s fine)

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar or white wine vinegar

4–6 1-inch-thick slices of good country bread, such as country loaf or sourdough, toasted (optional)

2 Season the chicken with salt and pepper (if you can do this in advance, please do; think of it as a casual brine). Drizzle it with the olive oil and sprinkle with the fennel seeds.

3 Stuff the cavity with half the oregano and place in a large baking dish. Scatter the tomatoes, garlic, butter, and remaining oregano around the chicken. Roast until the chicken is golden brown and completely cooked through, and the tomatoes are nice and jammy, 2½ to 3 hours. Add the vinegar to the tomatoes and let the chicken rest in the baking dish for 10 minutes.

4 Place toast on serving platter and spoon the jammy tomatoes over or around the toast. Carve the chicken and place on top of the toast to catch the juices.

DO AHEAD The chicken can be roasted a few hours ahead; it’s very good at room temperature.

NOTE Get ready for an unpopular opinon. Crispy-skinned chicken is a myth and a lie. Even when remotely crispy out of the oven, it will soften and deflate the second you slice into it. At best, there may be crispy bits, but to think you can somehow get the skin of an entire chicken shatteringly crispy will only lead you to frustration and disappointment.

There is no greater pleasure than a bottle of extremely drinkable grape juice that’s been fermented to create alcohol, which makes you feel good and warm and like the most fun and relaxed version of yourself. What I’m trying to say is: I love wine. I love white wine, orange wine, pink wine, red wine. I love wine that’s chilled and wine that’s not. I love wine with bubbles and wine without.

So how to know what wine to pick? Well, wine distribution tends to be very regional, which means what you’re able to find in California will be different than what you can find in Texas, so to give specific examples here isn’t so useful. (Plus, although it might look like one, this is not a wine book and I am not a wine expert.) My advice is to start by asking for suggestions from people who know more than you about wine. This can be the person who runs your local wine shop, the server at your favorite restaurant, or your friend who won’t shut up about “Pét-Nats.”

Tell them what you’re looking for, using as many specific context clues as possible. For example, some things I have asked for are “something that tastes like kombucha” or “a light red that is better cold than not.” Another helpful thing is to take a picture of any bottles you know you like and show it to someone you’re buying wine from. Even if they don’t have the exact wine, they’ll likely be able to point you in the right direction depending on what they know about the grape, where it’s from, and how it’s made.

Above all else: Do not be afraid to sound like you don’t know what you’re talking about: Most of us don’t! I’d rather be honest and inquisitive (even if that reads as “ditzy”) than end up with a bottle of wine I don’t like.

Regarding pairings: I don’t really believe in them—not at restaurants and especially not at home. I think the best wine to drink with whatever you’re eating or cooking is whatever wine you enjoy drinking, period. White wine is great with red meat, and if you want a juicy Gamay with your whole fish, then I think that’s just perfect.

TO STORE
You have to keep your wine the right temperature, which for me is usually IMPOSSIBLY COLD, especially for whites, roses, and anything with bubbles. I tend to chill most of the reds I’m drinking these days, but that is not a steadfast rule to apply to all red wine. My refrigerator is comically small, so when I entertain I end up storing wine (and other beverages) in a sink or tub filled with lots of ice. This keeps the fridge clear to hold everything else without having to get rid of favorite condiments. Plus, the beautiful dramatic presentation of storing wine in your sink or bathtub is *chef kisses fingertips*.

This one-pot oven-cooked chicken is a true treasure. It’s sweet and tangy and a little spicy, and just downright special. It’s got the kind of bold flavors you wouldn’t expect from such few ingredients, which I guess is part of what makes it remarkable. But it’s also a rather flexible dish, able to be made with a whole chicken or chicken parts (bone-in, skin-on thighs, if you please) for a more weeknight-friendly vibe. But what makes it really special is how it’s cooked: first seared, breast side up, letting the legs and thighs brown and render, then lemons and shallots are fried in that fat, then water is added to provide adequate sauciness, cooking the chicken quickly yet gently. The lid is then removed so the top can finish browning. And then there you have, all at once, a chicken that is both nearly fall-apart tender and deeply golden brown on all sides. A chicken revelation!

3½- to 4-pound chicken, or 3 pounds bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs or legs

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

4 tablespoons olive oil, divided

1 lemon, cut into thick slices crosswise, seeds removed

2 shallots, halved lengthwise

4–6 medjool dates (3 ounces), pitted

4 sprigs fresh thyme or oregano, plus more for serving

1 cup water

2 teaspoons ground Urfa chile, or 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

Flaky sea salt

2 Season the chicken all over with salt and pepper. Heat 2 tablespoons of the oil in a large (at least 8-quart) Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Place the chicken in the pot breast side up, and using tongs or your hands (be careful!), press lightly to make sure the skin comes into even contact with the pot bottom. This is your chance to brown the legs and render that excess fat! It’s rarely offered in whole-chicken recipes, so take advantage. (If using parts, just sear the chicken skin side down.)

3 Cook, without moving, until the chicken is nice and browned, 5 to 8 minutes. Seriously, no peeking! Nothing exciting will happen before 5 minutes, I promise you.

4 Add the lemon slices and shallot, maneuvering the chicken however you need so that the slices come into contact with the bottom of the pot. Let everything sizzle in the chicken fat until lightly caramelized, about 2 minutes.

5 Add the dates, thyme, and water. Sprinkle the top of the chicken with the Urfa chile and place the lid on. Put the Dutch oven in the oven and roast until the dates are plump, the lemon is jammy, and the chicken is almost but not totally cooked through, 20 to 25 minutes (it will look mostly cooked through and a little anemic from getting covered with the lid).

6 Remove the lid and drizzle the chicken with the remaining 2 tablespoons oil and continue to cook until the liquid has reduced by half and the top of the chicken is an illustrious, glistening golden-brown, another 20 to 30 minutes (depending on if you’re using parts or whole bird).

7 Let the chicken rest in the Dutch oven for 10 minutes, then transfer to a cutting board and carve. Serve along with the shallot, lemons, and dates, with some more thyme and flaky sea salt sprinkled over.

DO AHEAD This chicken can be made a few hours ahead, then kept in the Dutch oven at room temperature. If you wish to reheat it before serving, pop it back into the oven without a lid for 10 to 15 minutes or so.

I don’t love sweet with my savory food, but this dish is an exception. The sticky, caramelized bits of pineapple that get basted with spicy chicken fat as they roast together are a match made in sheet-pan dinner heaven. While the oven treatment here is fantastic, I’d be lying if I said this wouldn’t also be spectacular on the grill either in pieces (as it is here) using 100 percent wings, or assembled into everyone’s favorite six-letter word: kebabs (!!!), using boneless, skinless parts cut into 1½-inch pieces and skewered.

4 pounds bone-in, skin-on chicken (legs, thighs, breasts, and/or wings all work)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

½ cup light brown sugar

½ cup unseasoned rice wine vinegar

½ cup sambal or other chili paste

¼ cup fish sauce

¼ cup fresh lime juice

2 teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes

2 garlic cloves, finely grated

½ pineapple, peeled and cored, cut into 1½-inch spears or wedges

½ shallot or 4 scallions, thinly sliced

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

2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds

1 Season the chicken with salt and pepper and place in a large resealable plastic bag or large baking dish.

2 Combine the brown sugar, vinegar, sambal, fish sauce, lime juice, crushed red pepper flakes, and garlic in a medium bowl, whisking to dissolve the sugar. Pour over the chicken, massaging to make sure everything gets equal love. Seal the plastic bag or wrap the baking dish and let sit at least 30 minutes, refrigerated.

3 Preheat the oven to 425°F. Place the chicken and pineapple on a rimmed baking sheet (for easier clean-up, line with foil or parchment). Drizzle the remaining marinade over everything and place in oven.

5 Roast until the chicken is deeply browned, caramelized, and cooked through (if you have a pastry or BBQ brush, feel free to baste the chicken and pineapple periodically with the rendered chicken fat juices), 50 to 60 minutes. By this time, the pineapple will also be impossibly golden and juicy, giving up all the goods, which makes for a delicious, sticky sauce.

6 Remove from the oven and transfer to a serving platter, carving up the chicken and slicing the pineapple for easier serving, if you like. Scatter with the shallot, cilantro, and sesame before serving.

This chicken stew is sort of having an identity crisis (Is it khao soi inspired? Tikka masala leaning? Wait—why is there Korean chili paste in this recipe?), but I can assure you it is very happy living its best life as whatever type of fusion cuisine this is. Before you ask, yes, this can be made in an Instant Pot, but even if that is your preferred method, I beg of you to make this “the old-fashioned way” at least once.The smell of it gently simmering on your stove just might be the best thing to happen to you all year.

3½–4 pounds bone-in, skin-on chicken, preferably a mix of breasts, legs, and thighs

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons canola oil

4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 large yellow or red onion, thinly sliced, divided

2 tablespoons gochujang (Korean chili paste) or tomato paste

2 tablespoons grated fresh ginger

2 tablespoons finely grated fresh turmeric, or 1 teaspoon ground

1 tablespoon cumin or fennel seeds

1½ teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes

2 (14-ounce) cans full-fat coconut milk

3 cups low-sodium chicken broth

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

2 teaspoons fish sauce (optional)

1 cup fresh cilantro, tender leaves and stems

¾ cup roasted peanuts, coarsely chopped (optional)

2 limes, quartered

1 Season the chicken with salt and pepper. Heat the oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Sear the chicken, skin side down, until the fat has started to render, and it’s evenly browned, 8 to 10 minutes. Turn the chicken over to continue to brown on that side too, 8 to 10 minutes.

2 Transfer the chicken to a large plate. Add the garlic and three quarters of the onion to the pot; season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the gochujang, ginger, turmeric, cumin, and red pepper flakes and cook until the mixture is caramelizing on the bottom of the pot, about 2 minutes, adjusting the heat as needed to prevent scorching. Add the coconut milk and chicken broth and bring to a simmer. Return the chicken to the pot and add the chickpeas, seasoning again with salt and pepper. Reduce the heat to low, and place the lid on the pot, and walk away for at least 45 minutes.

3 After about 45 minutes, remove the lid and continue to gently simmer, uncovered, until the chicken is, indeed, fall-off-the-bone tender and the liquid has thickened, looking all nice and stew-like, 20 to 25 minutes. Add the fish sauce, if using. Serve the stew alongside the remaining onion, cilantro, peanuts (if using), and lime for squeezing over.

DO AHEAD Stew can be made up to 2 days ahead, kept covered in the refrigerator. Gently rewarm before serving.

When I was a kid growing up in Los Angeles, sometimes it would be too hot to be outside in the summertime and I’d spend hours reading Seventeen magazine and watching The Adventures of Pete and Pete on loop. My summertime snack of choice? Ice-cold watermelon. Just kidding, it was microwaved chicken pot pies, courtesy of the West Coast queen of chicken pot pies herself, Marie Callender. Not exactly summertime refreshment, but hey, it was Los Angeles in the ’90s and the A/C came on full blast any time it got above 75°F.

Anyway, I live in New York now, where my apartment doesn’t have central A/C and I would literally never be able to convince anybody to come over for chicken pot pie in the middle of August, but it is a very cozy and appropriate meal for a cold evening. Are chicken pot pies cool? Absolutely not. Are they delicious, good for a crowd, and largely underrated? Absolutely, yes. Save them for your most intimate group of friends, so you don’t have to bother with plates—just go for it straight from the dish. Serve with a peppery, watercress salad (this page), or any bowl of lightly dressed, lemony, leafy greens.

2½ pounds bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs or breasts

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 tablespoon canola oil

4 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

2 leeks, white and light green parts, thinly sliced, or 1 yellow onion

1 pound fresh mushrooms, such as morels, matsutake, cremini, or a combination, cut into bite-sized pieces

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter

¼ cup all-purpose flour, plus more for the work surface

3 cups low-sodium chicken broth or 1 more cup if forgoing the cream

1 cup heavy cream or crème fraîche (optional)

4 cups fresh greens, such as kale, torn into bite-sized pieces

¼ cup fresh tarragon, chopped

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

1 disc The Only Pie Crust (this page) or 1 (14-ounce) package puff pastry (1 sheet), thawed

1 large egg, lightly beaten

2 Heat the oil in a large ovenproof skillet over medium-heat. Add the chicken, skin side down, and cook until the skin is deeply golden brown and crisped and most of the fat has rendered, 10 to 12 minutes. Using tongs, flip the chicken and continue to cook until browned and mostly cooked through, another 8 to 10 minutes—the chicken will continue to cook through later.

3 Transfer the chicken to a large plate to rest, leaving all the fat and golden bits behind while you build the rest of the pie.

4 Add the garlic and leeks to the skillet and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until leeks are bright green and tender, about 4 minutes.

5 Add the mushrooms and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the mushrooms and leeks have started to brown, 8 to 10 minutes.

6 Add the butter and let it melt, then add the flour. Stir to coat the vegetables. Cook just long enough to take the raw floury edge off but without browning, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the chicken broth, stirring to scrape up any bits on the bottom that may have stuck. Bring to a simmer and season with salt and pepper. If using cream, add it now; if not, go ahead and add an additional 1 cup broth and season with salt and pepper.

7 Separate the chicken meat from the bones, discarding any skin and cartilage. Add the chicken, greens, tarragon, and chives to the skillet and stir to mix everything well.

9 Roll out the dough on a lightly floured surface to a roughly 12-inch circle, oval, rectangle, or square depending on your baking dish (whatever shape it is, you want the dough just slightly larger than your vessel). Alternatively roll the puff pastry on a lightly floured surface to the same dimensions. Place the dough atop the filling, letting some dough hang over.

10 Use a pastry brush to coat the top of the dough with the beaten egg. Using a sharp paring knife, make a few slits in the center of the dough to allow some steam to escape (this will properly thicken the filling, as well as keep the crust flaky and crisp). Bake until the pastry is deeply golden brown (think the color of a good croissant) and the filling is bubbling up, 45 to 55 minutes. Let cool slightly before serving.

DO AHEAD You can prepare the filling up to 2 days ahead; transfer to your baking dish before placing the crust on top and proceeding. You can also fill the baking dish, put the crust on top (without the egg wash), and refrigerate for up to 24 hours until you’re ready to egg wash and bake. You can also build the whole pie and wrap it, unbaked, and freeze it for up to 1 month. (This makes an excellent gift.) To bake from frozen, increase the baking time by 20 minutes.

When it comes to cooking a leg of lamb, I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that I understand a whole leg of lamb is large and expensive and intimidating. But here’s the good news: its massive size and protective cloak of delicious, delicious fat make it difficult to overcook or dry out, especially when done low and slow.

Since roasting can still feel scary (and I like you all a lot!), I’ve also included instructions for braising and I can assure you: Both ways are insanely good. Roasting will give you something medium-rare and sliceable; braising will give you something fall apart tender and shreddy. Either way, you can cook the whole thing hours (or days) ahead of time, slicing or shredding when people are ready to eat (I love to serve sliced lamb at room temperature or even cold, but for the braise, you’ll want to gently rewarm in an oven before shredding to loosen up the fat).

4½- to 5½-pound bone-in leg of lamb

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup fennel or cumin seeds, finely crushed, plus more for serving

2 cups full-fat Greek yogurt, plus more for serving

6 garlic cloves, finely grated

¼ cup fresh oregano leaves, coarsely chopped, plus more for serving

1 tablespoon crushed red pepper flakes, plus more for serving

¼ cup olive oil, plus more for drizzling

¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice (from about 3 lemons)

2 large fennel bulbs, thinly sliced, divided

2 cups fresh parsley, cilantro, and/or mint, tender leaves and stems

Ground sumac (optional)

1 Using a sharp paring knife, score the lamb about ½ inch deep every few inches or so—this is a really large cut of meat and we aren’t trying to keep it intact or anything, but we still want to cook it on the bone. Making these incisions will help season the meat deeply and cook more evenly. It seems like a fancy technique, but I promise, you can’t mess it up.

2 Season the lamb with salt and pepper (you’ll need at least 1 teaspoon kosher salt per pound here) and sprinkle with the fennel seed, making sure to get everything into those incisions.

3 Whisk the yogurt, garlic, oregano, crushed red pepper flakes, olive oil, and ¼ cup lemon juice in a medium bowl. Season with salt and pepper. As if you were applying a mud mask, smear the yogurt all over the lamb, making sure to get into any and all nooks and crannies (not just for English muffins!). Let the meat sit, lightly covered with plastic wrap, at room temperature for at least 1 hour or up to 2 hours, or wrap tightly in plastic and keep in the refrigerator overnight.

5 Scatter half the fennel at the bottom of a large roasting pan, and season with salt and pepper. Without wiping off excess marinade, place the lamb on top of the vegetables (or simply in the roasting pan), fat side up. (If braising, add 2 cups of water to the bottom of the roasting pan and cover tightly with foil.)

6 Roast, without touching or moving or peeking, until the lamb registers 115 to 120°F when a thermometer is inserted about 2 inches deep into the thickest part of the leg (taking care not to touch the bone), 60 to 90 minutes. (If braising, continue cooking until the lamb is extremely tender and nearly falling apart, 3 to 3½ hours. Remove the foil.)

7 Increase the temperature to 450°F and continue to cook until the lamb has reached 120 to 125°F and is deeply golden brown all over with little bits of charred marinade, 20 to 25 minutes more. (If braising, this step is just to brown and crisp up the outside of the lamb.)

9 Once the lamb is cooked to your liking, carve the larger lobes off the bone and thinly slice. Or, for more dramatic albeit slightly messier presentation, thinly slice lamb directly off the bone in the style of a large country ham or prosciutto—this is my favorite way. (If braising, using two forks, simply shred the meat into large pieces.)

10 Combine the remaining sliced fennel bulb and 2 tablespoons lemon juice, and season with salt, pepper, and crushed red pepper flakes. Add herbs and toss to coat.

11 Place lamb on a large platter and scatter with the fennel mixture, sprinkling with extra fennel seed and sumac, if using. Drizzle with olive oil and flaky salt and serve alongside extra yogurt.

DO AHEAD Lamb can be marinated 24 hours ahead, loosely covered, and refrigerated. Lamb can be roasted or grilled a few hours ahead, loosely covered with foil, and left at room temperature.

When I envision myself at age seventy-two, living in the Italian countryside and caring for a resplendent yet manageably sized garden, along with several cats, this is what I plan on eating every day for lunch, a lunch that is so late and long that it may as well be dinner, washed down with a glass of white wine so crisp I could wear it as a shirt.

That said, I often cook and eat my weight in some version of this dish, especially in the late summer, when it’s nice enough to grill outside without sweating. This dish is impossibly easy to throw together, and lamb shoulder is a delightfully forgiving cut on the grill—zero experience required (but I have also included instructions for cooking this on the stovetop).

2–3 pounds boneless lamb shoulder

12 anchovy fillets, finely chopped

¼ cup olive oil, plus more if needed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 pounds very ripe tomatoes, sliced ¾ inch thick

4 green garlic stalks, thinly sliced, or 2 garlic cloves, finely grated

2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, white wine vinegar, or red wine vinegar

Flaky sea salt

Lemony Aioli (this page), full-fat Greek yogurt, or labne (optional)

Salsa verde (optional)

Flatbreads or some other bread (optional)

1 Using a knife, separate the lamb shoulder where it naturally wants to separate, into 3 or 4 smaller pieces (almost like a few lamb steaks)—this is to ensure even cooking on the grill.

2 Mix the anchovies and olive oil. Season the lamb with salt and pepper and smear with the anchovy mixture (do this at least 30 minutes in advance, uncovered and refrigerated).

3 Heat a grill to medium-high. (Or heat 2 tablespoons oil in a large cast iron over medium-high heat.)

4 Grill the meat over the hottest part of the grill, flipping frequently to make sure nothing burns. Grill until charred deeply and evenly, 5 to 8 minutes, depending on the thickness of the piece. (Or sear the pieces of lamb until golden brown on all sides, 3 to 5 minutes per side.) Transfer the lamb to a cutting board and let rest for 10 minutes.

5 Meanwhile, place the tomatoes on a large serving platter and season with salt and pepper. Scatter with the green garlic and lemon juice and set aside. Thinly slice the meat and place immediately atop the tomatoes, letting the juices mingle. Sprinkle with flaky salt and, if desired, serve with aioli, salsa verde, and/or flatbreads.

NOTE A casual white bean salad with escarole (this page) would be so fun and very on trend for my Italian fantasy (as would those Wine-Roasted Artichokes on this page). The aioli, salsa verde, and flatbreads are all optional, but I highly recommend at least one or all three, throwing the bread on the grill to warm up and catch a little char as the meat rests, to drag through the tomato-y, garlicky lamby juices.

There is no pre-sear or any other preliminary steps here before slathering the pork with a garlicky harissa paste and popping it into an oven, which makes it especially foolproof, even if cooking large pieces of meat usually freaks you out. You could certainly stop after you’ve braised the shoulder, serving the spicy, tangy pan juices over roasted potatoes or a fluffy pile of couscous, but I love adding the beans and returning them to a significantly hotter oven to absorb the crazy flavorful pork fat, getting a little browned and crisped as the pork also browns and crisps and, yes, this is a cute little play on “pork and beans”—thanks for noticing!

4 pounds boneless pork shoulder

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

½ cup harissa paste

¼ cup distilled white vinegar

3 tablespoons tomato paste

3 tablespoons light brown sugar

4 garlic cloves, finely grated

1½ cups water

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

1 large bunch chard, stems removed, leaves torn into bite-sized pieces

1 preserved lemon, seeds removed, thinly sliced

1 cup cilantro, tender leaves and stems

1 lemon, halved

2 Season the pork with salt and pepper and place in a large Dutch oven. Combine the harissa paste, vinegar, tomato paste, brown sugar, and garlic in a medium bowl. Smear the harissa mixture all over pork, getting into all nooks and crannies, and add the water. Place the lid on the pot and roast, until the pork is nearly falling-apart tender, 3 to 3½ hours.

3 Remove the lid, add the beans, and season with salt and pepper. Increase the oven temperature to 425°F and return the pot to the oven, uncovered. Roast until the beans have soaked up all the liquid and the top of the pork is deeply golden brown, 40 to 45 minutes.

4 Transfer the pork to a cutting board. Add the chard and preserved lemon to the beans and stir to wilt the leaves. Slice pork into ½-inch-thick slices (if it starts to shred, that’s fine). Transfer the beans and greens to a large serving plate or shallow bowl and place the pork on top (alternatively, place pork on top of the beans in the pot and serve directly from there). Scatter with cilantro and serve the lemon alongside for squeezing over.

DO AHEAD This can be made up to 3 days ahead, sans chard, stored in its pot, and refrigerated. Reheat before adding chard.

NOTE Pork shoulder is cheap, available at basically every grocery store and impossibly delicious no matter what you do to it. It is almost always my go-to “I want to have people over and have no idea what to cook” meat, especially useful for when you’re not sure how many people are coming or what they like to eat, because (a) it miraculously always feeds the exact number of people you need it to, (b) it's impossible to mess up, and (c) everybody loves pork shoulder.

I am calling this a braise, but it is really a stew (an homage to the Korean Jjigae) in which meat is braised—but isn’t that most stews? Anyway, yes, this is a spicy, funky, gingery stew in which you will braise large chunks of pork and then top them with fresh, crunchy vegetables and maybe eat with some soft tofu and perhaps a creamy, raw egg yolk. You could certainly use something like pork shoulder instead of ribs, but I love the ratio of fat to meat in a baby back rib (and the bones are fun!).

The stew is amazing on its own (and not for nothing, excellent for a hangover or a very bad cold), but as with most things in life (and this book), I am here for the toppings. It’s a fun thing to set out a giant pot of this stuff with several of your cutest bowls filled with this and that, making for a festive DIY party.

FOR THE STEW

2½–3 pounds baby back ribs, separated into 2-rib segments, or 2 pounds boneless pork shoulder, cut into 2-inch pieces

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

4 garlic cloves, finely chopped

2-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and finely chopped

¼ cup gochujang (Korean chili paste)

2 (16-ounce) jars cabbage kimchi, coarsely chopped

1 bunch scallions, green and white parts, cut into 1-inch pieces

8 cups water

FOR SERVING (OPTIONAL)

2 watermelon radishes or 4 regular radishes, thinly sliced

1 apple, thinly sliced

2 tablespoons rice wine vinegar

1 tablespoon toasted sesame oil

Korean chili flakes or crushed red pepper flakes

1 (12–16 ounce) package silken tofu

4 scallions, green and white parts, thinly sliced

¼ cup toasted sesame seeds

4 cups watercress, tough stems removed

6–8 large egg yolks

1 Make the stew. Season the pork with salt and pepper. Heat the oil in a large pot over medium heat. Working in batches if needed, add the pork and cook until golden brown on all sides. (Time will vary depending if you’re doing ribs or shoulder, but all in all, should take 15 to 20 minutes to brown the meat all over.)

2 Transfer the meat to a cutting board or large platter, leaving the drippings and fat in the pot (feel free to scrape out any obvious burned bits). Add the garlic and ginger and cook, stirring occasionally, until the garlic starts to brown, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the gochujang and cook just like you would tomato paste, until it’s caramelized and turned a sort of brick-red color, another 2 minutes or so.

3 Add the kimchi, scallions, and water. Bring to a simmer and nestle the pork into the liquid, making sure it’s all submerged. Cover the pot and reduce the heat to medium-low. Gently simmer until the pork is falling apart and completely tender, 2 to 2½ hours.

4 To serve, toss the radishes and apple with the vinegar, sesame oil, and chili flakes, and season with salt and pepper. Place the tofu in a medium bowl (I leave it whole so people can spoon out as much as they want) and top with a bit of scallion and sesame seeds.

5 Let people DIY their own bowls. For reference, my dream bowl involves spooning a bit of tofu into the bottom of a bowl then ladling the stew over. From there, I top it with a little radish/apple mixture, a few sprigs of watercress, a sprinkling of sesame seeds and scallions, and last but not least: an egg yolk. But please design your own bowl of dreams, even if that means simply enjoying the stew on its own, as is.

DO AHEAD Kimchi stew can be made up to 3 days ahead (you can keep it in the pot), covered, and refrigerated. Rewarm gently over medium heat to bring to a gentle simmer and heat all the way through.

Grilling a chicken that’s been marinated and basted in sweet, tangy citrus, a bit of salty soy sauce, and a good amount of funky, spicy something (like yuzu kosho, Japanese fermented chili paste) is simple and pleasant and gets along with everything—kind of like your favorite T-shirt that you wear over and over again, or your really nice neighbor who always brings packages in for you when you’re out of town. It’s just a really good chicken, and honestly, sometimes that’s all you need.

Since this marinade is so agreeable and the technique so straightforward, it’s an excellent opportunity to add vegetables to cook alongside the chicken, if you like. Pick something quick cooking, like sliced fennel, a bunch of scallions, quartered radishes, or fresh chiles.

While the default here is for roasting, I’ve also included instructions for grilling, since this particular marinade works extremely well with the deep, smoky, charred flavors that come from the grill. If grilling, feel free to add some additional cut citrus so that it can char alongside the chicken, perfect for squeezing over when serving.

½ cup fresh lime or lemon juice (from 4–6 lemons or limes), plus 1 lime or lemon, thinly sliced

½ cup fresh orange juice, plus 1 orange, thinly sliced, seeds removed

½ cup soy sauce

2 tablespoons canola oil, plus more

2 tablespoons yuzu kosho or sambal, or 1 jalapeño, finely chopped

2 garlic cloves, finely grated

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

3½- to 4-pound chicken, halved lengthwise through the backbone (see Note, this page), or bone-in, skin-on parts

½ cup fresh cilantro, tender leaves and stems, coarsely chopped

½ cup fresh parsley, tender leaves and stems, coarsely chopped

A few sprigs fresh rosemary, thyme, oregano, or marjoram (optional)

1 To make the marinade, combine the lime juice, orange juice, soy sauce, oil, yuzu kosho, and garlic in a medium bowl and season with salt and pepper. Set about half aside for later, and add the rest of the marinade to a large bowl, resealable bag, or baking dish. Add the chicken, tossing to coat well. Let it sit in the marinade for a while (at least 30 minutes, but up to 24 hours, in the refrigerator).

2 Preheat the oven to 450°F. (Alternatively, heat a grill to medium heat, with cooler coals or low flames on one side. You can grill the chicken over hotter flames, but it can be challenging to manage; for beginners, it’s good to err on the side of the coals being slightly cooler than slightly hotter.)

When you’re ready, take the baked potatoes out of the oven, ask someone to prepare some fixings for said potatoes (like opening a tub of sour cream). Finish your perfectly cooked meat by browning it in a skillet (or that very hot oven). Don’t even bother to let it rest, because it doesn’t need to (thank you, “Reverse Sear!” For more on that, see sidebar, this page). Carve your insanely impressive piece of meat (be sure everyone sees you doing this), and then, last, dress your salad. Eat all these things together and feel happy that you did something nice for people you love by preparing them a fancy cut of meat in your own home, where the only price of admission was a bottle of wine. And the dishes—they have to do the dishes.

7- to 7½-pound whole bone-in rib roast (about a 3-bone roast), not frenched

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

6 sprigs fresh rosemary

1 tin or jar of anchovy fillets (about 10 anchovies), plus more for serving (optional)

8 garlic cloves, finely grated

¼ cup olive oil

1 tablespoon canola oil

Flaky sea salt

1 cup fresh parsley, tender leaves and stems, finely chopped, plus more for serving

1 Season the meat with salt and pepper (you want 1 teaspoon of kosher salt per pound). Place on a rimmed baking sheet (preferably lined with a wire rack so that the meat does not sit directly in the liquid that escapes from salting, and let sit at least 2 hours at room temperature or up to 48 hours refrigerated.

2 Meanwhile, finely chop 2 sprigs of rosemary and about 10 anchovies and combine in a medium bowl with the garlic and olive oil. Season with salt and pepper.

4 Scatter the remaining 4 sprigs of rosemary on the bottom of a rimmed baking sheet. Smear the meat with the anchovy mixture and place on top of the rosemary. Place the whole thing in the oven and let it roast low and slow until a meat thermometer reaches 110°F (for medium-rare) when inserted into the deepest part of the meat, 2 to 2½ hours. Remove from the oven (the temperature will continue to rise as it sits—you’re looking for an eventual 125°F temperature). Let it hang out for up to 4 hours at room temperature.

5 When you’re ready to eat, heat the canola oil in a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Once the oil is smoking, add the meat, fat side down. Cook, pressing lightly to encourage the whole underside to make contact with the skillet, until it’s deeply browned, 5 to 8 minutes. Flip the roast so that it’s fat side up and remove from heat. (Alternatively, increase the temperature to 500°F, or however high your oven goes, and cook the roast until the fat is browned, 10 to 15 minutes—this is easier, but your fat will never get as browned and you’ll miss out on pan drippings.)

7 Slice the roast away from the bones (see Note). Slice the roast however you please; I like mine on the thinner side, about ¼ inch slices, but some prefer thinner (like roast beef) or thicker (like prime rib). Place the slices on a large serving platter and pour over any juices left behind. Sprinkle with flaky salt and parsley, serving with more anchovies alongside, if you like.

DO AHEAD Roast can and should be seasoned up to 48 hours in advance. It can be roasted 3 hours ahead, then left loosely covered with foil at room temperature, just like they do at all the best prime rib restaurants.

NOTE Save these bones! Either separate them and eat as-is, crisp them in the oven, or use to make broth.

Here’s a little pep talk if you’re considering any seemingly intimidating recipe involving a large cut of meat (rib roast, this page, or lamb, this page): Do not be nervous, for the Reverse Sear is here to help. What’s a reverse sear, you ask? Instead of taking a piece of meat and searing it, then transferring it to the oven to finish cooking, you start by cooking it low and slow in the oven, and once it’s achieved the perfect internal temperature (125°F. for medium-rare), you sear it on the stovetop (or brown in an aggressively hot oven), then slice and serve. No resting, no worrying, no outer ring of well-done meat. I was skeptical of this cooking technique myself, wondering if it really was better or just new—until I tried it and became convinced that it was, indeed, the easiest and most foolproof way to cook a large-format cut of meat. Here’s why:

Short ribs are an excellent cut if you love to be cozy and/or have an extreme fear of cooking red meat. Their outrageous marbling and fat content make them one of the easiest cuts to prepare and hardest to mess up. While I mostly see them done in an Italian way, all red wine-y and canned tomato-y, I prefer to take them in a spiced and citrusy direction to counter the intensity that is, well, a giant hunk of braised red meat.

The last step of the recipe is to uncover the perfectly tender and adequately cooked short ribs to crisp up the meat and potatoes and further thicken and reduce the sauce. It increases the cooking time by about 30-ish minutes, but it’ll be the best 30-ish minutes you’ll ever spend, I promise.

5 pounds bone-in short ribs, 1½–2 inches thick

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons canola or vegetable oil

1½ pounds Yukon Gold potatoes (about 4), quartered lengthwise

2 small yellow onions, quartered

6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

4 whole chiles de arbol, or 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes, plus more for serving

2 tablespoons cumin seeds

2 tablespoons fennel seeds

1 tablespoon coriander seeds

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

2 tablespoons tomato paste

½ cup white wine vinegar

3 cups beef or chicken broth, or water

1 lemon, seeds removed, finely chopped

1 Season the short ribs with salt and lots of pepper. If you can do this the day before, even better (just store them uncovered and refrigerated).

3 Heat the oil in a large (at least 8-quart) Dutch oven over medium heat. Working in batches, sear the short ribs until deeply golden brown all on all sides, 12 to 15 minutes. Using tongs, transfer the short ribs to a large serving platter or rimmed baking sheet.

4 Carefully (the pot is hot!) drain excess fat from the pot, leaving behind about 2 tablespoons of fat and any of the good bits. Add the potatoes, cut side down, and season with salt and pepper. Cook, without disturbing, until they’re nicely browned on one side, about 5 minutes. Give them a stir and continue to cook until browned a little more evenly. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the potatoes to the tray with the meat, leaving any bits and fat behind.

5 Add the onion and garlic to the pot and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onions have a nice golden brown color, 5 to 8 minutes. Add the 4 whole chiles, cumin seeds, fennel seeds, coriander seeds, and cinnamon, stirring to coat and toast the spices.

6 Add the tomato paste and cook, stirring constantly, until it’s started to caramelize on the bottom of the pot (adjust the heat as needed to make sure it doesn’t burn before it caramelizes), about 2 minutes. Add the vinegar, broth, and half the lemon and bring to a simmer, scraping up all the bits on the bottom of the pot.

7 Return the short ribs and potatoes to the pot, nestling everything in (if it’s a tight squeeze, just make sure the short ribs get priority seating on the braise train, which is to say make sure they are submerged even if the potatoes are not). Cover and place the pot in the oven to roast until the short ribs are falling-off-the-bone tender and the potatoes are impossibly creamy to the point of almost mush (but not yet mush), 2½ to 3 hours.

8 Increase the oven temperature to 425°F and remove the lid. Continue to cook until the short ribs and any potatoes on top are browned and starting to crisp, and the liquid has reduced to a very nice, rich sauce, 25 to 35 minutes.

9 Scatter the meat and potatoes with the remaining lemon, plus a bit of crumbled chile before serving.

DO AHEAD Short ribs can be braised up to 2 days ahead, kept in the pot they were made in, covered, and refrigerated. Rewarm them covered, either gently on the stovetop over medium heat or in a 400°F oven, until they are warmed through and saucy.

Not to sound like too delicate a flower, but I tend to find most braised meat, especially beef, a little much for my liking. Too savory, too sweet, too heavy, too—just too much. As a general rule, I don’t order it in restaurants, but the exception is the tangy, spiced braised beef noodles available at a few of my favorite Chinese restaurants around New York, which I’ll order nearly every time. While not a replication, this brisket is my interpretation: salty from soy sauce, sour from vinegar, lightly spiced from a few pantry all-stars. I love cooking large cuts in a super-flavorful liquid low and slow enough till it’s impossibly tender but not falling apart, so that it can be sliced rather than shredded, almost like a smoked brisket from a barbeque spot. Served over springy noodles with its brothy cooking liquid ladled over, scattered with an absurd amount of mixed herbs (it’s a salad!), and not only is it not too much but also it’s really never enough.

3½- to 4-pound boneless beef brisket, fat trimmed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons canola oil

⅓ cup honey

2 heads of garlic, halved crosswise to expose the cloves (you can leave the paper on—it’s okay)

2 large yellow onions, quartered

1 cinnamon stick

3 star anise pods

3-inch piece of fresh ginger, peeled and sliced

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

2 dried or fresh bay leaves

4 cups beef or chicken broth

1¼ cups low-sodium soy sauce

½ cup rice wine vinegar

2 tablespoons fish sauce

4 cups fresh cilantro, mint, and/or basil, tender leaves and stems

¼ cup thinly sliced chives or scallions

Cooked rice noodles or plain rice, for serving (optional)

1 Season the brisket with salt and pepper. Do this as far ahead as possible (somewhere between 5 minutes and 48 hours is great).

2 Heat the oil in a large, heavy-bottomed Dutch oven (make sure it’s got a fitted lid) over medium-high heat. Add the brisket, fattiest side down (if there is not a clear winner, any side will do) and sear, occasionally pressing with tongs to ensure even contact with the pot, until it’s deeply golden brown, 8 to 10 minutes. Flip the brisket and sear on the other side until similarly, deeply, golden brown. Sometimes a brisket will have a third (or even fourth) side, depending on the shape and cut, so sear on all sides if applicable.

3 Transfer the brisket to a plate or platter and drain the pot of any residual fat into a heatproof container (no need to wipe it out). Return the pot to medium-high heat and add the honey. Let it sizzle and bubble and start to caramelize, about 2 minutes. (If the pot is dark and you can’t see it, don’t worry, you’ll smell it. It will smell like a rich, deep caramel.)

4 Reduce the heat to medium-low and add the garlic, onion, cinnamon, star anise, ginger, chiles, and bay leaves. Stir to coat in the caramelized honey and cook until they take on some color and soften a bit, 2 to 3 minutes.

5 Add the beef broth, soy sauce, vinegar, and fish sauce. Return the brisket to the pot, nestling it in there. If the brisket is not at least three-fourths covered, add more broth or water until it is.

6 Bring the liquid to a simmer, reduce the heat to medium-low, and cover. Simmer gently, peeking only when you absolutely can’t stand how good it smells and need to check on it to make sure it’s not ready (it’s not), until it’s totally, completely, impossibly tender, 3 to 3½ hours.

7 Using tongs or two spatulas, remove the brisket and transfer to a cutting board, reserving the braising liquid. If you like, use a slotted spoon or strainer to remove and discard the vegetables and spices from the pot (this is unnecessary, but a nice touch if you don’t want to fish them out later).

8 Slice the brisket and return it to the pot with the liquid (you can also shred it, if that is your preference).

9 Toss the herbs and chives together in a medium bowl. Season with salt and pepper.

10 Serve brisket out of the pot or inside a shallow bowl, ladling some of the braising liquid over. Top with herbs and maybe a pinch of red pepper flakes. Serve with additional braising liquid for spooning over or drinking, and with rice noodles or rice, if you like.

DO AHEAD Unsliced brisket can be made up to 5 days ahead, stored in its liquid (you can keep it in the pot), covered, and refrigerated. Rewarm gently over medium heat to bring to a gentle simmer and heat all the way through.

I am obsessed with the concept of a food “for the table.” You may be wondering, Isn’t any food on the table…for the table? Yes, sure, but this is more than that. Food “for the table” is a lifestyle choice. For example, at restaurants, when you can’t commit to a whole pancake or waffle, encourage the table to order a “table pancake,” a.k.a. “a pancake for the table,” so that nobody is deprived or overcommitted.

Similarly at home, when I’ve planned on roasting a chicken or serving lasagna at dinner but then find myself unable to resist the most perfect little lamb chops at the butcher, I’ll grab a few, take them home, season them simply, then sear and serve them in an extremely casual way. I always mention that it’s not meant as the main event but, rather, a little snack (for the table!). This makes it feel like a special treat—and who doesn’t love a special treat? No utensils required; I encourage people to just pick up the chops and eat them right off the bone, like we are at Medieval Times.

You could do this with a few things, I suppose, but to me, there is no better food “for the table” than individual crispy lamb chops. Serve them with A Very Good Lasagna (this page), next to a summery seafood pasta (see this page), or even with whole fish (see this page) for an extremely spectacular surf-and-turf vibe. (Yes, that Green Goddess Butter, this page, would be really great with lamb chops.)

To do this, you’ll want to plan on 1 or 2 standard (not frenched) lamb chops per person. Ideally, they should be about ¾ inch thick, but this will vary. Seasoning them simply with salt and pepper, you’re going to sear them in a large super-hot cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat until they’re golden brown on both sides (4 to 6 minutes total). Once all the lamb chops you desire are cooked to crispy perfection, remove from the heat and add a good knob of butter, swirling to melt and sizzle, along with a few cloves of smashed garlic and a couple of sprigs of fresh herbs like thyme or savory. Transfer the lamb chops to a large serving platter, rimmed baking sheet, whatever you can find. Pour the butter/garlic/herb mixture over the lamb chops as they rest, finishing with a squeeze of lemon and a sprinkle of flaky salt. Deliver them to the table, indicating to whomever you’re serving these chops to that it’s really more of a snack and that they should feel empowered to take as many or as few as they like, making sure to cry out, “Lamb chops for the table!”

Sardines get such a bad reputation for being fishy and fatty, but that’s exactly why I love them. It’s true, they are a fantastically oily, fatty, meaty fish, which means they are delicious! But it also means their quality deteriorates almost immediately once they leave the sea. That said, it is increasingly easy to find high-quality sardines, and when you see them, you should buy them and cook them. Preferably in lots of browned butter (fat + fat is always good) and tangy lemon (to cut through all that fat!), but don’t let me tell you how to live your life.

2 lemons, thinly sliced, seeds removed, divided

1 teaspoon ground sumac (optional)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 pounds whole fresh sardines, gutted and cleaned (they do not need to be scaled)

3 tablespoons olive oil, divided, plus more for drizzling

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter

1 cup fresh parsley or cilantro, tender leaves and stems

Flaky sea salt

1 Combine half the lemon slices and the sumac, if using, in a small bowl; season aggressively with salt and pepper—the lemons should be rather salty.

2 Season the sardines with salt and pepper. Heat 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in a large skillet. Working in batches, add a few sardines—as many as will fit without being packed like…sardines in a can (sorry!). Using a fish spatula, press each sardine lightly into the pan to encourage even contact. After 3 to 4 minutes, flip them and cook on the other side, another 3 to 4 minutes. The skin should look browned and lightly crisped, the meat inside opaque and cooked through (they are hard to overcook, so when in doubt, it’s better to cook them a little longer). Transfer to a paper towel–lined plate or platter and set aside.

3 Wipe out the skillet, but don’t worry about it getting it super clean. Return it to medium-high heat, then add the butter and let it foam and sizzle up, browning a bit in the skillet. Add the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and the remaining lemon slices, and season with salt and pepper.

4 Cook until the lemon slices are browned and lightly fried, about 4 minutes, then remove from the heat. Arrange the sardines on a large serving platter and pour the browned butter and fried lemons over, followed by the salted lemon slices, the parsley, a sprinkling of flaky salt, and a drizzle of olive oil.

NOTE There are people who would gladly sit down to a whole plate of sardines and only sardines, but most people need a little coaxing. For these people, I’d plan on 1 to 2 sardines per person, making sure you’re supplementing the meal with something else like a pot of fennel-y, brothy meatballs (this page), or a pot of pasta (this page).

Scallops (pronounced “SCAL-op” not “SKOL-op”) are expensive, so when I cook them I prefer to sweeten the deal with something affordable that also makes them even more fun to eat. For me, “a can of beans” is truly my idea of “fun,” especially when tossed in the skillet the scallops were seared in, soaking up all those crazy delicious, salty sticky scallop bits, then spooned over thick slices of citrus and crunchy, tangy tomatillos (which, if you haven’t eaten raw, you’re in for a treat).

I think of this dish as a sort of one-skillet meal (it’s got protein and starch), but if you want, you could certainly serve it with tortillas or rice on the side.

4 tomatillos, husked, rinsed, and thinly sliced

2 tangerines or small oranges, peeled, thinly sliced, seeds removed

1 small fresh green or red chile, thinly sliced, seeds removed for less heat if you like

1 small shallot, thinly sliced

2 tablespoons fresh lime juice, plus more for seasoning

6 tablespoons olive oil, divided, plus more for drizzling

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1½–2 pounds sea scallops, side muscles removed

2 tablespoons canola oil

1 (15-ounce) can cannellini or navy beans, drained and rinsed

2 teaspoons Aleppo-style pepper or 1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

½ cup fresh cilantro, tender leaves and stems

1 Combine the tomatillos, tangerines, chile, shallot, lime juice, and 4 tablespoons olive oil in a large bowl; season with salt and pepper and set aside.

2 Season the scallops with salt and pepper. Heat the canola oil in a large skillet, preferably cast-iron, over medium-high heat. Working in batches, add the scallops and, using a fish spatula, press lightly to make good contact with the skillet. Sear until deeply browned, about 3 minutes per side.

3 Transfer the scallops to a large plate or serving platter. Without wiping the skillet, add the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil, followed by the beans and Aleppo-style pepper, and season with salt and pepper. Cook, shaking the skillet occasionally, until the beans have soaked up all that scallop-y business and are looking impossibly tasty, about 4 minutes or so.

4 Transfer the tomatillos and citrus to a large serving platter and top with the beans, scallops, and cilantro. Drizzle everything with a little more olive oil before serving.

I support the idea that ingredients that are difficult or expensive to farm, grow, source, fish, raise, and process should be, well, expensive. Good things are not cheap, and they shouldn’t be. It’s for this reason that I don’t eat halibut very often, but when I do, I’m mentally and emotionally prepared to pay for it.

It’s also for this reason that when I have a special ingredient (e.g., a large piece of gorgeous halibut, extremely in-season tomatoes, a perfect peach), I do just about nothing to it. If I’m paying half a month’s rent for a piece of something, I want to taste that thing, not fourteen other ingredients. So yes, this is a simple fish dish cooked simply. Salt, pepper, and lemon—excellent fish needs nothing more.

1½–2 pounds skinless halibut, salmon, arctic char, or other large, fatty firm fillet

1 bunch asparagus, the thinner the better, halved lengthwise if thick, tough ends trimmed

1 bunch spring onions, scallions, or ramps (!), halved lengthwise if thick

¼ cup olive oil, plus more as needed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, plus more if you want to live a little

2 cups shelled English peas (frozen are fine, too)

2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh chives, plus more for serving

2 tablespoons fresh tarragon leaves, finely chopped, plus more for serving

1 lemon, cut into wedges

2 Place the fish on a rimmed baking sheet and scatter the asparagus and spring onions around. Drizzle everything with olive oil and season with salt and pepper. Place in the oven and bake until fish is just cooked through, the ends of the spring onions have started to sizzle and crisp, and the asparagus can be easily pierced with a fork, 10 to 12 minutes.

3 Meanwhile, heat the butter in a medium pot over medium heat. Cook, swirling the pot occasionally, until the butter has started to brown and foam up, about 3 minutes. Use a spoon or small whisk to scrape up the browned bits on the bottom. Add the peas and season with salt and an aggressive amount of pepper. Add the chives and tarragon. Transfer to a medium bowl and top with more butter, if you like.

4 Serve the fish and vegetables, along with the lemon wedges for squeezing over, with the peas. Scatter everything with more tarragon, chives, and pepper, if you like.

I used to be “not that into salmon” because my experience had only involved well-done salmon. You know the kind: firm, dry, flaky, and so pale you can barely tell it’s pink. Then I discovered the slow roast, the oil poach, and the only-grill-on-one-side techniques, all of which yield an extremely tender, almost creamy textured salmon whose color is an actual representation of the name itself. That is the salmon that has made me a person who not just tolerates the fish but craves and makes it for herself. What a world!

This particular salmon is slow roasted until just cooked through, then doused in a citrusy, soy sauce-y, oniony mixture that is part sauce, part dressing. From there, you can do whatever you want, but I love the idea of serving it with a giant bowl of warm rice and salmon roe (salmon with salmon eggs is so good).

2 bunches scallions or spring onions, white and green parts, trimmed

2–3 pounds skin-on salmon fillet

¼ cup plus 3 tablespoons olive oil, divided

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

¼ cup low-sodium soy sauce

1 tablespoon finely grated lemon or lime zest plus ¼ cup fresh lemon or lime juice (from about 2 lemons or 4 limes)

2 tablespoons fresh orange juice (from about 1 orange)

Crushed red pepper flakes

1 Preheat the oven to 325°F. Thinly slice 4 scallions and place in a medium bowl; set aside.

2 Place the salmon skin side down in a large baking dish and drizzle with 2 tablespoons olive oil and season with salt and lots of pepper. Place in the oven and roast until the center begins to turn from deep sunset orange to salmon-y pink, but still remains pretty medium-rare toward the top, 10 to 12 minutes.

3 Meanwhile, heat 1 tablespoon of the olive oil over medium-high heat in a medium cast-iron skillet. Add the remaining scallions and season with salt and pepper. Cook, tossing occasionally, until deeply charred in spots, 4 to 6 minutes.

4 Transfer the scallions to a cutting board and coarsely chop. Add to the bowl with raw scallions along with the soy sauce, lemon zest and juice, orange juice, and remaining ¼ cup olive oil; season with salt, pepper, and crushed red pepper flakes.

5 Using a large spatula, transfer the salmon to a large serving platter, leaving any skin behind. Spoon a bit of the charred scallion mixture over, serving any extra alongside.

This clam dish is not quite a chowder, but it is decidedly chowder in spirit. The clams (or cockles, if you can find them!) get steamed open in a white winey, cream broth alongside potatoes, celery, and a bit of toasted garlic. Cod is then added, lightly poaching in the broth, and the whole thing is topped with lemony herbs and served with crusty, preferably almost-burnt toast. I love this eaten straight from the pot, like a shellfish free-for-all, but if you prefer individual bowls, that’s cool, too.

4 pounds manila clams or very small littleneck clams, scrubbed well

¼ cup olive oil, plus more for the bread

6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 pound small waxy potatoes, sliced into ¼-inch-thick coins

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

6 celery stalks, thinly sliced on the bias, plus leaves for garnish

½ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes, plus more to taste

½ cup very dry white wine, such as Sauvignon Blanc (see Note)

1½ cups heavy cream

12 ounces cod or pollack, cut into 2-inch pieces

1 cup fresh parsley, tender leaves and stems

1 lemon, for zesting and juicing

Toast or crusty bread, for serving

1 Place the clams in a large bowl and let them soak in very cold water while you prepare the broth.

2 Heat the olive oil in a large pot (better if it’s wider than tall) over medium-high heat and add the garlic and potatoes. Season with salt and pepper and cook, stirring occasionally, until the potatoes are totally softened and tender, 8 to 10 minutes.

3 Add the celery and red pepper flakes and season with salt and pepper. Add the wine and cook 2 to 3 minutes, until reduced by about half. Add the cream and bring to a simmer.

4 Add the clams, making sure they are nestled in there (but they don’t all have to be submerged) and place the lid on top. Cook, resisting the urge to check for at least 5 minutes (a watched clam never opens). Once the clams start to open (4 to 8 minutes), give them a stir, encouraging the rest of them to open. If any clams are especially late to the party (so late they never open), remove and discard.

5 Add the cod, letting it nestle into the broth and season with salt and pepper. Place the lid on again and cook until the fish is cooked through, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat.

6 Toss the parsley and any celery leaves in a medium bowl. Juice and zest the lemon over and season with salt and pepper. Scatter over the pot before serving with toast or bread.

NOTE As always, don’t use a wine you wouldn’t drink, but it’s important to note that here you want to avoid any wine that you’d interpret as “sweet” or “oaky.” I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you this, but please feel free to drink the rest of the bottle with the clams.

Swordfish is good for people who claim not to be into fish. Meaty and juicy, with little to no fishy flavor, it looks and kind of tastes like the best chicken breast you’ve ever had (really!). Especially so when you give it the kind of faux escabeche treatment, cooking the steaks to a delightful medium-rare, then dousing them in vinegary olives and onions to briefly marinate and firm up the meat. If the mood strikes and the weather cooperates, swordfish steaks are also excellent on the grill (either whole or cut into 1½-inch pieces and skewered on kebabs).

2 cups Castelvetrano olives (or similar mild green olive), pitted and crushed

2 tablespoons white wine vinegar or fresh lemon juice

Leaves from 6 sprigs fresh oregano or marjoram

¼ cup plus 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

3–4 swordfish steaks (8–10 ounces each), 1–1¼ inches thick

2 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

¼ cup fresh parsley leaves, tender leaves and stems

2 lemons, halved, for serving

1 Combine the olives, vinegar, half the leaves from the oregano, and ¼ cup olive oil. Season with salt and pepper and let sit while you cook the swordfish.

2 Season the swordfish with salt and pepper. Heat the remaining 2 tablespoons olive oil in a very large skillet. Working in batches if necessary, add the swordfish steaks, making sure they’ve got a little space between one another. Cook until the steaks are a deep golden brown on one side, 5 to 7 minutes. Using a fish spatula or regular spatula, flip the steaks and cook until they are equally golden brown on the other side, another 4 to 6 minutes.

3 Transfer the fish to a large serving platter or even a baking dish. Add the garlic to the skillet and cook until just softened, a minute or two. Add the olive mixture and remove from heat.

4 Spoon some of the olive mixture over and let sit a few minutes to allow the sauce to marinate and really get to know that fish.

5 Scatter with the parsley and the remaining oregano, and serve with any extra olive mixture and the lemon halves for squeezing over.

Grilling a whole fish might sound like something you can’t do, but let me say if you can grill a hot dog, you can grill a whole fish, especially something thin and manageably sized, like trout or branzino. Rather than seduce you with fancy flavor profiles and exotic ingredients, I want you to focus on the task at hand, which is just grilling the whole fish (which, for some, is already fancy and exotic enough). Apart from a good pair of tongs, all you’ll need is confidence and a very hot grill. Considerably easier than grilling fillets, whole fish also screams festive and ambitious—what could be more fitting?

Once you master the process of preparing a whole fish simply, you can get as crazy as you want with sauces and marinades, and whatever else makes you happy. But here, all you really need to make it truly sing is to slather it with some sort of delicious butter, like this tangy, herby, salty Green Goddess Butter, and a healthy squeeze of citrus.

2–4 whole trout, branzino, or small black bass (12–14 ounces each), gutted and scaled

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

A few sprigs of fresh savory, thyme, oregano, marjoram, or rosemary

1–2 tablespoons canola oil

Green Goddess Butter (this page)

2 lemons or limes, halved

Flaky sea salt

2 Season the fish inside and out with salt and pepper. Stuff the inside with the herbs of your choosing and rub the outside of the fish with the oil. Place the fish directly on the grates with the spine facing you (this will make it easier to flip later). Let it grill, without moving or fussing, until the skin is charred, crisped, and fully cooked on one side, 6 to 8 minutes.

3 Test to see if the fish is ready to turn by using a spatula to flip the fish away from you onto its other side. A perfectly cooked fish will easily release from the grill; if it struggles, chances are it’s not ready, so give it another minute. Once ready, flip the fish and continue cooking until the skin is crisped and the fish is fully cooked, another 6 to 8 minutes.

4 Use the spatula to transfer the fish onto one large serving platter (or two large plates). Spoon on some of the butter, letting it melt over the fish. Squeeze the citrus over and sprinkle with the flaky salt. Serve any extra butter alongside.

NOTE A whole fish is not as fussy as you think. A rather intuitive situation, perfectly cooked fish will fillet easily; the meat will effortlessly release from the bones simply by running a spoon or fork alongside the top of the spine. From there, you may have a few pin bones to deal with, which is not the end of the world, but definitely worth a mention. As for the rest of it: I don’t eat the eyes, but I do eat the cheeks and think you should, too.

I would eat bagels with lox and cream cheese for every meal if I could, but since I can’t (and honestly, really shouldn’t), I have this salmon, which hits a lot of the same notes. There’s plenty of red onion, briny capers, and lots of fresh dill. The sesame seeds at the end are optional, but I think they add even more toasty dimension to the brown butter sauce. Since there is a lot going on here flavor-wise, I recommend letting this dish be the loudest thing on the table and simply serving it with a perfect, herby salad (this page), steamed broccoli (this page), and maybe some excellent garlic bread (this page).

1 lemon

2 pounds skin-on or skinless salmon fillet

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

6 tablespoons (¾ stick) unsalted butter

¼ cup olive oil, plus more for drizzling

½ small red onion, very thinly sliced into rings, divided

2 tablespoons brined capers, drained

1 cup fresh dill

2 tablespoons toasted sesame seeds (optional)

1 Preheat the oven to 325°F. Thinly slice half the lemon and remove any seeds; save the other half for juicing.

2 Place the salmon on a rimmed baking sheet or in a large baking dish and season with salt and pepper.

3 Heat the butter in a medium skillet over medium-high heat. Cook, swirling occasionally until the butter has started to brown, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the olive oil, sliced lemon, and half the onion. Season with salt and pepper and cook, tossing occasionally, until the lemons and onion have started to brown and frizzle (you’re looking for kind of crisped, rather than softened and caramelized), 2 to 3 minutes. Add the capers.

4 Pour the browned butter–lemon mixture over the salmon. Place it in the oven and roast until just cooked through but still medium-rare on the inside (it will look more translucent, less opaque), 12 to 15 minutes. Remove from the oven.

5 Meanwhile, toss together the dill and sesame seeds, if using, in a medium bowl and give a squeeze from the halved lemon; season with salt and pepper. Scatter on top of the salmon along with the remaining sliced onion.

I have always been attracted to the abundant, theatrical nature of paella, but haven’t ever been inclined to ever, you know, make it myself. Maybe I’m afraid of failure, but to me it’s just always seemed like a lot of work and fussiness—things I try to avoid especially if I’m cooking for others. I mean, sure, if you’ve got a giant firepit overlooking a cerulean body of water, I will absolutely track down a giant paella pan and attempt to make some paella, but I can’t offer promises on how it’ll turn out. Instead, I’d opt for something that is as visually pleasing, requires a quarter of the effort, and, of course, involves pasta.

This is that pasta, which gets lightly tossed in a quick-cooking sweet/tart Sungold tomato sauce made with lots of caramelized fennel and garlic, and topped with the same sort of oceanic bounty you’d expect in a paella but without the work. It’s an extremely impressive-looking situation, and is designed to be lingered over. It does not have to be piping-hot, and nobody needs to rush to eat the whole thing for fear it will not be as good once it cools down. It will be as good, and it will be as close to a perfect room-temperature pasta as you can get—a thing I never thought I’d say, but I can vouch for it.

⅓ cup olive oil, plus more as needed

8 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

1 large fennel bulb, thinly sliced, fronds reserved (if available)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 tablespoon fennel seeds, crushed, plus more for serving

1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes, plus more for serving

1 pound Sungold or cherry tomatoes, halved if especially large

12 ounces dried linguini or fettuccini

½ cup dry white wine

1½ pounds small littleneck or manila clams, cockles, or mussels, scrubbed and soaked

1½ pounds medium shrimp or prawns (head-on is optional), unpeeled or peeled

½ cup toasted pistachios, very finely chopped or ground

Flaky sea salt

1 lemon, halved

2 Heat the olive oil in the largest skillet or wide, heavy-bottomed pot you have over medium-high heat. Add the garlic and fennel slices and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the garlic and fennel are lightly browned and completely tender, 8 to 10 minutes.

3 Add the fennel seeds and crushed red pepper flakes, stirring to toast a bit. Add the tomatoes and season with salt and pepper. Cook until the tomatoes nearly all burst and are broken down into a jammy, sauce-y sauce, 10 to 12 minutes (using a wooden spoon or spatula to kind of gently crush them as they cook is a good idea).

4 Meanwhile, the pasta water should be boiling at this point, so go ahead and drop the pasta into the pot, cooking it to a nice al dente (timing will vary depending on pasta, so best to follow instructions on the package). Drain the pasta, reserving about ½ cup pasta water.

5 Add the wine and continue to cook until the sauce is reduced by about half, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the clams and if you have a lid, place it on top (if not, they will still open, just might take a few minutes more). Steam a few minutes just until they start to open (2 to 5 minutes, depending on size). Add the shrimp, season with salt and pepper, and toss to coat, continuing to cook until all the clams have opened and the shrimp are opaque and cooked through, another 3 to 5 minutes.

6 Since the skillet or pot is likely getting a little crowded, I like to toss my pasta with all of the tomato-y seafood business in the largest bowl I have, adding a bit of pasta water as I toss to keep things saucy. Season with salt, pepper, and more crushed red pepper flakes, if you like.

7 Transfer the mixture to a large serving bowl (or serve it straight from the mixing bowl) and top with the pistachios, flaky salt, fennel fronds, and, if you like, more fennel seeds and crushed red pepper flakes. Offer the lemon halves alongside for squeezing over.

NOTE In most recipes, I try to be flexible with the pasta shape that can be used, but here I play favorites and prefer a thick-ish noodle like linguini, perfect for a very sweet Lady and the Tramp moment, should you be presented with the opportunity.

NOTE The pistachios are from a move I saw in Sicily, where most of the restaurants I went to used finely chopped Sicilian pistachios instead of cheese on their seafood pastas. To be clear, I am not one of those people who doesn’t believe in cheese on seafood pasta (I very much do), but I also think that as an alternative, fatty pistachios mixed with salt are a good proxy and in this exact instance maybe even better than cheese (yes, I said it!).

Speaking from experience, I find that serving a giant pot of simple yet boldly flavored pasta to all your friends is about as crowd-pleasing as it gets, unless the crowd is full of people who don’t eat pasta, and then you should really make something else. The perfect thing to make when you have no idea what to make, this pasta involves little to no technique—just a few very flavorful ingredients cooked together to spicy, tangy meaty, saucy perfection.

1 pound fresh chorizo or spicy hot Italian sausage (about 4 links), casings removed

6 tablespoons olive oil, divided, plus more as needed

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

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 pound dried tube-shaped pasta, such as rigatoni or ziti

6 garlic cloves, thinly sliced

¼ cup tomato paste (1 4-ounce can)

1 large bunch of broccoli rabe, stems trimmed, coarsely chopped

Hunk of pecorino, parmesan, or ricotta salata, for grating

1 Cook the sausage in a large pot over medium-high heat, breaking up the meat with the back of a spoon, until browned, 5 to 8 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, remove the sausage, leaving the fat behind.

2 Add 3 tablespoons oil and the bread crumbs to the pot; season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring frequently, until the bread crumbs are golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes. Transfer to a bowl.

3 Cook the pasta in a large pot of salted boiling water until just al dente. Drain, reserving at least 1 cup of the pasta water.

4 Meanwhile, heat the remaining 3 tablespoons olive oil in the pot, then add the garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, until it’s toasted and golden brown, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the tomato paste and cook, stirring constantly, until it’s a nice brick-red color and starts to stick a bit to the bottom of the pot, 2 to 3 minutes more.

5 Reduce the heat to medium-low and add the broccoli rabe, then season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until it’s all wilted and bright green, 3 to 5 minutes.

6 Add the pasta and chorizo back to the pot along with ½ cup of pasta water. Cook, stirring constantly, until each piece of pasta is coated nicely in the tomato-y, chorizo-y sauce.

7 Serve straight from the pot (or not), with toasted bread crumbs and pecorino for sprinkling over.

In my quest to improve upon a classic lasagna, I fussed with it here and there, adding this, replacing that. But to be totally honest, at the end of a few failed attempts to improve upon the original, I realized the only thing I thought would improve it would be to construct a lasagna pan that was just all edges. But product invention isn’t really my game.

For me, a very good lasagna isn’t overly cheesy or too saucy or insanely indulgent—there should be a civilized ratio of pasta:sauce:cheese so that each slice feels satisfying but also balanced. While I do love a creamy lasagna, I find bechamels a bit unnecessary and instead use heavy cream in conjuction with the ricotta and mozzarella to keep things nice and saucy. So, here it is, a recipe for a Very Good Lasagna. Nothing insane, no sneaky anchovies (just kidding—there are anchovies) or expensive, hard-to-find cheeses. Just some good ol’ basic stuff layered in a baking dish and baked until melty, bubbly, and satisfying as well.

I do have two pieces of advice: First, don’t skip the two-bake process—the initial bake (foil on!) is the shorter of the two, only meant to melt the cheese and warm the sauce through, and the second bake (foil off!) is where things get good, and by good I mean golden brown, crispy-edged, and impossibly delicious. During this step the sauce will also continue to cook the al dente noodles, which makes for deeply seasoned pasta and eliminates any excess water, preventing a soggy, runny lasagna. Second, when you think you’ve baked it as long as you can, maybe bake it a little longer—the browner the better here.

FOR THE SAUCE

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 large yellow onion, finely chopped

4 garlic cloves, finely chopped

6 anchovy fillets (optional)

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

2 tablespoons tomato paste

1 (28-ounce) can whole peeled tomatoes

1 (28-ounce) can crushed tomatoes

FOR THE ASSEMBLY

1½ pounds fresh mozzarella, grated or shredded

16 ounces (2 cups) whole-milk ricotta

1 cup coarsely grated parmesan, plus more as desired

¼ cup heavy cream

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1 pound dried lasagna noodles (not the no-boil variety because I don’t trust them)

Olive oil, for drizzling

1 Make the sauce. Heat the olive oil in a large, heavy-bottomed pot over medium heat. Add the onion, garlic, and anchovies and season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the onion is totally softened and translucent (without letting it brown), 8 to 10 minutes. Add the tomato paste and continue to cook, stirring, until the tomato paste has turned a deeper brick-red color, about 2 minutes.

Anyone who knows me knows how important pizza is to my soul, my personality, my body, my heart, my brain. Pizza is me, I am pizza. So, living in a place like New York, why would I go through the trouble of making my own when I have such good options literally everywhere? Well, that’s a great question and I’m glad you asked. First, this book isn’t for me, it’s for you. And I’m guessing that at least a few of you don’t live in New York but maybe want to have delicious pizza in your own home, without having to slide a frozen disc off a cardboard slab.

Second, even as someone who lives in a place with abundantly excellent options for ’za (nobody calls it that), I can say it is extremely fun to make your own. As I’m sure you can imagine, I am very picky when it comes to pizza and I have a lot of opinions (sauce ratio, texture and doneness of crust, toppings), so the idea that I just get to decide my own pizza destiny is—thrilling. Yes, I am a control freak, and by making my own pizza, I let that freak flag fly.

That all said, I am not a pizzaiolo (surprising, I know!). I have not studied pizza making in Rome and I’ve never been to Naples. Not only is my oven not fueled by wood but also it barely fits a half-sheet pan. But am I going to let any of that get in the way of my making my friends what I would consider to be a very good pizza in the privacy of my own home? No. The recipe that follows for this particular kind of pizza, which I would classify as a grandma style of sorts, starts with a fluffy, oily, spongey dough (the same dough that gets you the focaccia on this page) that turns into a crispy-edged crust and takes kindly to an array of toppings. I myself am an extreme traditionalist and think that a cheese or pepperoni pizza is the pinnacle of perfection, but if you have an avant garde pizza preference, then you do you.

Throwing a pizza party in your home will earn you a lot of new friends. Here are some tips to avoid feeling overwhelmed.

Make the dough and sauce ahead. Make the dough the day before, if you can. Store it in the fridge, and when it’s go time, transfer it to the sheet trays, let it proof another 30 to 40 minutes, add the toppings, and bake. The sauce can be prepared in 20 minutes or up to 1 month ahead and frozen; take your pick.

DIT (Do It Themselves). Grate (or slice) the mozzarella, tear the kale, slice the onions, pick the herbs, cut the meat, and set them all out along with the open tin of anchovies, jar of chiles, and other things you may want on the pizza. This encourages friends to live out their own pizza-topping fantasies.

Embrace the semi-homemade. Since you’re putting all your love into the dough and sauce, everything else can be (and should be) store-bought.

Here you’ll find a very basic pizza sauce—which is both simpler and quicker than a sauce for, say, lasagna (this page)—plus a few options for how to top your pizza. These are just recommendations and, similarly to a Baked Potato Bar (this page), Pizza Night is all about the toppings, so I hope you feel empowered and excited to stray, adapt, and tweak to suit your preferences. Regardless of combos, to achieve ultimate pizza success, always use less sauce, cheese, and toppings than you think (more is not more here; in fact, more will result in a heavy, doughy, soggy-bottomed pie) and bake it longer than you think (crispy crust, both edges and center, is what we are after).

4 garlic cloves, smashed

3 tablespoons olive oil, plus more for drizzling

1 28-ounce can whole peeled plum tomatoes, crushed by hand

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

Crushed red pepper flakes

Dough for Overnight Focaccia (this page), made up through step 3

FOR PEPPERONI PIE

Basic tomato sauce (see above)

8 oz. mozzarella cheese, grated or thinly sliced

2–4 oz. pepperoni, sopressata, coppa, or other spicy, cured meat

½ small red or yellow onion, thinly sliced (optional)

Olive oil, for drizzling

Flaky sea salt

FOR LEMONY GREENS PIE

1 cup whole-milk ricotta cheese

Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper

1 bunch kale, stems removed, leaves torn into 2-inch pieces

Olive oil, for drizzling

½ small red or yellow onion, thinly sliced (optional)

Finely grated parmesan or pecorino cheese

Flaky sea salt

1 cup mixed tender, leafy fresh herbs such as parsley, basil, mint, and chives

1 lemon, for zesting and juicing

ADDITIONAL, OPTIONAL TOPPINGS AFTER BAKING

Finely grated parmesan or pecorino cheese

Impossibly tender roasted garlic cloves sitting in a sea of olive oil

Spicy, oily Calabrian peppers, whole or coarsely chopped

Dried or fresh oregano

Nutritional yeast

Anchovy fillets

1 Combine the garlic, olive oil, and tomatoes in a medium pot over medium heat. Season with salt, pepper, and crushed red pepper flakes. Bring to a simmer and cook until slightly less saucy than it was when you started, 15 to 20 minutes. Season again with salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes.

2 Divide the risen focaccia dough in half so that you’ve got two pieces. Pour enough olive oil into two rimmed baking sheets to generously coat the entire sheet and, using your hands, spread it all around. Turn each piece of dough onto a baking sheet and, using your hands, coax the dough into a flat, even layer. (It doesn’t need to stretch to the exact size of the sheet pan; it’ll puff up and fill in as it proofs and bakes.)

3 Drizzle the top with lots more olive oil and lightly drape a piece of plastic over the dough for its final nap, letting it rest in the warmest part of the room for another 30 to 45 minutes.