Nut allergies make me very nervous. As the pastry chef at a highly regarded Italian restaurant in New York City, guests rely on me not to kill them. Sending a guest to the hospital at the final stage of his or her meal is the ultimate act of un-hospitality. That’s the opposite of my job description. It’s my nightmare.
In Italian cooking there are different kinds of nuts and seeds everywhere: sesame, hazelnuts, almonds, walnuts, chestnuts galore. Sicilia is all about sesame seeds. I am in love with their versatile nature: I can use them whole, chopped, ground into paste, sliced . . . usually roasted, but sometimes raw. They pair wonderfully with extra-virgin olive oil and browned butter. Salt them heavily and you have an umami bomb ready to go. Caramel and honey love them as much as I do.
In the winter, when fruit is scarce, I turn to nuts and seeds to help break open the menu, and then, just as I’m getting cozy, I see that a guest with a nut allergy is due and I get really freaked out. If you have a nut allergy, please skip to the next chapter. I’m sorry. I know you can’t help it. It’s just . . . Oh God. Just, please . . . move along. For me?
Sesames are the anarchists of seeds. They have no gods, no masters. They are occasionally pummeled into submission for tahini, sure, but mostly they do their own lawless thing. And as a coating . . . well, maybe they stick, maybe they don’t.
A Big Marty’s hamburger bun, something widely available on the East Coast, has hundreds of sesame seeds grafted to the top of it. They aren’t toasted or anything, but somehow they never fall off, not even as you bite into the bun. How many sesame seeds are consumed by humans annually, and how many end up on the floor of the kitchen or car, do you think?
Here is a variation on the classic NYC Italian bakery sesame cookie, only smaller. Not a monster Stella D’oro breakfast snack kind of thing, but a single bite. Something you could buy at Court Pastry Shop in Brooklyn.
I like to crush up anise seeds, incorporate them into the dough, and then fleck the cookie with whole sesame seeds before baking. The pummeled anise seeds never had a chance, and the sesame yearns for your floor mats. Anise is licorice-y. You hate licorice? Give it a chance.
Yield: Depends on the size of the cookie cutter
Unsalted butter ½ pound, or 2 sticks (227 grams)
Sugar ¾ cup (150 grams)
Egg 1 (50 grams)
All-purpose flour 2½ cups (275 grams)
Salt ½ teaspoon (2 grams)
Baking powder ½ teaspoon (2 grams)
Anise seeds, toasted and ground 2 tablespoons (18 grams)
Whole milk as needed
Sesame seeds, toasted, for dredging
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
1. In the bowl of a stand mixer, using the paddle attachment, combine the butter and sugar at medium speed until creamy. Add the egg and combine. Add the flour, salt, baking powder, and anise seeds and combine.
2. Transfer the dough to another clean bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Refrigerate the dough until it becomes firm and is easier to work with, about 30 minutes.
3. With a rolling pin, roll out the dough to ¼-inch thickness. Cut the dough into the shapes of your choice, dip them into milk, and dredge them in toasted sesame seeds. Bake for about 12 minutes, until golden brown. Transfer to a cooling rack and let cool for a few minutes. These will keep in an airtight container for a few days.
CANDIED NUTS WITH A LOT OF SALT
Candied nuts are usually done dragée style, which is a complicated French method taught at culinary schools that makes everything too sweet for my taste. The technique that follows, on the other hand, will change your life. I learned it at Campanile and it involves deep-frying. Do not be frightened. It works with walnuts, hazelnuts, and, most important, pecans. The pecan version will make you the hero of Thanksgiving. Your Ziploc bag filled with salty nuts, delivered to the family gathering, will make a mockery of that shitty pecan pie your aunt waited in line two hours to buy at the bakery at the eleventh hour.
Yield: 2 to 4 servings
Hazelnuts, pecans, or walnuts 2 cups (weight will vary by nut)
Sugar 2 cups (400 grams)
Water 2 cups (474 grams)
Cayenne pepper 1 teaspoon (4 grams)
Salt to taste
Peanut oil for frying 1 quart (864 grams)
1. In a medium deep-sided saucepan over low heat, combine the nuts, sugar, water, cayenne, and salt and stir together until the mixture becomes sticky and starts to thicken. Drain the liquid and set the nuts aside.
2. In a separate medium deep-sided saucepan over high heat, bring the peanut oil to 350°F.
3. Deep-fry the nuts for 2 minutes. Test one: Split it in half and if it looks slightly toasted on the inside, it is done.
4. Drain the nuts on a paper towel on top of a cooling rack. Salt liberally from high above while the nuts are stilling blazing hot, stirring with a rubber spatula to ensure an even coating.
CHAMPAGNE VINEGAR AND ALMOND CARAMELS
One of the first things I teach new cooks at Del Posto is the sniff test, which is where you stick the lower half of your face into one of the reusable plastic containers we use to store all our prepped food and take a whiff. At an Italian restaurant it is highly likely that these containers will reek of onions and garlic, even after going through the insanely hot dish-sanitizing machine. I love onions. I love garlic. But a cake or cookie or candy sealed in a smelly container is not delicious. Don’t let a tainted rogue plastic container ruin all your hard work.
These caramels, spiked with vinegar and studded with dark, toasted almonds, are one of my favorite candies to make. They are a little tricky and require a thermometer, but it’s worth the effort. Once, someone (who I will not name) made a big batch of these and then packed them all into a plastic container that I swear to you smelled like a hundred tacos al pastor with extra raw onion. Into the trash.
Yield: One baking sheet of caramel
Almonds, toasted and chopped 1 cup (140 grams)
Sugar 1⅔ cups (340 grams)
Glucose ¾ cup (285 grams)
Whole milk 1¼ cups (315 grams)
Heavy cream ⅔ cup (140 grams)
Vanilla bean ½, scraped
Champagne vinegar 1½ cups (366 grams)
Salt ½ teaspoon (2 grams)
Unsalted butter 2½ tablespoons (35 grams)
1. Preheat the oven to 200°F. Spread the almonds onto a baking sheet and place them in the oven to stay warm. Line a second baking sheet with a Silpat, spray with nonstick cooking spray and set aside.
2. In a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the sugar, glucose, milk, cream, vanilla bean scrapings, and vinegar. Bring the mixture to a rolling boil, whisking occasionally, until you have a thick, bubbly mixture that is light amber in color, about 20 minutes.
3. Remove the mixture from the heat, add the salt, whisk in the butter, and add the warm almonds. Stir to incorporate.
4. Pour the nutty caramel onto the prepared baking sheet and, using a spatula, spread it evenly. Let it cool and set, about 1 hour.
To serve: Remove the cooled caramel from the baking sheet and cut it into ½-inch strips using a paring knife. Cut these strips in half to form cubes. Serve as candy.
Cooks quit jobs all the time, both for reasons unknown and laughably obvious. Sometimes there’s a special flourish. These are the best I’ve seen at DP.
VERONICA: Walked out in the middle of a busy Valentine’s Day service. I found her in the hallway sobbing. I . . . I . . . can’t take it anymore! Through the tears she asked if it was OK if she still used me as a job reference. Yeah, totally. No problem. Don’t cry.
CLINT: Disappeared mid-prep on a Sunday afternoon. Vanished. An Irish exit. Whisps of his knife work still visible in the atmosphere. Months later, he showed up at a big event at Del Posto as a helper for another chef. We locked eyes. Chef! Do you want me to leave? No, dude, stay. It’s cool. Stay.
MARSHALL: Brought on as an “extern” (stupid restaurant jargon for “intern”) during a busy December. Disappeared for a week right around Christmas, then e-mailed me a few days after to say he’d been in the hospital for hernia surgery. He didn’t have a phone or any way to contact the restaurant. The day he returned, I found him hoisting forty-pound boxes of tangerines over his head. Cried when I asked him to leave.
SHELDON: Scheduled to work a lunch shift. A few days prior, he’d asked for a raise and I had agreed to a small one. That’s all?! What is this place, résumé candy? I smiled and said with my eyes, Yes, my son, it is résumé candy. He showed up late to his lunch shift and didn’t set up the station. He told everyone how much he hated me and how I was a bad person. There were tears. Rather than taking the dignified exit where you quit and wreck a bunch of shit on the way out, he quit and sat down a few seconds later with puffy red eyes and had morning family meal. Cereal, milk, maybe some reheated pizza. Not even good family meal.
OLGA: Faked an injury via the pastry department phone. Her partner in crime, good and loud for all to hear: Oh my God! You fell down the stairs!? You’re in the hospital?! I never saw Olga again at DP, but a year later I found her assisting another chef at an outside event I was asked to attend. Seemed fine. No leg braces, no canes. Full neck rotation. Healed well. The human body is extremely resilient.
MCGILLICUDDY: A total tough guy. Built like a brick house. Very muscled, but a terrible cook. Thought he was great, though, despite the others running circles around him. Arrogant but with nothing in the talent bank. One day he brought in a made-in-his-apartment Albert Adrià–style microwave sponge cake flavored with ramps and asparagus: It reminds me of spring, green, and of the soil. He was fascinated with modern techniques, but had serious issues scooping a ball of ice cream. He stayed for three months and then quit to go work at one of those restaurants (now shuttered) where everything gets cooked in a plastic bag.
See here.
The literal translation of this classic cookie from the Piemonte region is “ugly but good.” I have been making variations of it since my very first Italian restaurant job, and it really does sum up my philosophy of Italian cooking: Who cares if it’s ugly, as long as it tastes great? Ladner once described an especially haggard-looking dish made by the great Italian chef Marc Vetri: “Holy shit, the plate looked like a murder scene—totally sloppy, a complete mess, garbage to look at. But when I tasted it . . . Jesus! It tasted so incredible, like a three-hundred-year-old Italian grandma had produced it. You could literally taste the years of experience.” That is everything as far as I’m concerned.
The key to this cookie is gently toasted, very high quality hazelnuts. The austere goal is a crunchy hazelnut meringue cookie. I should note that this recipe is highly susceptible to humidity. If it is raining outside, or the middle of a muggy summer day, or if it’s overcast and old snow is melting into gray curbside slush, you should pick a different recipe. If you live in Las Vegas, you can make this 24-7, 365 days a year. In LA there’s that one day a year when it rains—don’t make these that day.
Yield: Depends on the size of your meringue “splats”
Hazelnuts 1 pound (454 grams)
Egg whites 7 (210 grams each)
Sugar 2½ cups (500 grams)
Ground cinnamon ½ teaspoon (1 gram)
Pure vanilla extract ½ teaspoon (2 grams)
Salt 1½ teaspoons (6 grams)
1. Preheat the oven to 325°F.
2. Place the hazelnuts on a baking sheet in a single layer and toast for 8 minutes, stir, and cook until they darken in color and become golden, another 10 to 12 minutes. Let the nuts cool on the sheet completely.
3. Lower the oven temperature to 300°F. Line a separate baking sheet with parchment or a Silpat and set aside.
4. Place the cooled nuts in a food processor and pulse until you have a fine powder. You don’t want the nuts to become pasty, so be sure to watch them carefully as you grind them.
5. In a large bowl, whisk together the egg whites while slowly adding the sugar. Place the bowl over a pan of simmering water and continue to whisk until the sugar dissolves, the egg whites are hot, and the meringue is smooth and shiny.
6. Add the cinnamon, vanilla, salt, and nut powder and fold gently with a silicone spatula.
7. With a spoon, create splats of meringue batter on the reserved baking sheet. Bake for 20 minutes, or until lightly golden and set.
8. Immediately after you’ve removed the cookies from the oven, use your index fingers and thumbs to pinch the cookies into ugly little lumps—this will expose the chewy center slightly and turn the edges of meringue into crunchy peaks. Let cool on the pan for at least 5 minutes. Store in an airtight container for up to 5 days.
Katie Parla knows more about Italian food than most Italians in Italy. She writes about food for many important publications and I read parlafood.com, her website, often. She is from New Jersey but lives in Rome. I went there once and ignored every one of her restaurant suggestions: Everything I ate was terrible. She was not pleased.
THE SWEET BLOOD OF THE LAMB by Katie Parla
Thanks to my lapsed Catholic parents, as a youth I was never obligated to engage in the cannibalistic ritual of transubstantiation. Now, in spite of residing less than a mile from the Vatican, I have successfully avoided the literal consumption of Jesus Christ for more than three decades.
The Catholic infatuation with sacred and symbolic blood and flesh may not be appealing when it happens at the altar, but at the table it can have exciting consequences. I am referring to holiday-based sweets that evoke—or even contain—these elements. Omnivorous nonbelievers can have all the fun and flavor without the requisite reverence and somber ritual.
In early November, bakeries in Italy produce ossa dei morti (bones of the dead), biscuits eaten on November 1 (All Saints Day) and 2 (Day of the Dead). In one variation, a thin, off-white tibia-shape pastry shell envelopes the “marrow,” almond paste enriched with butter. These bone biscuits are eaten by Italian Catholics in remembrance of dear, departed relatives. And what better way to pay tribute to grandma then to eat a sweet symbol of her skeletal remains?
In January and February, the annual pig slaughter produces the slick and savory blood, which is main component in sanguinaccio dolce, a sort of chocolate pudding consumed during Carnevale. The blood of freshly slaughtered pigs is heated with milk, cocoa, and sugar (variations incorporate cinnamon and/or citrus zest), thickened, then served warm with a side of savoiardi (ladyfingers) for dipping. The blood pudding’s savory and sweet notes give way to an iron-tinged, metallic finish. Dense and caloric, sanguinaccio dolce provides sustenance before the lean Lenten period (see Note).
And after those forty days of fasting, Italian Catholics celebrate the Resurrection with prolonged Easter feasting. No paschal table is complete without an almond-paste lamb. Molded into various sizes, this lamb is no ordinary newborn: It is the sugar-rich Lamb of God. Jesus Christ. Regardless of the shop where it is made, the animal’s pose is uniformly awkward, with painted-on facial features that are consistently dopey. The occasional variation includes a fancy bow tie or streamers and other inedible embellishments that must be plucked before the almond-paste lamb head is devoured.
The Lamb of God and its sweet symbolic counterparts may not be exclusive to the confessed and indoctrinated, but I think JC would approve.
Note: The commercial sale of pig’s blood was banned in Italy in 1992, but during Carnevale, sanguinaccio dolce can still be found in traditional homes, where it is made with black market blood, or that gathered for personal use during home slaughter.
Photo by Katie Parla.
Italian Nonna Clogs.
In Italy, I’m never too impressed by desserts served at the end of a meal. Even in the fancier restaurants, the final courses always seem to be missing something. Salt? Acid? Inspiration? The reason is probably simpler: In Italy, sweets are ubiquitous. You eat dessert all day long in Rome. Gelato for breakfast? Sure, the café where you get your coffee probably has twenty flavors and they might be left over from last night, but screw it, get a cup of bacio at 8 a.m. Just try to ask Italians for scrambled eggs or (gasp) a frittata for breakfast. They will usher you right out of the country. Here, eat this sweet pastry stuffed with apricot jam. Have a coffee, too. Now go. Cookies, cakes, Kinder candy bars . . . all to be eaten throughout the day in Italia. By the time dinner’s through, a chunk of cheese or a bowl of grapes is, like, just fine.
This is a simple almond cake. Something you might see for sale by the slice at a bakery in Florence, right beside those jam crostatas with warbly lattice tops and a stack of crunchy meringues the size of footballs. The sliced almonds on top of this cake become very dark in the oven. That perfume, that nearly black, toasted-almond aroma, that’s Italy, too.
Yield: One 8-inch cake
Almonds, skin on ⅔ cup (93 grams)
Sugar 2 tablespoons plus ¾ cup (25 grams plus 150 grams)
Unsalted butter ⅔ cup, or 1 stick plus 2⅔ tablespoons (170 grams)
Eggs 2
All-purpose flour ⅔ cup (80 grams)
Baking powder 1¼ tablespoons (13 grams)
Salt 1 teaspoon (5 grams)
Sliced almonds ½ cup (54 grams)
Simple syrup (see here) 1 tablespoon (10 grams)
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Grease an 8-inch round springform pan with butter, line with parchment, and set aside. Or use an 8-inch ring mold and make a bottom with aluminum foil.
2. In a food processor, grind the skin-on almonds with 2 tablespoons of the sugar into a coarse powder.
3. In the bowl of a stand mixer using the paddle attachment, combine the butter and the remaining ¾ cup sugar on medium speed until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time, making sure the first is incorporated before adding the second.
4. In a medium bowl, combine the flour, baking powder, and salt. Add them slowly to the batter and incorporate fully.
5. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Bake for 15 to 20 minutes.
6. Meanwhile, in a small bowl, add the sliced almonds and simple syrup and toss. Add the nuts to the top of the cake, reduce the oven temperature to 325°F, and bake for 10 to 15 minutes, until the top is golden brown and toasted.
7. Let the cake cool in the pan before serving.
To serve: By the slice, accompanied by a single shot of espresso in the afternoon.
Born: Scorpio
Occupation: Cookie maker extraordinaire
Status: Certified crazy lady
Notable quote: “Don’t take yourself so seriously.”
Shoe size: 9, but I can morph my foot into a 6½ to 11, when the occasion arises.
Lunch food: Cookie dough and a bag of chips, in that order
Beverage: Fizzy water
I Heart NY: And am terrified I’ll never leave.
First time: I wore jeans was in eighth grade. Kicking and screaming. That’s how cool I was/am.
Accomplishments: Making my parents proud while proving my parents wrong
Ambition/future plan: Certified crazy old lady; diabetes enthusiast; embarrassing mom of either too many children, or pups, or both; maintaining an ever-loving fear of the dark
I set out to make a version of those dry, crumbly Mexican wedding cookies that explode in your mouth. But I wanted to incorporate saffron and to shape them into half-moons: mezzalunas. I was feeling very Apician or Turkish or something. Saffron, as we all know, is expensive. Don’t get too hung up on it. Between Kalustyan’s and Penzeys mail order, you’ll be fine. Don’t buy saffron threads at a Whole Foods, because that’s a sucker move. Saffron has a hint of a metallic, nearly doctor’s office scent about it. But so do pomegranates, and they are delicious.
Think of this as a special-occasion cookie. Like for a wedding. Maybe even a Mexican wedding. Do they serve Mexican wedding cookies at Mexican weddings? I really have no idea. I know they are served at typical Italian American weddings. That’s one thing I do know. Been to plenty of those.
Yield: A lot of cookies
FOR THE SAFFRON COMPOUND BUTTER (MAKES MORE THAN YOU NEED, DELIBERATELY)
Water ½ cup (118 grams)
Unsalted butter 1½ pounds, or 6 sticks (680 grams)
Saffron threads 1 teaspoon (1 gram)
1. In a small saucepan over high heat, bring the water to a boil. Add the saffron (like you are making tea), remove from the heat, and let it steep for 5 minutes.
2. In the bowl of a stand mixer, using the paddle attachment, cream the butter on medium speed until softened. Add the saffron tea (water and threads) and mix until smooth.
3. Refrigerate, wrapped in plastic wrap, for up to 2 weeks. Freeze indefinitely (within reason, c’mon).
FOR THE SAFFRON COOKIE DOUGH
Saffron compound butter ¾ pound, or 3 sticks (340 grams)
Sugar ½ cup (100 grams)
Almond flour, toasted 1½ cups (144 grams)
All-purpose flour 3¼ cups (405 grams)
Salt 1 teaspoon (4 grams)
1. Preheat the oven to 325°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.
2. In the bowl of a stand mixer, using the paddle attachment, combine the saffron butter and sugar on medium speed until soft and creamy. Add the almond flour, all-purpose flour, and salt and mix until thoroughly combined. Refrigerate covered for 1 hour.
3. Tear off balls of dough about the size of small apricots. Shape each into a half-moon and place on the prepared baking sheet. Chill in the refrigerator for 1 hour.
4. Bake the cookies for about 9 minutes until just golden. Don’t overbake or you will lose the yellow saffron hue you worked so hard to achieve.
5. Allow the cookies to cool on the sheet. Store in an airtight plastic container for up to a few days.
BAND TOUR FOOD DIARY: WRANGLER BRUTES
Wrangler Brutes began in 2001 and was a bicoastal band for two years. I was working at Tosca in DC. I had been hired as the pastry chef, but that was ridiculous because I had no clue what I was doing. I relocated to Los Angeles in 2003.
Wrangler Brutes did a lot of touring, and we’d do small jaunts up and down the West Coast regularly. We ate In-N-Out grilled cheese sandwiches with fries stuffed inside. We shopped at Whole Foods all the time. On Young Pioneers tours we boycotted Whole Foods, claiming it corporate and therefore not to be tolerated. Wrangler Brutes didn’t care. We were always about the gag. We put out our first album on a mass-produced cassette knowing that, in 2003, not many people had the means to play it. We had it shrink-wrapped, just to be assholes. Between songs, Sam, the singer, had taken to reading fake fan letters (one entirely in Aramaic) and closing our set with a speech from Henry V while wearing a wig. Before we had a name for the band, he booked us a show in Tijuana, Mexico. Andy, our guitarist, peed everywhere compulsively, and at a show in Indianapolis, Indiana, where we were paid fifteen dollars after being told to lower our volume for the set, Andy blanketed the stage in a torrent of urine as we packed up our gear. (Sam later took us aside to express his disgust.) Cundo, the bass player, made a habit of befriending skinheads. There was a lot of amusing dysfunction.
We did manage to tour Japan, although it was after we officially broke up. It was the first time I’d ever been out of the country, and it was a food awakening. We went nuts. Our chaperone and tour manager Katoman took us out for breakfast and lunch each day and for a postshow snack every night. It was incredible. Okonomiyaki (a seafood pancake thing), raw octopus izakaya style, (Japanese pub food, basically) and takoyaki (octopus doughnuts) with BBQ sauce, mayo, and shaved bonito that were so hot they scorched the mouth and had everyone doing that air-sucking thing that doesn’t work at all. (You just look like an idiot.) I’d never had anything like this stuff before. I was completely blown away. I think about it still.
And then everything changed.
I didn’t play music for four years. I was back in DC by 2005. I worked a lot. I had two full-time pastry chef jobs: Komi and Tosca. I almost knew what I was doing at this point, so I figured why not just do it double? But I missed the drums every day. (Continued here.)
SPEZZATA DI CASTAGNE WITH RED WINE PLUMS AND YOGURT SORBET
On the branch, chestnuts are massively photogenic, entombed in a sea urchin–like shell. On the streets of midtown Manhattan in the winter, they are roasted curbside, along with exhaust fumes and the wool-clad crush of humanity. In Milan, sweetened chestnuts are pureed and then pressed through a potato ricer to make a weird Play-Doh–like spaghetti twirl that tops the very classic yet very ditzy Monte Bianco dessert, which is beloved in pastry shops all over Japan and Korea. Chestnuts taste like it’s cold out. They get me all worked up.
I admit, they are difficult to peel. A tough skin harbors the creamy nugget inside, and it’s something you’re just going to have to deal with. The word spezzata means ripped or torn, and that’s what we do to the insides of the chestnut—the castagne. Then we pair the cake (also ripped and torn) with red wine plums and finish with a scoop of yogurt sorbet. I love this sorbet: It is bright and spry, acidic and white. It brings the whole damn thing together quite nicely.
Yield: 6 small cakes
CHESTNUT PUREE
Frozen chestnuts, thawed 2¼ cups (400 grams)
Extra-virgin olive oil to taste
Salt to taste
Orange zest to taste
1. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
2. In a large bowl, add the chestnuts and season with olive oil, salt, and orange zest. Transfer the nut mixture to a roasting pan and cook in a single layer until soft, 8 to 10 minutes.
3. In a food mill or food processor, pulse the roasted chestnuts until there is a very thick puree, almost like a paste. You can add a little olive oil to keep it pliable. Season the chestnut puree with salt and set aside.
CHESTNUT CAKES
Whole milk, warm ¼ cup (60 grams)
Sugar 1½ teaspoons plus ¾ cup (5 grams plus 150 grams)
Active dry yeast 1¼ teaspoons (5 grams)
Eggs 3, separated
Chestnut puree 1½ cups (340 grams)
Bread Crumbs (here)
1. In a medium microwavable bowl, zap the milk in the microwave for 30 seconds. (The milk should be warm; if it’s too hot, it will kill the yeast you are about to add.) Add 1½ teaspoons of the sugar and the yeast and stir once to dissolve. Let the mixture sit for 10 minutes.
2. In the bowl of a stand mixer, using the whip attachment, combine the egg yolks and ¼ cup of the remaining sugar on medium speed until pale yellow, about 3 minutes.
3. Add the chestnut puree to the yeast mixture and combine. Fold in the yolk mixture and set aside. Clean the stand mixer bowl and whip attachment.
4. In the clean stand mixer bowl, using the whip attachment, beat the egg whites on high until they aren’t getting any taller and have reached stiff peaks. Reduce the speed to medium and slowly add the remaining ½ cup sugar. With a rubber spatula, gently fold the egg whites into the chestnut mixture.
5. Spray a 6-cup cupcake tin with nonstick cooking spray and sprinkle the bottom of each cup with some of the bread crumbs. Fill each cup halfway with batter. Bake for exactly 16 minutes. The cakes will double in size, like soufflés, and then fall when removed from the oven. It’s OK; this is how it’s supposed to be.
6. Allow the cakes to cool in the tin and separate them from the sides of the tin with a butter knife. Gently remove when ready to use.
STEAMED CHESTNUTS
Fresh chestnuts 2½ cups (454 grams), steamed or boiled in their shells
Salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
Extra-virgin olive oil 1 to 1½ tablespoons (13.5 grams to 20 grams)
Zest of 2 tangerines
White wine vinegar 2 teaspoons (9 grams)
1. Cut the chestnuts in half while still warm. Remove the meat, tear it into large pieces, and add it to a small bowl.
2. Season the chestnuts with salt and pepper. Dress with the olive oil, tangerine zest, and vinegar and toss to combine.
FOR SERVING
Red Wine Plums (here)
Yogurt Sorbet (here)
To serve: Tear a chestnut cake into pieces, put it on a plate, and garnish with the red wine plums and some of the plum syrup. Sprinkle the crushed chestnuts over the dish and finish with a scoop of yogurt sorbet.
“Think about the farm worker every time you eat”—Vinyl matrix inscribed on the Man Is the Bastard side of Born Against/MITB split 8 inch, 1995
Fregolotta is a type of cookie that is studded with almonds. You don’t even need a mixer to make it. You do it with your hands in a bowl, like a grandma would—which makes sense since I stole most of the recipe from Lidia Bastianich. On paper, it’s so simple. It doesn’t even have any butter in it. But despite its simplicity, getting it right is a fine and studied art. When I think of deceptively uncomplicated recipes like the one for fregolotta, I think of the early 1990s and of the late great power violence band Man Is the Bastard.
Whenever Young Pioneers, Born Against, or UOA were on tour, we’d visit them in Claremont, California, right outside LA. We’d play a show with them and then crash—but the Man Is the Bastard guys would finish playing and go straight to work at a local bakery. They did the overnight shift. In the morning, we’d wake up, head to the bakery, and get croissants or whatever. They’d all still be working from the night before. It was beyond impressive.
The bakery was called Some Crust, which is just so California. It’s still around. Man Is the Bastard’s whole vibe was also completely Southern Californian, but I guess a lot of people think of them as being scary because their imagery and music were so antiauthoritarian and bleak. But I never saw them that way. What stood out to me was their connection to the punk band with the most renowned work ethic of them all: Black Flag. You play a show and then you go and work until dawn at the bakery. No complaining. That approach really struck a chord with me. So I stole it.
I find Man Is the Bastard inspiring. They were so much more than just a band, and their live performances are burned into my subconscious. Now, nearly twenty years later, when I’m working on a new dish and it’s getting overly busy or complicated, I think about how they would approach it. Their song “Puppy Mill,” a condemnation of dog breeding that sounds like terrifying bleats isolated in empty space (an emulsion!) with the lyric “cuteness kills,” gets stuck in my head a lot when I’m making ice cream.
Many of the recipes I develop are like their songs, which are almost stupid in their simplicity. But I keep in mind that this is their genius disguised: Those guys are practiced, experienced musicians. That’s what it takes to make that simple, perfect music, even if the song’s just forty-five seconds long. Fregolotta, too. It takes time and focus to get it right. Anybody can grab cream, nuts, orange zest, and flour and crush them together. But being able to take that thing and make sure it isn’t too thick is an art. Like most good things, a fregolotta has got to have space between the notes.
At most three- and four-star restaurants in Manhattan, everything is very contained and formal. It generally is at Del Posto, too, but there are times when we like to let things be a little bit messy, a little bit out of control. So when we serve fregolotta, we smash it on the table and the pieces fly everywhere. It’s an Italian good-luck gesture. We bring out some cookies in hand-painted jars that a little old lady in Umbria made for us. We flip the jar upside down and drop the fregolotta so that it shatters all over the nice linen. It’s a Lidia thing—she calls it “confetti-ing the table.”
Yield: 6 large cookies
All-purpose flour 1 cup (125 grams)
Zest of 1 orange
Sugar 1 cup (200 grams)
Egg yolks 3
Heavy cream ¼ cup (60 grams)
Almonds 30, toasted
1. Preheat the oven to 325°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and set aside.
2. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, orange zest, and sugar.
3. In a separate bowl, whisk together the egg yolks and cream.
4. Slowly add the egg mixture to the flour mixture and combine by hand until you have a crumbly, textured dough.
5. Using a 4-inch ring mold, portion the dough out onto the prepared baking sheet, making sure to leave ½ inch between each. Press 5 toasted almonds into each cookie. Remove the ring molds. Bake for 12 minutes, or until golden. Remove to a rack to cool.
6. When the cookies are cool enough to handle, transfer them to parchment sheets, being careful not to break them.
To serve: Smash on a table and invite everyone to eat the shrapnel.
TWO PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SNACKS THAT CONTAIN NEITHER
Faustino, a cook-comedian-dishwasher at Tosca in DC during my time there, once made me a plate with a single uncooked baby shrimp, a nasturtium leaf, and a dot of ketchup smeared into a Nike swoosh. He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Check it out, Pan Blanco. White people food.” Early on he named me Pan Blanco. White bread. It stuck because it’s true. A suburban dude from the outskirts of Baltimore, white bread is who I am. Totally.
Pork baos, also known as steamed buns, got extremely popular in New York in the late 2000s. They’d obviously been around forever in Taiwan, but all of a sudden the dining public was losing its collective marbles over them in Manhattan. The reason: the bun. It was identical to Wonder Bread. The filling was inconsequential. Like a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Peanut butter and jelly is an American icon, a member of the family, the drunk uncle who shows up to Thanksgiving half in the bag already—amusing but tough in large doses. The following two snacks are my attempt to keep it in the family while still maintaining the character of the immortal PB&J (or in the case of the Apples and Dulce, its cousin, the caramel apple). They are more suggestions than recipes. Springboards. The approach is a bit grandmotherly. They’re good for both passing around at a party or eating in your underwear, standing at the kitchen counter at 3 a.m.
FIGS AND PARMIGIANO WITH HAZELNUTS
Yield: 2 servings
Figs 6, halved lengthwise
Turbinado sugar ¼ cup (50 grams)
Extra-virgin olive oil to taste
Salt to taste
Freshly ground black pepper to taste
Parmigiano-Reggiano a large chunk
Hazelnuts, toasted and crushed, to taste
1. Preheat the broiler or a toaster oven to 500°F.
2. On a baking sheet, place the figs, cut side up, and sprinkle with sugar. Broil for 30 seconds. Rotate the baking sheet and broil for another 2 to 3 minutes—you’re set when the sugar has melted and the figs are engorged.
3. Transfer the figs to a plate and drizzle with olive oil, a little salt, and pepper.
To serve: Using a Microplane, blanket the figs with grated Parmigiano and top with the crushed hazelnuts. Serve immediately.
APPLE WITH DULCE AND SESAME SEEDS
Yield: 2 servings
Honeycrisp or Granny Smith apple 1, unpeeled, sliced into 12 pieces
Dulce de leche one 10-ounce can
Sesame seeds a handful, toasted
Maldon salt to taste
Extra-virgin olive oil to taste
1. Smear each apple slice with a bit of dulce de leche.
2. Coat the dulce completely with toasted sesame seeds. Sprinkle with a few grains of salt and drizzle with olive oil.
To serve: Eat it.
