European

Everyone knows about sweet crêpes (page 645), but visitors to France quickly become addicted to these—the classic snack food of Brittany—especially the ham-and-cheese variation. Traditionally, the batter sits for an hour before starting to cook. As long as you plan ahead a bit, that shouldn’t be a problem. But in a pinch you can skip the resting period—it doesn’t make too much difference—and overall these are easy to make and great as savory starters or a light lunch or supper.

This is my cross-cultural take on a frequently served Swedish snack. If you’re making the North African mantecaos specifically for this dish, you might omit the cumin, but I think they’re more interesting with it. You can also make these with standard biscuits, in which case they’re pretty simple.

Variations of this exist around the world, but I like the Spanish version for its paprika and because I like Spanish cheese. A fresh cheese made of sheep’s milk is ideal here, but you can use any soft cheese you like, even mozzarella. This is best when it’s really hot, when the cheese is soft and the outside crisp; serve immediately after making it.

This simple starter is served all over the world—at least wherever chiles are grown—but I first had it in Basque country. Here they’re fried, but you can grill fresh chiles as well; in either case they taste fresh, smoky, salty, and spicy all at the same time. The chiles you use can be mild or hot. If you use mild long chiles, like Anaheim, most people will be happy.

The taste of strong mustard distinguishes this Provençal specialty, which can be served as a snack or a first course. Although you can make this simple, rich crust in the food processor (follow the procedure for Sweet Tart Pastry, page 654), it’s so simple and straightforward it’s almost as easily done by hand.

This “caviar,” most commonly spread on toast, is little more than sautéed mushrooms, but with an unusual texture and a decidedly Russian character. Do not mince the mushrooms too finely or they will become pasty.

A staple of many tapas bars, and among the most elementary of appetizers, this is a surefire crowd pleaser—as long as your crowd isn’t vegetarian. Even if some members are, you can skewer plain mushrooms or mushrooms and other vegetables—like red peppers and zucchini, for example.

In pais Vasco—Basque country—many tapas are substantial and filling. This meets that requirement, but it is also quick and simple. I once had it made with chanterelles, which of course produced a sublime version. If you can get them, or other wild mushrooms, the dish will be really special, but it’s quite wonderful with shiitakes. As for an omelet, you can put most anything you want in here; especially good is about a cup of chopped shrimp added just before the eggs. You can serve this on toast or bread, as is often done in tapas bars, or just by itself. It also makes a fine main course for two.

Best made with the hearts of fresh artichokes, but that is an expensive, time-consuming, and labor-intensive route. I won’t say frozen artichoke hearts are just as good, but they are worth using, and that’s what most people do—increasingly, even in Italy. The tenderness and subtle flavor of the vegetable still comes through. I like to fry these in olive oil, but it’s not essential.

A classic tapa that’s challenging only to the extent that it’s hard to find good chorizo; it should not be too well dried but rather fresh and soft. Plenty is being made in the States now, especially in Florida, California, and New York—the major centers of Latin cuisine. Since chorizo is so intensely flavored already, it takes few ingredients to make this dish, but it’s still pretty powerful. In northwestern Spain they make this with the local sidra Asturiana, or hard cider; to try it that way, omit the garlic and parsley and substitute hard cider (English, French, or American hard cider is fine) for the red wine.

Gougères are perfect dinner party fare; they’re elegant, delicious, and filling, all of which buys you a few extra minutes when you’re getting the main course ready. Gougères are fried as commonly as they’re baked, but baked gougères hold numerous advantages for the home cook: they’re less messy, they can be baked in advance (even a day ahead: let them cool to room temperature, store in an airtight container overnight, then reheat in a 200°F oven), and they can be served at room temperature. I like them best made with well-aged Gruyère, but any of the cheeses suggested below will work well.

Pelmeni were traditionally frozen before cooking (they’re from Siberia; one would just make a few hundred, throw them in a bag, and put the bag in a barn or outdoors), and some people insist that they’re best when frozen first, though I cannot imagine why that would be. But all dumplings can be frozen successfully after filling and can even be cooked directly from the freezer. Just make sure they’re floured enough to prevent sticking during freezing, or the dough might tear. You may not use all of this filling, but it’s best not to run short. As with pot stickers (Wor Teep, page 63), be sure not to overfill the dumplings or the seams will burst. Any combination of meats will do well as a filling here. If you grind your own, it will be even better; the meat should be ground quite finely. Though the butter suffices as a sauce, you can serve these with sour cream as well if you like.

These are usually quite sweet but served as a main course nevertheless, because they’re incredibly filling. Most frequently boiled and served with melted butter, like the meat-filled dumplings in the preceding recipe, but I grew up eating them fried in butter, and they are superior that way. (Ideally, they’re served with sour cream as well.) These, served with some of the other vareniki or pierogi on these pages, are just great.

My favorite dumplings, these are creamy, savory, and salty and, when served with the cooked onion garnish and some sour cream, irresistible. Like the cheese filled version on page 60, they may be boiled and served with melted butter, but I think they’re best when fried in butter and served with sour cream. In addition to the variation, you can stuff these with cooked cabbage, cooked mushrooms, sauerkraut, or almost anything else you can think of.

Whether the noodle and wrappers made from its dough moved west from China or east from Italy is anyone’s guess, but it wound up everywhere. There is barely a square mile of turf between Mongolia and Hungary that doesn’t boast some kind of dumpling, and the variety is staggering. (And, if you consider the ravioli and empanada dumplings, they are universal.) But though shape and filling vary wildly, the doughs are pretty much the same throughout the world: they’re made either with egg or without. These are mostly made with, making the dough essentially the same as that used for fresh pasta.

In Sweden these little fish “sandwiches” are made with Baltic herring, but you can make them with any small fish from which you can remove the backbone, such as smelts, anchovies, and sardines (the names of all of these fish are confused anyway—many true herring and anchovies are called sardines and vice versa). To bone these fish, grasp the head and pull straight down; most of the innards will come out along with it; use your thumb to open the fish up from the front, then grasp the backbone and remove. You’ll be left with two tiny fillets joined by the skin. Plan to make eight of these—four sandwiches—for each serving if you make them as a main course.

Salt cod is an ancient food, the result of a need to preserve plentiful catch while still at sea. It has been used in many different ways, but one of the greatest is brandade de morue, a Provençal classic that is rich, filling, and truly special. Though salt cod isn’t available everywhere, it can be found in many supermarkets, without much trouble, and making brandade is easier than ever thanks to the food processor (use a mortar and pestle if you insist on tradition). Brandade can be served with crusty bread, spread on Crostini (page 41), or stuffed into roasted tomatoes or peppers, especially piquillo peppers (page 492 or 47).

A classic Niçoise appetizer that is like fondue—a “warm bath”—of anchovies, garlic, and olive oil (you can use butter in place of some of the olive oil if you’re feeling indulgent), served with fresh raw vegetables. It’s an unusual dish by today’s standards but remains a wonderful combination. A fondue pot is the ideal serving vessel, because it’s important to keep the sauce hot at the table; an earthenware dish that retains heat well will work if you preheat it and serve the Bagna Cauda immediately.

Most cultures enjoy mushrooms, but none treats them more regally than the French. This prime example is best made with lots of butter (not bad with the smaller amount, either, of course) and wild mushrooms. But if you have access only to cultivated mushrooms, combine a couple of varieties—button with shiitake and portobello, for example, and, if possible, a small handful of dried porcini, reconstituted as on page 112. This can also be served as a side dish, especially with poultry.

Needless to say, you can put these in almost any tomato sauce (pages 606–607) and use them for spaghetti and meatballs. But they’re often served in Italy as a small first course, sometimes over cabbage. I like the combination of veal and pork best, but you can use any combination you like or even all beef.