European

This Italian-inspired salad uses fresh cheese tortellini as its base. (You can find fresh tortellini in the refrigerated section of your local supermarket.) It’s a fun variation on the usual pasta salad suspects. Plus, it’s superconvenient because you can fix it up to a day ahead and serve it straight from the fridge. We love the way tortellini and mozzarella taste when they’ve been marinating in Italian seasonings and how nice the colors of the broccoli, tomatoes, and olives look when they are served together. That’s why we call this salad tricolore (Italian for “three colors”)!

We got this recipe from our good buddy (and Bobby’s neighbor) Michael Peay. He remembers his mom always used to make more than he and his brothers ever could eat because their house was so popular with their friends, especially around dinnertime. This stew, full of good porky sausage and plenty of tender cabbage, was his favorite childhood meal.

When you have bought more mushrooms than you are going to use up in the week ahead, a simple way to keep them is to dice and sauté them, what the French call duxelles. You can then pack the sautéed dice in a small freezer bag and dip into it whenever you want a tablespoon or so to add to a sauce, a soup, an omelet, whatever.

It may seem crazy even to think of making a cassoulet for oneself, although this one may be large enough to share with a friend. But if you have all the different elements, it’s not much more than an assembly job. You just have to think ahead. So, when you have that Small Roast Pork Tenderloin (page 42), set aside three or four little chunks of the flavorful cooked meat (they can be frozen and labeled “for future cassoulet”). Then plan on having Braised Shoulder Lamb Chops (page 48), which is always more than I can eat in one sitting, and use that extra braised chop (it can also be frozen), along with a lot of the good juices, to be the mainstay of your cassoulet. One can usually get a good pork sausage these days; even if you have to mail-order it, it’s a staple item worth keeping in the freezer. So there you are: start your beans the night before, and put this heavenly bean dish together on a wintry day off, letting it fill your kitchen with its tantalizing aromas. You won’t regret it. When I suggested to Julia Child that she include a recipe for this great dish in Mastering the Art of French Cooking, there really weren’t any good fresh garlic sausages available to buy, so Julia agreed that she had better work out a formula for making them at home. Several days later, I went up to Cambridge, Massachusetts, where the Childs lived, to work on the book with her, and I found that one wall of the kitchen was covered in notes on the work she had done to develop a formula for the authentic garlic sausage for cassoulet. Her research had taken her back to early French charcuterie books, and she’d made notes on each of her testings, ending up with her own carefully worked-out recipe. I gasped at her meticulous research, and then asked tentatively if maybe this might not be beyond the reach of the American home cook, but she reassured me. “No, not at all,” she said. “It’s really as easy as making hamburgers.”

I’m sure every cook who loves Italian food has a special recipe for osso buco. But I’m not so sure that anyone has a recipe to serve one, because it’s not the sort of thing you make for just one person. But it’s simple to reduce. The crucial factor is the pot; you need that heavy 4-cup pot with its own lid, so that your shank piece just fits into it and the liquid level stays almost to the top of the meat while it is simmering. That way, you don’t require too much cooking liquid, and the flavor develops intensity. I sometimes make this on a Saturday afternoon, when an Italian opera is playing on the radio, and just hearing the singing and smelling the osso buco as it perks away on the stove heightens my anticipation of a lovely meal to come.

I adore sweetbreads, but, alas, they are becoming increasingly hard to get. So, whenever I see a package of them in the supermarket, I snatch them up and give myself a treat. I’m apt to vary the aromatics, but basically the technique is the same. If you do all the preparation in the morning, or even the night before, the final sautéing with just the right complementary flavors takes about 15 minutes. And when you have your first bite, there is something so deeply satisfying about the tender creamy texture of sweetbreads, and their ability to absorb and transform the aromatic flavors you give them, that you feel a small miracle has taken place. No wonder they are called sweetbreads.

I use red peppers a lot, but they are grown so large these days that more often than not, I find myself with a quarter or a half that needs to be used up. The solution is to roast them and store them in olive oil. In fact, I’ve become so fond of my roasted peppers that I’ll sometimes make up a batch on the weekend to see me through the days ahead. If you have gas burners, use this top-of-the-stove method rather than doing them in the oven (if you don’t have gas burners, see page 143 for roasting). Because they become thoroughly charred all over, they develop a wonderful smoky flavor.

As a child, and well into adulthood, I was allergic to scallops. But little by little I got over it. It can happen; the body does change. So I’ve been making up for my years of deprivation and quite often treat myself to a full plate of carefully cooked sea scallops. I remember Julia Child emphasizing how important it was to use a large pan, so the scallops would have plenty of space to brown. And because they needed to cook over high heat, clarified butter was essential. We were once having lunch at an elegant French restaurant in New York, which will be nameless, and Julia ordered scallops. After her first bite, she put down her fork and proclaimed that the chef hadn’t used clarified butter. As she tucked away most of the flawed dish, she emphasized again the importance of using clarified butter when browning over high heat, although she did admit that most Americans aren’t going to take the trouble to clarify their own butter, and that it was okay for the home cook to use half butter and half light vegetable oil, which would temper the burning. I am always careful to watch the pan, as if Julia is still looking over my shoulder, whenever I make this dish.

I saw this on the menu at an Italian restaurant, and although I did not order it, I liked the idea of using a little of my own dark maple syrup to lend its flavor to the delicate, creamy custard. So I developed this recipe through trial and error. That’s another advantage of cooking something just for yourself: you’re the guinea pig, and you can work out all the nuances before you make the dish for company. This recipe makes enough for two, so either share it or treat yourself to a second helping later in the week.

I had never cooked with sorrel until I worked with André Soltner on his Lutèce cookbook. He was then the devoted chef-owner of the restaurant, on East Fiftieth Street in Manhattan, but he never forgot his roots in Alsace. There, leafy green sorrel is common, and its tart flavor accents any number of dishes. So it was not surprising that when André was developing a sauce for that quintessential American specialty, shad roe, his secret ingredient was sorrel. However, sorrel was not so easy to find in markets in those days, and André would have to bring an armful of handpicked sorrel from his own garden in the Catskills down to the Lutèce kitchen, so as not to disappoint his loyal customers. Later, when my husband and I bought our summer place in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont, we discovered that wild sorrel grew abundantly in the surrounding woods and in the garden. I even planted a cultivated variety to make sure we had enough, and I soon dubbed sorrel, along with gooseberries, the lemons of the North. And now that Lutèce is no more, and I can’t enjoy a lunch there, I celebrate this spring delight by making myself André’s delectable shad roe with sorrel sauce.

I can’t resist making this special tart for myself when my Duchess apple tree in Vermont is laden with the most flavorful apples I’ve ever tasted. I’ve never sprayed the tree, so, yes, there are what we call wormholes, but I peel around them or dig out the dark tunnels with the point of a knife. If you’re using a frozen portion of your own tart dough, remember to take it out in the morning and let it defrost at room temperature. If you’re making up a new batch, be sure to make extra to put away for a repeat performance.

I prefer thin French pancakes to the more doughy American kind, so I often make a batch of crêpe batter for a Sunday breakfast and have plenty left over to whip up a rolled savory crêpe filled with some leftover that needs dressing up, or a sweet version enrobing some fruit or berries. For breakfast, I slather a warm crêpe with yogurt—preferably Greek-style, because it’s less runny—put another crêpe on top and more yogurt, and leave the final layer bare to catch the warm maple syrup I pour over it. A few berries scattered around complete the picture I remember how James Beard would teach the making and baking of crêpes and pancakes in his opening class for beginners. He liked the students to observe what happened when the batter—some with baking powder, as in American pancakes; some not, as in French crêpes—hit the hot surface of the pan and baked: one rising perceptibly, the other hardly at all but acquiring a crisper tan. And he would prowl around among the students, encouraging them to use their fingers to turn the crêpe and get the feel of the texture. The “nervous Nellies,” as Julia Child always called them, held back, but the intrepid relished the quick finger-flip, and you could tell that they were the ones who were really going to enjoy cooking.

I make this pastry dough on a leisurely weekend when I want to treat myself to a small quiche for lunch, or a fruit pastry for dessert. Then I store the rest of the dough in the freezer, so I’ll have it on hand if family or friends show up unexpectedly, or if I feel like making something for myself one night that requires a pastry topping, such as Beef and Kidney Pie (page 34). I use a food processor to make the dough, because it is so easy, and if you measure the pulses carefully as you are mixing the dough, you can’t go wrong. I learned from Lydie Marshall, that incomparable French-cooking teacher, the trick of saying “alligator” out loud to determine the length of each pulse.

I find today that of all cookies, Italian biscotti are the most tempting to make, because they keep so well. “Biscotti” means “twice cooked,” and what makes them so absorbent, to say nothing of imperishable, is that they are baked twice. Moreover, the true biscotti have no fat in them (although American versions tend to sneak some in), and that is why they hold their own when dunked into a cup of afternoon tea or after-dinner coffee. So here is the real thing, to savor for the weeks ahead.

What could be more appealing on a weekend than to fill the kitchen with the good smell of bread baking? I like to start my bread dough when I get up, and for lunch I reward myself with a fresh-from-the-oven pizza. Perhaps I’ll share a baguette over dinner with friends, and have some mini-loaves to put in the freezer and enjoy in the weeks ahead—all made from the same dough. If there are children around, I announce what I’m up to, and invariably they will want to join me and pitch in. For them, there is something magical about making bread-the way it rises quietly in a bowl under a cover, the fun of punching the dough down, forming the loaves, and creating steam in the oven just before baking. To say nothing of how good it tastes. I started baking bread in the sixties, when I persuaded Julia Child to work out a recipe for French bread that could be baked in an American home oven. In those days, it was almost impossible to buy a crusty baguette. Now there are artisan bakers all over who have mastered the techniques, and there’s really no need to bake one’s own. But it is such fun.

This dish has much of the flavor of a cassoulet but is considerably simpler, because it uses ready-cooked duck-leg confit, which is obtainable today in most good markets and can also be ordered online.