European

This Italian marinade and glaze is truly all-purpose. It can be used over roasted sweet peppers, marinated mushrooms, olives, or even pizza. If the sun-dried tomatoes feel brittle, refresh them by placing them in a nonreactive bowl, add 1 cup boiling water, and let them set until plump. The parsley and basil are interchangeable, so feel free to double up based on availability and preferences.

A thin layer of frangipane, a rich almond pastry cream, elevates this simple, classic French dessert into something special. It's made in the style of many French fruit tarts: thin-crusted and only lightly sweetened to let the fruit truly shine. Americans have eagerly adopted French-inspired freeform tarts, even giving them a French name, galette, a word that the French generally use to describe a round, squat pastry, cookie, or buckwheat crêpe. The most famous galette is Galette des Rois, two disks of puff pastry filled with frangipane and eaten on Epiphany. I considered calling this dessert a tart, but decided against it because that term can put off people who are worried about dealing with fussy doughs and trying to achieve picture-perfect results. This pastry is intended to be rustic, and for that reason, it's often my go-to galette. Or tart. Speaking of tart, if your apples are particularly tart, you could sprinkle a bit more sugar on top of them before baking, but if you serve a sweet accompaniment alongside, as I usually do, additional sugar probably won't be necessary.

Making a parchment envelope in which to steam a fillet of fish surrounded by aromatic vegetables may sound a bit fancy for just one, but cooking in parchment is actually one of the simplest and most effective ways of steaming, because it seals in the flavors. What a treat it is to have that golden-tinged, puffed-up half-moon of parchment on your plate, and then to tear it open and breathe in all the heady aromas. Moreover, you’ll have no cleanup afterward; just wipe off the Silpat mat and throw away the parchment after you’ve scraped and scooped up every last delicious morsel and its jus. If you want just one meal out of this, get about a 6-ounce fillet of flounder, halibut, salmon, red snapper—whatever looks good. Or, as I did recently, try tilapia, which is quite readily available these days and at a reasonable price. But bought almost twice the amount I needed, so I could play with the other half of the cooked fillet a couple of days later. I learned from Katy Sparks, whose book, Sparks in the Kitchen, is full of great cooking tips from a chef to the home cook, the trick of pre-roasting several slices of new potato so they can go in the parchment package. This way you have a complete, balanced meal-in-one cooked all together.

Quiche for one? That sounds ambitious, but the truth is, it’s a cinch to make yourself a small quiche if you have an individual tart pan, about 4 inches in diameter, with a removable bottom, and some excess tart dough in your freezer. And what a treat it is.

As simple a dish as this is, I have had requests for it in all my restaurants as far back as I can remember. I like the sauce a little feisty, so I’m generous with the crushed red pepper. You can add as much—or as little—as you like. Often, restaurant chefs finish this dish by swirling butter into the sauce at the end. You can do the same, or use olive oil to finish the sauce. I prefer olive oil, but I probably don’t have to tell you that by now.

I got a perplexing message from someone who made these biscotti: “They were good, but full of big chunks of chocolate.” I’m not sure if that was meant as a compliment or a criticism, but I do know for sure that it wasn’t a mistake—that’s exactly what I had in mind when I came up with these superchunky chocolate biscotti. They’re perfect for dipping in a large cup of dark coffee or alongside a glass of Cognac after dinner. They’re also great travel cookies—I’m always happy when I pull out a bag midway through a flight or train trip. I make sure to bring extras because when I see the longing looks of passengers around me, I feel pressured to share—and I do, reluctantly.

Make this rich stew on a leisurely weekend. You’ll probably get a good three meals out of it, if you follow some of the suggestions below. When buying stew meat at a supermarket, you don’t always know what you are getting, so ask the butcher. If it’s a lean meat, it will need less time cooking (in fact, it will be ruined if you cook it too long), but the fattier cuts can benefit from at least another half hour.

Smoked paprika, Spanish chorizo, and Manchego cheese give this a Latin kick. Eat it as a snack or serve with cocktails.

This casserole is based loosely on the French home-cooking standard, le miroton. If you fear goatiness, please turn the page. This dish celebrates the sweet carnality of the goat with abandon.

The product: An orange that's streaked with red throughout and almost seedless.
The payoff: Sweet-tart flavor and pinkish-red color that come together in an easy, sophisticated dessert.

This ­is ­one of Haley's favorites, not only because she's an Earl Grey drinker (in fact, as a bitty child she would ask the waitresses in diners if the tea was Earl Grey or orange pekoe because she "simply wouldn't drink anything but Earl Grey"—precocious much?) but also because the hint of lavender infusion leaves you feeling as if you ate a scone and then walked through a field en Provence!

Various Central European countries have their own variations on these popular filled cookies, sometimes spelled kolache or kolace. Some are made with a yeast dough, others with cream cheese or even ice cream. The cream cheese dough is the most popular for the Polish version of these rich cookies.

In this luxurious risotto, leeks take the place of the chopped onions that are traditionally used in the beloved Italian rice dish.

One mention of a food that interests us, and we're off. Our friend Luisa, who writes a food blog called The Wednesday Chef, spent a good part of her summer in Italy, with her family there. Clearly feeling nostalgic for her time there, Luisa spent weeks trying to replicate her grandmother's focaccia bread. The photographs of her last, successful attempt left us both a little dazed. We wanted some. Of course, we had to change it quite a bit, since hers contained gluten. I was shocked to find that most authentic Italian focaccia breads contain a potato. But it makes sense. Boil the potato and then put it through the ricer and you have a light-as-air starch. Focaccia breads are lighter than other breads. The egg white, beaten to stiff peaks, adds lightness here too, like a soufflé. Try this bread with rosemary or oregano. It's a little taste of Italy, right in your kitchen.

When you find out you cannot eat gluten, one of the first foods you worry about living without is pasta. There's a certain mourning involved, imagining a trip to Italy without a mound of fresh fettuccine. Guess what? The Italians make great gluten-free pasta, since many of their citizens have celiac sprue. You can buy a package of gluten-free pasta at the farmacia and take it to the best restaurant in town, where they will make the pasta of the day for you. When we first started making pasta, we tried our favorite gluten pasta recipes with gluten-free flours, without much success. It took us about fifteen different recipes and wranglings with flour combinations before we figured out the right ratio of flours to liquids. Now, at least once a week, when we want a quick meal, we pull out flours and make homemade pasta.

In Britain, these are teatime favorites, but in the States, we like them for breakfast, too. You'll get tall, flaky, buttery scones that are excellent partners with your finest jams.

Any food historian will tell you that trying to track down the origin of a recipe is like chasing tadpoles. There are so many, and they all look alike. Even when you find what seems to be the original source, you can't necessarily believe it because adapting recipes is an age—old industry. Nonetheless, I thought I'd give the hunt a try with chicken Canzanese, an unusual recipe that ran in the Times in 1969. A Google search for "chicken Canzanese" yielded many results, a number of them facsimiles, or slight variations of the chicken dish that appeared in the Times. There's one on Cooks.com that's a close adaptation of the Times's recipe, another by Mario Batali on the Food Network's website and one by Anna Teresa Callen, the cookbook author and teacher, on her own website. Batali's and Callen's, which vary only slightly from the Times's recipe, are nearly word for word the same. Only one recipe that I found sourced the Times's recipe, which itself came from Ed Giobbi, a cookbook author, and was written about by Craig Claiborne. You can also find plenty of turkey recipes done in the style of Canzanese (Canzano is in the Abruzzo region in Italy), which refers to braised turkey, served cold with chopped turkey aspic. But chicken Canzanese, which is not mentioned in important Italian cookbooks like Le Ricette Regionali Italiane (Italian Regional Cooking), is completely different. When you make it, you understand why it's still kicking around after all these decades. After flash-brining the chicken, you throw everything into the pan at the same time—chicken, cubed prosciutto, sage, bay leaves, rosemary, garlic, chile, cloves, peppercorns, and wine—and end up with a dish that has the fragrance of Chinese steamed duck and the succulence of a Bolognese sauce. I sensed that it would be impossible to come to a conclusion about where chicken Canzanese originated (Giobbi's recipe was the earliest I could find), and this was confirmed as soon as I started calling people. Callen said she grew up in Abruzzo eating chicken Canzanese. Batali, who regularly credits people from whom he adapts recipes, said that he must have gotten his from Callen, and was apologetic about the borrowing. Giobbi, whose recipe came from a family friend in Abruzzo, suggested that perhaps Callen was influenced by him. When I asked Callen if there was any chance she referred to Giobbi's recipe when writing about her family's dish, she said, "Could be, very well." I didn't intend this to be an investigation—recipes are adapted all the time, it's one of the primary ways cuisines evolve—so I did not chase down the dozens of sites that appear to have copied Callen or Batali. One thing is clear, though: a good recipe has a thousand fathers, but a bad one is an orphan.