European

This tropical twist on the French classic moules marinières serves up briny mussels in a tangy coconut broth enhanced by ginger and lemongrass. You'll find the pretty green stalks of fresh lemongrass in the produce section of many fine supermarkets and specialty-food shops, alongside the brown knobby fresh ginger rhizomes, or roots. Both aromatics need to be peeled before using, and both have dense, stringy flesh that can be difficult to mince. Grating is a good solution for ginger; include the juices that are extruded when you scrape. For lemongrass, peel and use only the tender midsection of the slender, bulblike stalk. Smash it with the flat side of a chef's knife to make mincing easier.
Increase your dining pleasure by sipping, as an accompaniment, any bright, fresh white wine that offers good acidity. Think sparkling wine, unoaked Chardonnay, Pinot Grigio, or Sauvignon Blanc.

Best served at a big family breakfast, this coffee cake rings in the first morning of the new year in Greece. You can easily recognize the cake by its tiered shape, with a small round cake set on top of a large round cake. It is usually flavored with anise seed or mahlab (the ground pit of a Mediterranean wild cherry). The Greek tradition is to serve the cake to the youngest first, then the next to youngest, and so on, working up in age, and the person who finds the hidden coin or trinkets will have good luck for the year.

The simple addition of orange zest adds a delightful dimension to this French classic, with tangy citrus notes enhancing the creamy-sweet custard. Home cooks who don't have a chef's blowtorch can easily use their broiler/grill to caramelize the sugar topping. But remember to leave the oven door slightly open and keep watch. A golden sugar crust can quickly turn black if left too long under the flame.
This dessert was born of a collaboration between the cellar and the kitchen. Some years ago during the creation of Chandon Riche—our off-dry sparkling wine, which has a hint of sweetness—our winemaker recalled the aromatics issuing from the orange tree that grew not far from the wine cellar. He ran to the kitchen with a bottle of the new wine and asked if the chefs could produce a dessert that evoked the same citrus impression. Bitter Orange Crème Brûlée is now a signature dish at the restaurant.
For a nice pairing with this dessert, add the classic ladyfinger sugar cookies, if you like; they bring a crisp element to join the silky custard and the crunch of the sugar. Make them in advance of the crème brûlée.

Spiedini ("skewers" in Italian) refers to this dish at Frasca Food and Wine involving meat, seafood, or vegetables roasted or grilled over a fire. Instead of lamb shoulder, you could buy about 21/2 pounds boneless leg of lamb to trim and cube for the spiedini.

To make the sourdough croutons, toss 3 1/2 cups 1-inch cubes crustless sourdough bread with 2 tablespoons olive oil. Spread the bread cubes on a heavy-duty rimmed baking sheet and bake at 400°F for 20 to 25 minutes.

A fool is a classic British dessert made from pureed fruit folded into cream whipped to stiff peaks.

THIS SABBATH RICE DISH, typical of Provence, reveals the history both of pilau or pilaf, as it is called in French, and of Persian Jews who settled in the area near the Camargue, the rice-growing area of southwestern Provence located on the triangle of land between the two major tributaries of the Rhône River. Jews, first by barge and later by boat, used the river to bring goods here from the Mediterranean. The word and the dish pilau come from Persia, taking various forms as the dish traveled around the world. In India, it became pulao; in modern-day Iran, it is called polo; and in Provence, pelau or pilaf. Rice, and therefore pilaf, traveled with the Jews to Provence, where many Persian Jewish merchants and scholars settled and lived until the end of the fourteenth century or even later. These Jews, who traded rice, cooked it for the Sabbath with fragrant spices like nutmeg, garlic, cumin, cinnamon, and saffron. Some scholars believe that Jews brought saffron to Europe from Asia Minor for their Sabbath rice. The late Karen Hess, author of The Carolina Rice Kitchen, repeatedly told me that Jews first brought rice to the Camargue. In their Inventory of the Culinary Patrimony of France, Philip and Mary Hyman relate that emigrants from the Piedmont paid a dîme of rice to noblemen in the year 1497. And although pilau and riz au safran are no longer particularly Jewish dishes in Provence, they are clearly rooted in the Sabbath tradition. This simple recipe is typically eaten on Rosh Hashanah, alongside a symbolic whole roasted fish with a Sephardic sweet-and-sour greengage-plum sauce.

Brandy, cinnamon, and lemon zest combine to give this tart unbelievable aroma and wonderful flavor.

When I was a student in France, Rose Minkel was a fixture at Friday night dinners at my friend Nanou’s home. Called Mémé, an endearing term for “Grandmother,” she brought with her the recipes from her family’s native Metz, a city in the province of Lorraine with a long Jewish presence. Though the Jews had been in Metz for many generations (some say the first Jews settled there in 221 C.E.), up until the eighteenth century they lived a very different life from non-Jews in the town. They paid extra taxes on meat, wines and liqueurs, and other provisions. It was easy to spot a Jew on the street, because the men wore yellow hats to distinguish them from the black-hat-wearing gentiles. But over time they did assimilate, and already at the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Jews of Metz began to speak French instead of Yiddish. One Rosh Hashanah recipe that I remember most fondly was this simple roast chicken with peeled apple quarters, cinnamon, sugar, and wine.

Roasting the tomatoes concentrates their flavor.

Escoffier codified the mother sauces of French cooking. In the Italian-American tradition, there is only one: tomato sauce. Call it marinara (we do), call it gravy (we don't), call it whatever your grandma called it. It's tomato sauce. There's almost nothing we won't cook in it or put it on. The real deal—what we grew up with and the way we would do it if we had our choice (and didn't have so many vegetarian friends and customers) would be to make that sauce, then simmer up a batch of braciola or meatballs in it, and then use the resulting meat-infused product as our "tomato sauce" in all its myriad applications. And if you're not catering to vegetarians, we advise doing just that: make a triple batch of sauce, use it to simmer up braciola or meatballs and then use that tomato sauce, fresh or from the freezer, whenever tomato sauce is called for in these pages. Use good Italian canned tomatoes and high quality olive oil when making this sauce, and take your time—there's no rushing it. When you're cooking the garlic, you want to very, very slowly convert the starches in it to sugars and then to caramelize those sugars. Slow and steady. Then get the tomatoes in and let them simmer. Not a ton happens over the four hours—no epic deepening of color or furious reduction—but it cooks as much water out of the tomatoes as possible without turning them into tomato paste.

Making the panna cotta in a cake pan gives this classic dessert a new look. For best results, use an organic plain yogurt (which usually has a softer texture than nonorganic).

Olivada, an Italian olive spread, adds flavor and color to this side dish.

Great with the Caveman Porterhouse or with chicken, fish, or lamb.

Marinated eggplant makes a great antipasto, alone or as part of a larger spread. It also works as an accompaniment to grilled meat and fish. However you serve it, I strongly suggest you make sure to save enough for a sandwich. Country bread with grilled marinated eggplant, prosciutto, and mozzarella—really, really good.