Cured Meat

We have to thank the geniuses at Voodoo Doughnuts in Portland, Oregon for inspiring these sweet dreams intertwined with a strip of thick, salty bacon, all drizzled with a glaze made with real maple syrup. It's almost too good to be true. You may need to clear your schedule for a month or two so you can make these EVERY weekend.

Phyllo dough can seem scary at first but once you understand that the sheer quantity of layers will mask the flaws of any individual sheet, you will gain confidence.

Maureen Butler, Meath: Bridge-playing mother of four As a child growing up in Dublin, we always had this served to us at the end of the week when all that was left were rashers, sausages and potatoes. Everything was put into the one pot and cooked. It was delicious, particularly on a cold winter's day.

This simple but delicious sauce is named for the town of Amatrice, in the mountainous northeastern panhandle of Lazio, near Abruzzo and the Marche. It seems incredible for such an easy, humble sauce, but this is one of the dishes self-appointed purists (read fanatics) will fight over to the death, or at least death by boredom. You have to use spaghetti or bucatini, they say—nor is it that simple, since there are spaghetti-only and bucatini-only factions. No cheese but pecorino is permitted. And woe betide you if you use pancetta in place of guanciale. There is, however, some room for individual expression. Some cooks use onion and chile, some not. A few swear by a splash of white wine "to cut the fat." The pecorino should ideally be that made in Amatrice or Abruzzo or Sicily, milder and fattier than pecorino romano, but pecorino romano is certainly what you'll find used in Rome. (Pecorino romano is a kind of cheese from a large designated area that includes the entire Lazio and Sardegna regions and the province of Grosseto in Tuscany, not just Rome; it is widely available in the United States.) Parmigiano is not used in amatriciana; it's made with cow's milk, and Rome and its mountainous hinterland is traditionally a land of sheep, after all. The shepherds of yesteryear, who spent months in the hills with their flocks, would make this flavorful dish for themselves. You can imagine that they were not worried about someone calling the food police if they grabbed a piece of pancetta instead of guanciale or one kind of sheep cheese instead of another. But they would never have used smoked bacon, which is not part of their tradition. Like many rustic, simple sauces that have found immortality on trattoria menus throughout Italy (and beyond), this dish is only as good as its ingredients. Take the tomatoes. The rugged mountainous area of northeastern Lazio where Amatrice is located was never great tomato-growing territory, or at least not for most of the year, so it was normal to use canned or jarred tomatoes. But the most delicious amatriciana I've ever tasted was made by Oretta (of course) at her house about halfway between Rome and Amatrice with tomatoes from her garden. After her ecstatic guests had practically licked their plates, she announced with an air of regret that this delicious dish was "not really l'amatriciana" because she had used fresh tomatoes. She later revised the statement to the more reasonable pronouncement that if you have a basketful of gorgeous San Marzano tomatoes from your garden, of course you should peel and seed them and make the sauce, and handed me a jar of her home-canned tomatoes to use in the winter. Whether you use fresh or canned, the result is a red sauce studded with bits of lightly fried pork, but you don't want it too red. The pasta and guanciale should be coated with a thin mantle of sauce, not hidden. Don't let the gloppy, oversauced trattoria version be your model. The cheese is sharp and salty, but, again, don't use too much. Many people consider onion a deviation from the sacred original, but hardly anyone thinks it doesn't taste good. In fact, it is delicious. If you use it, add a small chopped onion to the guanciale fat and sauté until transparent, then add the tomato.

Use the best, freshest eggs you can find, and don't even think of making this dish with eggs from stressed-out battery chickens. You can taste the difference. If you can find real guanciale, so much the better. Once the eggs have been added to the pasta, do not let the pan touch the heat directly or you will wind up with scrambled eggs.

Our favorite Dutch oven is heavy-duty, big enough for any stew, and handsome enough to put on the table.

Kabocha squash is made for purées.

This is a perfect autumn salad: not so much cooked as wilted greens in a warm, savory-sweet vinaigrette. Here in the South, we are lucky to have so many different greens that grow remarkably well virtually all year round. From the traditional collards, spinach, mustard, and turnip greens to the international varieties that have recently made their way here, including bok choy, tatsoi, and komatsuna, there are a variety of tastes and textures to choose from. No matter where you live, experiment with seasonal greens until you find your favorites. If you're shopping at the farmers' market, most of the vendors will be happy to let you have a few nibbles for taste-testing. The same goes for the squash—you can use butternut, acorn, pumpkin, African, or any similar variety. At Summerland Farm, we are lucky to have American chestnut trees planted by my ancestors, and even luckier that those trees survived the chestnut blight that killed most American chestnuts in the first half of the twentieth century. Fresh chestnuts—often grown in California—are available in many natural foods stores in the cooler months. If you can't find chestnuts, hazelnuts or cashews would make a good substitute.

This dish was inspired by pasta e fagiole, the classic Italian pasta and bean stew. Unlike macaroni, the grains stay nice and chewy, even when reheated days later.

It might seem like a long time, but cooking the bacon until it's welldone means it'll stay crisp at the table.

The flat cut of brisket is leaner than the point cut (or deckle) but still has enough fat to keep it juicy. It will hold its shape better as it cooks, and slices neatly.

Created by Epicurious member Kathe Miller from Chelan, Washington, this beautiful salad has a wonderful presentation as well as a rich taste. Try it as a starter, or as a satisfying lunch. Miller recommends pears that are tender but crisp, giving the salad a divine texture and bite that is at once crunchy and juicy.

I have written a recipe for panettone dressing before: the sweet seasonal fruit bread was cubed, toasted, and mixed with Italian sausage; this is very different, not least because I see it not as an accompaniment to turkey (which has its own interior stuffing) but to be served, at parties or over cocktails, in small squares, like savory brownies. As ever, feel free to substitute the plainer pandoro if you wish, though I do think the rich fruitiness is part of this unconventional appetizer's charm.

The Christmas season in Puerto Rico is blessed with balmy weather and clear skies. There is nothing like dining under the shade of a gourd tree on Christmas Eve, savoring every morsel of the earthy tamales called pasteles and adobo-flavored pork while looking at the sea. Puerto Rican women get together with their families to prepare pasteles by the hundred, freezing them until needed for Christmas Eve, Christmas Day, family reunions, the Fiesta de Reyes, and the religious season called octavas that follows the Feast of the Epiphany. It is the blend of the tiny pepper ají dulce and broad-leaf culantro in the fragrant sofrito (cooking sauce) that gives an unmistakable Puerto Rican identity to these earthy tamales. A dash of vinegar lends the sofrito just the right amount of tang against the mild dough of malanga and plantain tinted orange-yellow with achiote-infused lard. I learned to make these in the traditional kitchen of the Puerto Rican side of my family. While one person took care of trimming the plantain leaves, others were busy grating the vegetables and making the sofrito. There the vegetables are grated by hand, though you can find machines designed specially for this purpose in any market or use a food processor. Puerto Ricans are extremely fussy about the wrapping—it has to be perfect and watertight because pasteles are normally boiled. But I prefer to steam them.

For seven centuries, Moors and Christians fought one another in Spain, but in the guise of black beans and rice they surrendered to each other's charms within the all-embracing New World pot. Like the hybrid culture that flourished in medieval Spain, the rice dish known as moros y cristianos is an exemplar of exchange between civilizations. It is feast food in Cuba, where you'll find it in the western provinces. Considering that there is a Veracruzan version of this dish and that Cuba always imported black beans from Mexico, we are left in doubt as to which version came first. Regardless of its place of birth, it is one of the most felicitous rice and bean combinations I have ever tasted. The flavors of all the other ingredients are absorbed seamlessly by the rice, the vinegar providing point and counterpoint to the mealy beans, the aroma of cumin and oregano a subtle backdrop for the meaty smoked bacon, which in turn joins forces with the olive oil to add aroma and sheen to the rice. And then the color, a dark brown or hybrid of white and black.

This delicious combination provides a mouthful of contrasts—crispy savoury bacon and soft, melting sweet prunes—great served hot or cold. Substitute the prunes with dried apricots for an equally tasty alternative.

Diminutive and sweet hakurei turnips are in season and perfect for this dish; find them at farmers' markets.