Root Vegetable

When it comes to mashed potatoes, there is only one rule: Use more butter, cream, and salt than you think you need. The sweet flavor and creamy, moist texture of Yukon golds make them the perfect potatoes to mash. If you’re making mashed potatoes in advance, add a little extra milk to thin the consistency for reheating. Because Yukon golds have a thin, tender skin, we choose to skip the peeling and go straight to the eating. Honestly, we can eat bowls of these mashed potatoes on their own, but they pair well with pretty much any meatball.

With its rich and subtle flavor, veal is one of the traditional meats used in Italian meatballs. Here we layer it with Parmesan cheese, oregano, and aromatic vegetables. At the Shop we use veal breast, which is inexpensive and has a relatively high fat content. It is a bit more work to butcher and grind, but it’s worth the exceptional outcome. Ask your butcher in advance to bone the breast and grind it for you. Serve with Sauce Vierge (page 65) and Braised Green Beans (page 101).

Sometimes you just gotta take a break from hard-core carnivordom, and these are the way to go—just ask our staff, who eat them around the clock. These balls happen to be Mike’s favorite, too. You’ll often find us at the bar with a big bowl, topped with Classic Tomato Sauce (page 56) or Spinach-Basil Pesto (page 58) and a side of steamed or sautéed spinach. And when it comes to kids, this is a great and tasty way to sneak in more veggies.

The Yiddish word gefilte means “filled” or “stuffed,” and originally gefilte fish was fish skins stuffed with a white fish mousse, similar to a French quenelle. Eventually the fish skins were eliminated and just the stuffing was kept, more user-friendly for the home cook, and the skins, if there were any, became part of the broth. Once freed from being stuffed into something, the filling was shaped into oval dumplings and poached without benefit of wrapping. What is important for authenticity, and for the best flavor, is to brew your own fish broth with white fish bones (not salmon or shrimp), which is ready in only 30 minutes. Why take the trouble at all? Well, some dishes are revered for their status as iconic ritual that affirms and carries forth the culture, and making them from scratch both reinforces that role and binds the community of which they are part. Out-of-the-jar gefilte fish just isn’t the same. It is a must-have dish on the Seder table, and beyond that, it is delicious for any occasion that calls for a light first course. Gefilte fish is traditionally made with freshwater fish, but if none is available, any saltwater fish with firm, white flesh will do. Horseradish root is part of the Seder plate of symbolic foods that signify various stages of the Jews’ flight from Egypt. Finely grated, and sometimes colored a fiery red with the addition of shredded beets, the horseradish condiment is both the customary and perfect accompaniment to gefilte fish.

Before the era of widespread refrigeration, most of the commercial salmon catch was smoked or canned so it could be stored until the next season. And there was plenty to can in those days, because the salmon population was not threatened by overfishing or pollution of their habitat. As a result, canned salmon became a fixture on grocery store shelves and in home pantries across the United States, and the salmon croquette became a specialty of American cooking. I recall my mother opening a can of salmon for a quick dinner, mixing it with egg, bread crumbs, and some seasonings, patting the mixture into cakes, and sautéing them until golden on both sides. These days, it is not difficult to procure fresh salmon, and that is what I prefer for my croquettes, though always shopping with sustainability of the fish in mind. The price difference between canned and fresh is unexpectedly small, and it takes but a few minutes to cook salmon steaks or fillets—in the oven or in the microwave—for the croquettes. The payoff is, as is generally true, the taste difference: fresh is the best. The croquettes make a pretty focus for a brunch or light dinner menu, as here, or serve them as an unusual side dish for breakfast with eggs cooked any style.

Shepherd’s pie is a signature dish in the pubs of England and Ireland, sometimes made with lamb, as here, and sometimes with beef, in which case it is called cottage pie. The idea is the same: a simple meat pie made with a mirepoix—onion, carrot, celery—under a top crust of mashed potatoes. There’s no cheese in the mashed potatoes, but when the pie is baked, the crust is somehow enriched through the alchemy of cooking and tastes as though there were. Shepherd’s pie is usually made with leftover cooked lamb. Swapping that for quick and easy homemade lamb sausage is my revisionism, to give the humble pie a fresh and lively taste. Also, to gussy it up, I use tiny pearl onions so the onion element has a more defined presence in the pie. The horseradish is also my whim, to give the dish an acrid lilt that helps lift it above what might otherwise be humdrum fare. Fresh horseradish root is often available in produce stores and supermarkets around Passover for Jewish customers; wasabi root, though not exactly the same botanically, is similar and it is available around the New Year for Japanese customers. Like fresh ginger, horseradish root can be stored in the refrigerator almost indefinitely, as long as it is kept dry.

My love of rice paper began in childhood with candies that came packaged in colorful boxes, mostly pinkish and with children pictured gleefully jumping. Inside were gummy candies, chewable like jujubes, only softer. The fun part was unwrapping the outer paper and getting to the inside wrapping. At first it seemed like another layer of paper, a bit stiff like cellophane. But then you would pop the candy into your mouth and let the wrapping hydrate until soft enough to chew. I always found it a thrill “eating” my way from seemingly inedible paper to edible candy. So it is with rice paper wrappers for Vietnamese spring rolls” What seems at first glance a large plastic disk not for consumption, with hydration becomes supple enough to enfold all manner of comestibles.

Partially cooking the potato and chilling it before grating serves two purposes: the potato gets thoroughly cooked within the sausage mix, which it won’t if it is added raw, and the sausage doesn’t turn out soft and mushy, which it will if the potato is cooked and mashed first. I prefer to get a jump start on this dish by preparing the potato a day ahead and chilling it overnight. But if you’re in a rush, several hours will do the trick, in which case, use the freezer to hasten the chilling. Rather than the standard Swedish accompaniment of mashed potatoes, I serve the sausage with a side of colorful, almost candylike roasted beets topped with sour cream.

Omelet, frittata, egg tortilla—all are different words for essentially the same thing: eggs mixed with vegetable and/or meat bits and cooked into a cake or pancakelike round. The advantage of this version is that it follows the Spanish or Italian custom of baking the assembled dish. That means no intimidating calisthenics to flip the cake to cook the second side. I serve this informal dish in its cooking skillet, but it’s also easy to lift it out onto a platter.

Contrary to what you might think, making a fine vegetable broth is not a matter of tossing any vegetable matter into a pot and boiling it up. The vegetables you start with need not be picture perfect, but starchy vegetables, such as potatoes, should not be part of the mix or the broth will turn out murky, and brassicas, like cabbage and broccoli, are also not good to use or the broth will not be clear tasting. Then, don’t stint on the amount of vegetables for the amount of broth you would like to wind up with. One tomato and one chard leaf do not a tasty broth make. There should be enough water so that the vegetables barely float, but not any more. Cook the broth until the vegetables are very soft but not disintegrating; this helps make a clear broth. Following is a mix and method I use to make a good-size batch of vegetable broth that is rich enough to serve on its own as a bouillon or use as a base for any soup.

Season: winter. Onions are one of the most versatile ingredients in the culinary world, but they are not often given the chance to be the star of their own show. A recipe like this puts that right. Long, slow cooking turns a panful of red, white, or yellow onions into a fantastic rich sauce-cum-jam that’s brilliant served with sausages and mashed potatoes, and a heap of other dishes too. Try it with cheese on toast or with cold meat in sandwiches, or stir a spoonful into a creamy pumpkin soup.

Season: September to November: A good pickled onion is perhaps the doyen of the preserves cupboard–but how do you like yours? Crisp or soft, sweet or sour, mildly spiced or chile hot? The beauty of this recipe is that it can be used to make your onions (or shallots) just the way you like them. I like mine sweet, so I use honey in this recipe, but you could dispense with honey or sugar altogether if you like a really sharp pickle. I also go for cider vinegar, rather than the more traditional malt, because the flavor is less aggressive. The blend of spices used here suits me nicely, but you could also use coriander, cumin, or celery seeds–or any other spice you fancy. If you want crisp onions, use cold vinegar; if you like them soft, heat the vinegar first.

Season: July to September. This is a wonderful way to use up an abundance of cucumbers, be they long and uniform green, or the short, knobbly-skinned type. It’s also very quick and easy to make if you use a food processor. This is not a true preserve, as the cucumbers are not brined and the pickle is very light, but it will keep well in the fridge for a couple of weeks in a sealed container. I love this sweet condiment with all manner of salads and in sandwiches, but it’s especially delectable with hot-smoked trout or salmon.

Season: June to early July. Tall, willowy, feathered sweet Florence fennel, with its creamy-white, bulbous bottom, has to be one of the most alluring vegetables to grow in the garden. It’s not easy to cultivate in every soil, but if it likes your particular situation, you should be able to grow plenty to use with gay abandon in the summertime, with some left over to preserve for later in the year. It’s only really worth making this pickle if you have a supply of freshly harvested bulbs when they are pale green and tender. All too often, the imported stuff is yellow and coarse. You have to discard much of the outer bulb, and it certainly isn’t worth the expense or trouble of pickling. This lovely light pickle is delicious with smoked or oily fish and in winter salads. It nearly always makes an appearance at our Boxing Day lunch.

Season: May to August. Garlic is the strongest-tasting member of the Allium family, and the moodiest too. It can change character considerably depending on how it is treated. Left whole and cooked slowly, it is gentle and soft. Chopped up, it will release a little more of its pungent aroma, while crushed to a paste it attains the strong, sometimes bitter flavor that makes it notorious. When pickled, it remains crisp to the bite, but the flavor becomes really quite mellow – you can eat the cloves straight from the jar. I like to slice the pickled garlic cloves finely and scatter them over salads, serve them whole as antipasti, or nestle lots of them around a slowly roasting joint of lamb. Garlic grows well – not just in the vegetable patch, but also in containers, tubs, and even flower borders, where it can help ward off aphids. New season’s bulbs, with their soft white or purplish pink skins, are mild and sweet – and much better for pickling than older, drier-skinned garlic, which can be bitter.

These are like tiny inside-out carrot cakes, with the signature cream cheese frosting on the inside and spiced “cake” on the outside.

This classic ingredient comes in handy. Double or triple the recipe and keep some in the fridge at all times for seasonin’ bread, sauce, or your best friend.

We’ve rolled two New Orleans classic pies into one to make a rich, deep, and satisfying dessert. It’s a real restaurant favorite that has been known to make visitors from the South go wild.

A few years back, we were closed on Sunday. People kept turnin’ up anyway, so we gave in and opened with a limited menu. We created this soup just for that day. It has a good Sunday vibe.

This has been the Dinosaur’s Wednesday soup special for as long as I can remember. It’s a good, hearty soup that’s perfect for places like Syracuse and Rochester, New York, that are blessed with six months of winter a year—not that folks stop eating Corn & Potato Chowder in the summer. Made with fresh corn, just picked and cut from the cob, this soup takes on a real summer attitude. Best of all, you can make it in less than half an hour any time of the year.