Root Vegetable

You will find many ways to please your guests with this simple dish. The juicy, glazed onions are delicious as an hors d’oeuvre to be passed around, tossed in a salad, or served as a side dish with meats and fish. Here, I use balsamic vinegar to give the glazing syrup lots of flavor and a lovely caramel color, but you could use good wine vinegar as well. In which case, use just half the vinegar called for, and 1 teaspoon of honey. These onions are wonderful served warm from the pan or at room temperature and make a great house gift, packed in a nice jar with a label tied around the neck. They will keep in the refrigerator for a week or two and freeze well, too.

When I say the word “pesto” to people in America (or anywhere outside Italy), I know they are thinking of pesto alla Genovese, with its lush green color and intense perfume of fresh basil leaves. Indeed, though there are countless fresh sauces that are also termed “pesto” in Italian cuisine (see box, page 105), it seems that pasta with basil-and-pine-nut pesto is so well known that it might as well be the national Italian dish! Traditionally, long, flat trenette or shorter twisted trofie is the pasta used here, though even spaghetti is great with the pesto. For the most authentic flavor, use a sweet, small-leaved Genovese basil for the pesto—perhaps you can find it at a farmers’ market in summer, or grow it yourself. Large basil will be delicious, too. Of course, use the best extra-virgin olive oil available, in the pesto and on the pasta, preferably pressed from the marvelous taggiasca olives of Liguria.

This tangy, textured potato salad is much appreciated in Liguria, and it has become a favorite of mine. I like it best served warm—when the freshly cooked potatoes have just been tossed in the hot bacon-and-mustard dressing—though it is also delicious at room temperature, on a buffet or picnic table. As the name implies (and the slightly Nordic ingredients also suggest), this salad came to Liguria from somewhere else. Though I don’t know the precise origins, the Riviera Ligure has for centuries lured writers, composers, poets, and artists from other parts of Europe. Perhaps one of these creative types made this salad during a Ligurian sojourn. Certainly I have no objection that such a tasty dish, even if introduced by an outsider, took root in Liguria and became part of the regional cuisine.

Thick tuna steaks are not just for grilling. The stovetop technique here is quick and convenient. You use one big skillet for browning the fish steaks, make a simple (yet complex-tasting) sauce, and put the two together for a final brief braise that marries the flavors perfectly. This is the true alla Genovese method. If you prefer grilling to pan-cooking, however, you can certainly omit the first step of flouring and frying the steaks, and make the sauce separately. Use a smaller saucepan in this case, preparing the sauce as in the recipe, starting with the sauté of garlic, anchovies, and porcini in 2 tablespoons olive oil. (Use the other 3 tablespoons olive oil, and 1/2 teaspoon salt, to season the fish before grilling.) One advantage of a separate sauce is that it can be finished ahead of time, so when your guests arrive you only have to fire up the stove and cook the fish. And you’ll find it delicious with bass, codfish, or salmon as well as tuna. In fact, this sauce is so good, I suggest you have a good slab of focaccia to mop up the pan.

This soup exemplifies the Ligurian love of vegetables, which is one of the things I love most about that cuisine. It demonstrates that with vegetables alone—there’s no meat or meat stock in it—you can cook immensely flavorful and satisfying dishes. This is my re-creation of the heavenly vegetable soup served by my cousin Lidia Bosazzi when my parents took my brother Franco and me to Genova before we immigrated to America. With more kinds of vegetables than I could count—and that aroma of pungent garlic, which I have never forgotten—this is one of the most satisfying soups I know. More than most dishes, soups accommodate variation and improvisation, and, as usual, I encourage you to experiment with this recipe. You don’t need every vegetable in the exact amount listed for the zuppa—use what you have or like. And even the all-important garlic can be reduced (or increased) according to your family’s taste. A substitution or addition that I recommend, in fact, is to use all the aromatic onion-family members that come in springtime—fresh spring onions and spring garlic with green shoots, scallions, baby leeks. They make every soup better. At home I make this in large quantities, and that is how I share it with you. With all the work of washing and chopping vegetables, I like to have plenty of soup to enjoy right away and a couple of quarts in the freezer for a future meal. You can cut the recipe in half if you like, but I believe you go through your days feeling better when there’s a delicious soup stored at home, ready to be enjoyed and to sustain you.

A platter of baked stuffed vegetables is one of the everyday delights of the Genovese table, and I always sample a seasonal assortment when I visit the city. The array is never exactly the same, and this recipe is a guideline that you can (and should) vary according to your tastes and what’s available. I give you one delicious and easy bread stuffing, along with procedures for preparing and baking a few of the most typical vegetables used in Genova—bell peppers, mushrooms, sweet onions, tomatoes, and zucchini. Many others can be substituted and will be delicious with this stuffing, including beets, fennel, squash, and even carrots. Of course, you don’t have to have every one of the vegetables I recommend. Stuff just a couple of different veggies, or just pick one, such as stuffed and baked big mushrooms, if that’s what you like. Like other Ligurian vegetable dishes, ripieni all’Antica can be served piping hot, warm, or at room temperature; presented on individual plates, or family-style on large platters. They make a great appetizer, a side dish for grilled steak, lamb, or chicken, or a vegetarian main course. And when I have a few leftover vegetables, I heat them up in the morning and top them with a fried or poached egg, for a special breakfast.

Make this dish once and you will make it over and over. Everything about it is good. It requires only one big pan, and that one will contain a complete supper of meat, potatoes, and vegetable for at least eight and likely a dozen people. Best of all, everybody loves every bit that comes out of the pan. Socca, as this is called in Valle d’Aosta, is exactly what the English recipe name says: a big casserole with layers of sliced beef, sliced potatoes, and shredded cabbage (all nicely seasoned). It bakes for several hours, until all the layers are fork-tender, then it’s covered with a final layer of fontina, which bakes into an irresistibly crusty cheese topping. (Though it is unlikely you will have much left over, the dish will keep well for several days in the refrigerator; reheat it either on top of the stove or in the oven.) In Valle d’Aosta, the meat of choice in socca is beef or game; in my recipe, it’s a top-blade roast from the beef chuck (or shoulder). Since I am sure you will make this again, I suggest you try it with slices of pork shoulder (the butt roast) or lamb shoulder or lamb leg. These meats will be delicious in the casserole, too.

This venerable Lombard specialty belies its literal name. Pitocchi (taken from the Greek word for “poor”) were beggars who roamed the Padana lowlands during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries seeking sustenance; presumably a plain rice dish was what they got. Though simple to prepare, today’s riso alla pitocca is far from meager. Quite the contrary, it is rich in flavor from the pestata base and loaded with succulent chicken chunks.

These rolled-up scallops of beef (involtini di manzo) are fun to make, lovely to serve, and pleasing to eat, with the tangy surprise of a whole pickle (and other vegetable morsels) inside. They’re a practical choice for a special meal, too, since you can assemble and cook the involtini in advance, leave them in the pan, where they’ll stay moist, and reheat them when your guests are seated. And if you need more than six servings, the recipe can be multiplied easily. I like to serve these with Whole-Grain Spaetzle (page 16) to mop up the sauce.

Here’s another fine winter salad, pairing one of my favorite, underappreciated vegetables—celery root—with fresh apples. The mellow, tender cubes of cooked celery root and the crisp apple slices provide a delightful, unexpected combination of flavor and texture. To turn the salad into a light lunch, add a few slices of prosciutto and serve it with some crusty bread. A firm, crisp apple is what you want for salad, and fortunately there are many varieties in the market that have that essential crunch, with flavors ranging from sweet to tangy to tart. I like to use a few different apples, rather than just one type, for greater complexity of flavor and vivid color in the salad. In addition to the reliably crisp Granny Smith apple, I look for some of the old-time firm and tart apples, such as Gravenstein, Jonathan, and Rome, and a few newer strains, like Cameo, Gala, and Fuji.

Crunchy, flavorful, refreshing, nourishing, and colorful, this salad makes a fine meal by itself. Its assortment of vegetables, apples, nuts, and cheese should be fresh and well prepared. It is especially important to use a top-quality table cheese, because it is a major contributor of taste and texture. In Trentino–Alto Adige, this salad would always have a fresh local cheese, most likely an Asiago pressato, made with milk from farms in the province of Trento (and the neighboring Veneto region). Aged only 20 days, this young cheese has a sweetness and soft, chewy consistency that’s perfect in salad. If you can’t find genuine Italian Asiago, don’t buy the inferior cheeses called Asiago produced in other countries (including the United States). Choose instead Montasio—a favorite of mine from my home region, Friuli—similarly soft and sweet, though richer and more complex than Asiago. Cubes of fresh Grana Padano (which also is made in Trento) or even good American cheddar, younger and on the mild side, would be great here as well. You can dress this salad in advance and set it out on a buffet. In that case, though, I suggest you add the walnuts just before serving, so they remain crunchy.

This is a terrific salad for your repertoire, especially in winter, when vegetable choices are limited (though I like it any time of year). It is tasty and versatile, good as a side dish for grilled chicken, lamb chops, or pork chops, and substantial enough to be a meal in itself. It doesn’t wilt and is excellent for a buffet table or picnic. Best of all, you can make and dress it ahead of time—in fact, it gets better if you do.

These tasty canederli are fried and baked rather than poached, with a potato-cake crustiness that is delicious any time of day. Serve them with eggs for a special breakfast or brunch, with a salad for lunch, or with juicy meats, like the Roasted Chicken with Beer (page 17), or Beef Braised in Beer (page 19). And they are also good (though not crusty) if you poach them—follow the procedures for the preceding canederli di speck.

This is a different sort of frittata, not the neat golden round of well-set eggs that’s probably most familiar. Here the eggs are in the skillet for barely a minute, just long enough to gather in soft, loose folds, filled with morsels of asparagus and shreds of prosciutto. In fact, when I make this frittata or the “dragged” eggs—uova strapazzate, page 143—I leave my eggs still wet and glistening so I can mop up the plate with a crust of country bread. That’s the best part of all.

This is the definition of minimalist Thai cooking. The steam not only gently cooks the fish until just tender but also creates an instant, complex sauce from a handful of basic ingredients. Scoring the fish's flesh allows more of the flavor to season the fish and facilitates faster steaming. The fish is cooked on a plate that fits inside the steamer, to catch the juices.

Our fresh take on the classic Moroccan salad pairs shaved fennel and red onion with assorted beets and oranges for color contrast.

To save yourself some chopping, look for bags of mixed, pre-cut braising greens, available at some supermarkets. (Buy spinach separately for the gremolata.) Serve with warm bread for a filling main course.

This vegetarian take on a traditional Mexican red pozole—pozole being the name not only of a type of stew, often made with pork, but also of the large dried corn kernels (hominy) integral to the mixture—is rich and satisfying. The accompaniments are an essential and fun part of the dish, adding some fresh crunch to the toothsome bite of hominy, beans, and vegetables. It's the perfect meal to have waiting on the back of the stove for family and friends as they straggle in from near and far for a holiday weekend.

I stepped up on a cinder block to enter the open kitchen and realized then just how short the cook was; he flicked on the burner and the flame shot up as high as his chin. His broom closet-size kitchen swelled with heat and even with my average height, I towered over him awkwardly as he wielded the wok with beef and soy sauce. "You must play basketball!" he suggested. On his kitchen wall and out of reach of the blazing flame, plastic bags of spices hung from low-set rusty hooks, and his windowsill nearby lay scattered with tangerine peels set out to dry in the sun. Cooks in China are in the habit of keeping the peels of the tangerines they eat and spreading them out to dry in the sun for later use. Then they just rehydrate a few pieces whenever they want to add a nutty, slightly bitter note to a stir-fry or stew. Tangerine Beef is a Sichuan specialty and tall on flavor.

When I worked in Gray Kunz's kitchens at Lespinasse, there was an honest-to-God Swiss princess living at the St. Regis Hotel. Her name was Princess Doria, and every night, she would phone down to the kitchen and tell us what she wanted to eat for dinner. In the beginning, Gray would cook for her himself: he was Swiss, she was Swiss, it was a whole Swiss thing going on. But after a while, he got tired of taking her calls, and the job devolved to me and the sous chefs. Every night, that phone would ring, and I would say, "Good evening, Princess," and she would tell me what she wanted to eat that night. Princess Doria wasn't into super-fancy creative cooking: her thing was refined-but-homey. Some- times, for example, it would be a roast pintade for two: I would plate the breast for her, and the thighs for her cat. So I developed some dishes that were just for her. I named them after her: Salad Doria, Chicken Doria. And sometimes on cold winter nights, she would call down and say, "Andrew, I would like some Soup Doria tonight, please." Time passed. I left Lespinasse to travel and cook in France. When I got back to New York, I helped open Le Cirque 2000 in the Palace Hotel. We'd been up and running about two weeks when the kitchen phone rang by my station one night, right in the middle of the busiest part of service. I heard a familiar voice say, in French-accented tones, "Andrew?" Princess Doria on the line. She'd moved on to the Palace right behind me, and she would be pleased, she said, if I would send up some Soup Doria for her. This soup is just Princess Doria's style. It's really a potage—a French minestrone, a chunky winter vegetable soup. I like to sprinkle Parmesan cheese on top and serve it with some crusty, crunchy French bread.