Cookbooks

Most Dijon mustard that is shipped to North America from France is made with seeds from Saskatchewan, Canada. Hence, it makes sense that we make our own mustard. Feel free to experiment with the types of vinegar and flavorings (tarragon, horseradish, dill).

This is our infamous rib sauce.

This is part of our mise en place at the restaurant. We mix it with mayonnaise (page 175), serve it straight up with potatoes or fish, or use it to punch up sauces, soups, stews, or anything raw like tartare. Do not use woodsy herbs like rosemary, thyme, or sage in this purée, and be sure to wash all of your herbs well.

This is a staple in pretty much every professional kitchen, and with this easy method, it could be in yours, too. We like to eat the crudités with our Zesty Italian Tartare (page 245).

We use this for our Scallops with Pulled Pork (page 30) recipe.

We made this dish because we like the “potato” de gallo idea. (In fact, you can make only the rub and eat it on almost anything, especially eggs.) Make certain that the potatoes are tiny and crisp, so you get that salt-and-vinegar potato chip taste.

A classic mayo.

Our favorite sauce is made from chicken skin. It is a delicious gravy that we use for a lot of dishes at Joe Beef—more than we would like to admit. It’s like an extraction of the deliciousness of crispy chicken skin. Ask your butcher for the chicken skin. More skinless chickens are sold out there than skin-on birds, so the skins must be somewhere other than at a schmaltz factory. Serve this on its own or as a sauce on guinea hens or other poultry.

Dear World, We’re sorry food has come to this. Like Richard Pryor said, more or less, the double down is God’s way of telling you that you have too much money. But it’s also really delicious.

This red sauce is a steroid ingredient that we use to pump up wimpy dishes like gnocchi or in chicken gravy for a quick sauce chasseur. Most of our sauces are done this way, baked in a good French enameled cast-iron pot. We’re not too fussy about the type of tomatoes we use, just canned and whole; San Marzano will do. If you cannot obtain pig skin from your butcher, then a pig’s trotter, halved lengthwise, works, too. You could also add Smoked Baby Back Ribs (page 153) to the sauce before serving it with the gnocchi.

This recipe is a perfect illustration of the Big Mac Theory: It hits everywhere at the same time, it tastes perfect, and it’s so rich but you barely notice it. It’s a bit weird, a bit trashy, and very tasty. Awesome.

Pier Luc Dallaire has worked for us for five years (and counting) as a cook, busboy, bartender, oyster shucker, and now, a real French waiter! His dad, Bertrand, was a kindred soul gardener, and his mom, Huguette, made these killer doughnuts. They rise with baking powder, not yeast. And you will often find them at weekend country flea markets. The Isle-aux-Grues cheese (page 276) is a great Quebec product that we couldn’t resist smoking. Together they sing.

This is Fred’s mom, Suzanne’s, recipe. It is an old Belgian Walloon standard—a quick and tasty pickle that is good with pork roast and sausages. You can also mix the “brine” with nut oil as a dressing for beets. And use it to give a welcome buzz to a bland wine sauce: just a drop or two. This pickling solution works well with almost any stone fruit. The amount of liquid you need will vary according to the stone fruit(s) you use. Here, the amount has been geared to 1 pound (455 g) cherries and/or Italian plums. You may need to adjust it if you use other stone fruits. Because we are deathly afraid of preserves gone wrong (from watching an old episode of Quincy, M.E., where the culprit was botulism), we suggest using superclean plastic containers and always refrigerating the preserves.

The spice and heat in this jam make it more at ease with meats and cheese than toast. As for the Babylon term, it’s simply in relation to the avid devotion that the world’s kitchen has for reggae music!

You know those cheap dinner rolls you eat at your grandma’s house on Sunday nights? The supersoft, semiattached kind you buy in plastic bags? These are those dinner rolls. The base of the recipe is mashed potato, so it’s important to start this recipe as soon as you’ve just finished making mashed potatoes. These are perfect to serve with a pulled pork sandwich or on porchetta.

Porchetta is something you want to eat lukewarm: work on it in the morning, cook it in the afternoon, take it out, and eat it an hour or so later. We’re aware that a traditional porchetta is a whole stuffed pig; this is our version and has little affiliation with the Italian classic. Because you wrap the pork belly around the shoulder, you need a pretty skinny piece of Boston butt. We buy a 5-pound (2.3-kg) shoulder, slice it lengthwise, and use half (freeze the other half for another time). This recipe may look labor-intensive, but it won’t be, especially if you get your butcher to do all of the trimming for you.

When Fred travels, the first place he always goes is to a grocery store. Forget the idyllic markets and the virile butchers; he has this immense fascination with supermarkets. Nothing compares to landing in Paris at 9:00 A.M. and heading to the loaded yogurt aisle of a Monoprix. He feels the same when he’s visiting western Canada, checking out the sausage sections. Far from artisanal anything, we’re sure, but the array is crazy: midget baloney, cotton-sack summer sausage, skinless Mennonite, headcheese, jerky of all kinds, and on and on. It’s a fun challenge to take an old commercial sausage and just make it honest again: good meats and real smoke. This one we made with Emma, who was chef de cuisine at Liverpool House at the time. We suggest the use of muslin bags for this sausage in particular. You might find them online, or, as a proper Joe Beefer, you can sew them yourself (see Note). The penetration of smoke is much better and you don’t need a stuffer. You just do it by hand.

The best fries are done with potatoes that have never seen the cold. It has something to do with starch converting to sugar at certain temperatures. If you’re interested in the specifics, check out Harold McGee’s On Food and Cooking: The Science and Lore of the Kitchen. At the restaurant, we use a russet potato from the Île d’Orléans in the Saint Lawrence River (which Cartier originally named the Isle of Bacchus because of the native vines that covered the landscape), but you can use anything similar. This recipe really is made to work with a deep fryer. If you don’t have a small one at home, a 5-quart (5-liter) thick-bottomed, highsided pot and a deep-frying thermometer will work. We use half canola oil and half beef fat, which always makes better fries the second day. If you can get your hands on rendered beef leaf fat (the fat from around the kidneys), definitely use that. If this is all too much, you can use peanut oil. We don’t, as we can’t piss off both the vegetarians and the allergics. A few years back we started tossing our fries in escargot butter (its name comes from its use, not its contents; it’s basically garlic butter) and now we can’t stop. We also like to add a little grated pecorino as we toss.

Our use of ribs extends beyond a plate of ribs. We use them in gnocchi and in potato soup, and we will cut them into three, remove the bones, and make a McKiernan ribs sandwich. As lard was a staple at the turn of the century, so are ribs at Joe Beef. We provide two ways of cooking: roasting and smoking. Serve with Good Fries (page 154).