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These are the sleeper hit at the shop and star in our Chicken Parm slider. Guests are always surprised by the moistness and rich taste of these balls, and the secret is ground thigh meat. Chicken thighs are packed with flavor and are a better choice than the usual dry breast meat. Try these balls with Spinach-Basil Pesto (page 58) or Parmesan Cream Sauce (page 60). You can substitute ground turkey if you can’t find ground chicken.

When a prominent bourbon company called and asked if we would develop a meatball for them, we were all over it—we had wanted to run a BBQ meatball on the menu since the Shop opened. All that was needed was a Lower East Side (L.E.S.) barbecue sauce, which, when mixed with some sautéed onions and freshly ground pork, became the official recipe for the Shop’s BBQ balls. So the next time you want some quick ’cue, instead of slaving over the grill, you can prepare these balls ahead and spend some QT with your guests.

When we think of sun-drenched Greece, we think of olives, feta cheese, preserved lemons, and oregano. These salty, tangy, and fragrant ingredients instantly transport us to the Mediterranean islands. These meatballs capture the essence of Greek flavors and roll it all up into a meatball. You can buy preserved lemons, but our quickie recipe below is a no-brainer. Serve with a big ladleful of Classic Tomato Sauce (page 56).

Here they are—the top sellers at the Shop and sure to be a big hit at home. Most traditional meatball recipes call for Parmesan or pecorino cheese. While we’re big fans of these stronger cheeses, we prefer ricotta. It’s our secret weapon. The mild and creamy consistency of this fresh cheese gives the meatballs a unique, light texture. Beef has a subtle flavor, and the ricotta is a great way to add fat and moisture to the recipe without the overpowering flavor of a sharper cheese. These are quick to prep, and baking rather than frying makes this a fast comfort food even during the busiest of weeks.

Both classic and inventive, these balls were one of the first meatball “specials” we served at the Shop, and they remain incredibly popular. While traditional Bologna-style meatballs call for braising in tomatoes and heavy cream, our version uses ground beef, with the tomatoes and cream added to the actual meatball. This makes for one mean spaghetti and meatballs.

Not so big, not so easy, but delicious nonetheless! These mini balls deliver the spirit and soul of one of the greatest food cities in the world—New Orleans. Down there, they make jambalaya a hundred different ways, and after a trip to Jazz Fest, we decided to try our hands at a NOLA-inspired ball. The results of our improv definitely sing—with all the essential Creole notes that surround the pork, chicken, sausage, and shrimp. While these balls are great solo, they also pair well with Classic Tomato Sauce (page 56).

Once veg burger and veg ball are in the sausage lexicon, why not include another offbeat member? In the spirit of having fun stepping outside the box, and for the love of my vegetarian son, Jenan, here is a cabbage leaf–wrapped brown rice, walnut, and dandelion green mix that simulates sausage without the meat. Dandelion greens are the surprise. No matter how young and tender you pick them, they retain a decidedly bitter pucker. But tucked into the brown rice, they cease to affront and instead demur to lending their healthful, herbal kick to the dish. The made-on-the-spur-of-the-moment tomato-caper sauce adds the acid element that brings it all together.

Quinoa (keen-wah), though not a cereal grain because it is not a grass plant, is nonetheless a life-sustaining grain native to the Andes Mountains in what is now Peru, Chile, and Bolivia. Although it was a staple food of the Inca, who peopled those high places, somewhere along the way it got shuffled aside for wheat and rice, grain imports from the Old World, and for corn, the New World’s other great grain. There it remained, in the shadows of time, until recently, when health aficionados rediscovered its food value and deliciousness. Quinoa’s nutrition is unique among the grains of the world. Within each tiny, almost miniscule bit of it, there is complete protein. When cooked, the grains puff up four times their size into a pillowy mass that resembles the cells in a beehive, with each compartment distinct. That means quinoa serves up not only plenty of nutrition but also enough bulk to make a filling meal. Together with tofu, their nutrition pedigree becomes double blue ribbon.

You might not think so, but butter is as important to the cooking of much of India, Africa, the Middle East, and all the way north to the Caucasus as it is to French, Swiss, or Scandinavian cooking. So it’s not too surprising to see it surface as a main ingredient in the broth for this traditional Armenian vegetarian bulgur dish. The red bell pepper and paprika tint the bulgur balls a Titian red, while the mustard and butter add a soft yellow hue to the broth. If there are any leftover balls and broth, chill them together thoroughly, until the broth is thickened to a cheeselike consistency. Then press them together and form the mixture into balls. Drizzle with fruity extra virgin olive and serve with crackers or bread.

Delicate and unusual, shrimp and pancetta combined into a sausage is an example of the delightful ways in which seafood and pork can glamorize each other, here in ravioli made easy to execute using store-bought wonton wrappers for the pasta. Edamame (fresh soybeans) and fava beans (broad beans), both Old World beans, can be used interchangeably in this recipe. Both are almost meaty and bright green, and provide similar vivid leguminous presence in dishes that employ them. However, practically speaking, edamame have the advantage because they are available already shelled in supermarket freezer sections in all seasons. Favas, in contrast, are mainly spring to early summer and fall fare, and they are a chore to prepare, requiring first shelling and then peeling each bean after immersing in boiling water for 1 or 2 minutes to loosen the bitter-tasting skins. (A side note: if you are using fava beans and purchasing them at a farmers’ market, you can probably also pick up some fava leaves. As our vegetable horizons expand more and more, they have become available and are quite tasty as a green for a soup such as this one or tossed into a salad.) Shrimp and pancetta sausage can also be made into small balls and dropped into a chicken or vegetable broth for a substantial appetizer or light first course. Or, you can use it to top small cooked and halved artichokes, then generously sprinkle the sausage with bread crumbs and briefly cook the sausage and brown the crumbs in a hot oven or under a broiler.

Subtle, calming, and healthful, this clear soup is a home remedy for alleviating stress. The ginger subdues nausea, aids digestion, and stimulates circulation; the fish balls provide protein to relieve hunger; and the mushrooms and spinach enliven the broth to make the remedy more than palatable, indeed desirable. How simple. How soothing. The spinach roots add an elusive textural dimension to the broth. Not exactly crunchable, they are nonetheless more chewable than spinach leaves. They are available at the bottom of ordinary bunch spinach sold with roots attached. Cut them off to use in the soup and save the leaves for another dish.

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.

The journey of French rémoulade sauce, a classic mustardy mayonnaise with herbs, capers, and gherkins, across the Atlantic Ocean to Acadia (now eastern Quebec), the Maritime provinces, parts of New England, and eventually on to the American South is a culinary story worth telling. In the early 1600s, the first French arrived in Acadia and took up a life of farming crops and raising livestock. A century and a half later, many descendants of those early Acadians were forced from their northern homes by the British, eventually winding up in South Carolina, Georgia, and Louisiana. Those who settled in Louisiana soon came to be called Cajuns, as did their language, a lilting patois unique to the area but universally understood in their joyous music. And rémoulade? Unfortunately, there is no accessible literature that describes how the sauce was interpreted on Acadian tables. However, as it wended its way to Louisiana, via the American Northeast and the French Indies, it underwent a gastronomic evolution, becoming more spirited with additions of minced bell pepper and celery, tomato paste, sometimes Worcestershire sauce, horseradish, and especially Louisiana’s own feisty Tabasco sauce. Here is my interpretation of that well-traveled sauce, now a Cajun rémoulade, served on a New Orleans plate with crab cakes and Creole sausage.

Duck was frequently on my menu when I was chef in the earliest days at what was to become the internationally acclaimed Chez Panisse Restaurant in Berkeley, California. I purchased the ducks whole, with heads and feet still on, in San Francisco’s Chinatown. It was always a chore to find a place to park, but I was intent on fresh-is-best even back then, plus the people and markets provided a wonderful ethnographic adventure close to home. Searching for something to do with the many necks left from cutting up the ducks, I created this duck sausage using the necks as casing. I made a broth from the bones and other trimmed bits and braised the sausages in it. Serendipity! The lengthy braising softens the skin casing almost to butter, moistening the sausages as they cook and producing a rich sauce for dressing the sausages when they are served. For this book, I have adapted the recipe to call for whole duck legs (drumstick and thigh combinations): easier to get and equally fabulous.

Cod, as food historian Mark Kurlansky convincingly purports in his fascinating exegesis on its commercial history, is “the fish that changed the world.” Evidence exists that commerce in cod was founded in the tenth century by seafaring Vikings who, seeking new fishing grounds when their homeland supply was depleted for the season, came upon Newfoundland and its cod bounty, establishing a trade route between the Old World and what was called the New World. In time, cod commerce gave rise to emigration and engendered settlements, eventually towns, along the northern Atlantic seaboard. Naturally, the first settlers in that harsh environment created food based on what was available: cod. Although much of it was preserved with salt to use at home and to ship across the Atlantic to the waiting market there, some was used fresh, especially in chowder. In this version, the cod is fashioned into a sausagelike mixture and formed into balls, which are joined in the soup pot by another popular local catch, shrimp. Northeast fishermen harvest the pink, intensely flavored Northern shrimp, also known as Maine shrimp, which are available only from winter through early spring. But almost any medium shrimp can substitute, as long as they are from North American waters.

Portugal lies on the Iberian Peninsula between the Atlantic Ocean and Spain, and many of its culinary inspirations pull from both those places. In the province of Alentejo in southern Portugal, a combination of pork and clams expresses the inherent poetry of this duality. Ruddy with paprika, fragrant with garlic, and redolent of salt air, it is an exotic, compelling dish in which land meets sea in a bowl. The Portuguese are so fond of it that it is exported with them anywhere they settle, including New Bedford, Massachusetts, where it is served with corn on the cob. The dish is traditionally made with pork meat, cubed, spiced, and marinated overnight. I have simplified the recipe by using chorizo for the pork. It provides the same spiciness and color while eliminating a lengthy step.

Paella is one of the great composed rice dishes of the world. Many regions in Spain boast of serving the “finest” rendition, but Valencia, its original home, claims the blue ribbon. Many tourist guides acquiesce. Located close by the sea, the city provides its cooks with a daily supply of fresh seafood. Squid, which blackens the rice with its ink, and mussels are abundant and have become key elements in paella valenciana, along with snails and green beans. That repertoire has been expanded to include a selection of chicken or rabbit pieces; small sausages; other shellfish, such as shrimp, crayfish, or cockles; and other vegetables, such as red bell pepper or artichoke, though not all at once. I like to use shrimp in the shell, but if you don’t think your guests will want to peel their own shrimp, you can cook them as directed, then peel them before returning them to the pan. Paella is traditionally cooked over a charcoal fire in a large, wide, two-handled shallow pan called a paellera. As is common in many Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cultures in which dishes, such as shish kebab and gyros, are cooked over an open fire, the paella cooks are traditionally men because the men own fire. Nowadays, the paellera is more often used indoors, and women as well as men cook the dish. It is always a festive offering, worthy of a get-together of any size, indoors or out. No matter who is cooking, the key to a successful paella is the rice. It must be Spanish or Italian short grain.

Adding panache to everyday ground turkey is a bit of a challenge. Here, pistachios, orange zest, and a creamy chèvre sauce step up to the plate and bring the balls home on the first run. Serve the sausage balls with the sauce for dipping as hors d’oeuvres with cocktails. Or, cook up spaghettini, set the sausage balls on top, and nap with the sauce. The chèvre sauce can also be used to blanket sautéed chicken breasts, or to drizzle, cooled, over fresh pear slices for dessert, accompanied with a crisp, not-too-dry Gewürztraminer or Riesling.

A ballotine is a boneless cut of any meat, fowl, or fish, stuffed and wrapped into a bundle and braised. It is like a miniature galantine, except that a galantine is a more elaborate preparation involving the whole beast, or like a roulade, which is a simpler preparation of a piece of meat pounded thin and wrapped around something. All are a form of sausage, and the stuffing can be almost anything edible. Here, the wrap is chicken breast and the something is ham sausage. You might think of it as a sausage with a sausage filling. Fancy though it might sound, its preparation is not difficult, and the outcome is decidedly elegant. Because this is a dish where the chicken takes a lead roll, it is important to have the best-tasting chicken available: organic and with a fatty skin still on the breast. It’s the skin that makes the sausage unctuous. The cheesecloth wrap ensures that the breast remains moist throughout as it braises. I serve the ballotine warm for a main dish with the braising liquid reduced to a sauce. I also serve it chilled as an appetizer. To serve chilled, refrigerate the ballotine overnight still wrapped in cheesecloth. The next day, remove the wrap, slice thinly, and arrange on a platter. Accompany with cornichons, Dijon mustard, and baguette slices.

I first tasted this delight of Asian cooking in 1971, at The Mandarin, Cecilia Chiang’s celebrated fine-dining restaurant in San Francisco’s Ghirardelli Square. It was made with squab, rather than the more standard chicken. At the time, it was an anomaly, and an eye-opener to me about a rich and varied pan-Asian fare that I was just beginning to encounter. Since then, culinary relatives of that Chinese classic have become looked-for menu choices in the Thai, Lao, and Vietnamese restaurants that pepper American neighborhoods. The Southeast Asian versions, called laab, laap, larb, or larp, depending on who’s doing the translating, are basically refreshing sausage salads, sometimes made with pork, suitable for an appetizer or a meal, depending on how you want to serve them. They’re a cinch to make at home. Ground chicken works fine if you are not inclined to mince the meat with a chef’s knife. The advantage of the latter is that the sausage has a more defined texture. The roasted rice powder is an almost-secret treasure of Southeast Asian cuisine. It keeps its fragrance and savor for weeks, waiting in the cupboard for when you would like a dash of something different, subtle and nutty, on top of almost anything.