Asparagus comes in three colors: green, purple, and white. The green and purple varieties taste very much the same and the purple, when cooked, turns dark green. White asparagus, which doesn’t turn green because it is grown protected from the sun, is much more rare and expensive, and it has a milder flavor. Asparagus is best when the tips (the blossom ends) are tightly closed, and its flavor is sweetest when freshly harvested. Look for smooth-skinned, brightly colored spears with fresh (not dried-out looking) cut ends and compact tips. To prepare asparagus, grasp each spear and bend it until it snaps. The spear will break at the natural point where it becomes tender. I prefer fat asparagus stalks to thin ones because once they are peeled they are sweeter and less grassy-tasting than the skinny ones. The trick is to use a peeler that removes paper-thin layers of skin, exposing pale green flesh, not white. This is unnecessary if the spears are quite thin, or if they are going to be cut into small pieces. Start about 1 inch below the blossom tip and peel down along the spear towards the cut end.
Turn humble onions into this thrifty yet luxe pasta dinner.
This pasta has some really big energy about it. It’s so extra, it’s the type of thing you should be eating in your bikini while drinking a magnum of rosé, not in Hebden Bridge (or wherever you live), but on a beach on Mykonos.
Caramelized onions, melty Gruyère, and a deeply savory broth deliver the kind of comfort that doesn’t need improving.
This is what I call a fridge-eater recipe. The key here is getting a nice sear on the sausage and cooking the tomato down until it coats the sausage and vegetables well.
This classic 15-minute sauce is your secret weapon for homemade mac and cheese, chowder, lasagna, and more.
A dash of cocoa powder adds depth and richness to the broth of this easy turkey chili.
This is the type of soup that, at first glance, might seem a little…unexciting. But you’re underestimating the power of mushrooms, which do the heavy lifting.
I should address the awkward truth that I don’t use butter here but cream instead. You could, if you’re a stickler for tradition (and not a heretic like me), add a big slab of butter to the finished curry.