Cookbooks

Here are the two starters I use most frequently in this book and in my restaurants. Tiga is my slightly more hydrated version of a classic biga starter, which is usually between 50 and 60 percent water. This "Tony's biga," which I call "Tiga," has 70 percent hydration. My poolish follows the traditional proportions of equal parts water and flour, so its hydration is much higher at 100 percent. In general, unless I specify otherwise, use the same flour in your starter that you will be using in your dough. I always make starters with cold water to slow down the fermentation process for greater flavor complexity. It's helpful to use a clear glass bowl so you can see how well your starter is fermenting.

When my wife, Julie, and I got married, we knew there was only one place to go for our honeymoon: Italy. I was excited to take her to Gombitelli, the tiny town in the mountains near Lucca where my dad's side of the family came from. My great-grandparents, Angelo and Olimpia Gemignani, had left Gombitelli for America at the turn of the last century, and my Grandpa Frank was born right after they got off the boat. We meandered through the Tuscan countryside, following increasingly sketchy gravel roads and finally ending up on a narrow donkey trail that wound up the side of a steep mountain. I remembered this road from a visit I'd made seven years earlier. Since then, it seemed to have eroded and gotten even narrower. It was barely wide enough for a car, with a sheer drop along one side and, naturally, no guardrail. We came to a dead end, the front of the car facing a deep ravine, and an old man came out of his house, waving violently and screaming at us in Italian. I rolled down the window and said "Gemignani?" His expression changed from rage to joy as he motioned to follow him and raced off, back down the road, yelling "Gemignani! Gemignani!" I made the most terrifying U-turn of my life and followed him. The minute I saw the little house and farm, I had the same overwhelming feeling I'd had the first time I'd been there. It was like stepping into my grandpa's farm in California. Although he'd never even been to Italy, he had the blood of a Tuscan contadino—and there in front of me was his backyard in every detail: the same flowers, the lemon tree, the dogwood, the fava beans, the big wine jugs wrapped in straw, the rusty tools scattered around. That California farm and my grandpa are long gone, but in that moment, I was home again. My cousins had decided there was one thing they absolutely had to serve us for our welcome meal: pizza, of course. And this is the one they made. It was quite thin, almost like a toasted flatbread, and I've replicated that in this recipe by rolling the dough out and docking it, so you get a light, crisp crust that's just right with the gutsy puttanesca-style combination of crushed tomatoes, olives, garlic, and anchovies.

In 2013, I was a judge at a big pizza competition in Paris. In two days, I tasted seventy-three pizzas, most of them too rich and fussy for my taste. Let's just say that almost every entry featured smoked fish, foie gras, gold leaf, or edible flowers. But one extravagant ingredient that I thought really did work was truffles, and that inspired me to come up with this pizza that makes the most of truffle paste, wild mushrooms, and two of my favorite French cheeses: nutty Comté and triple-cream Saint André. If you like, you can top the fully baked pizza with paper-thin slices of prosciutto or speck. And if you can get your hands on a fresh truffle, shave it on top right at the table. That's the kind of simple, earthy luxury I can really get behind.

In 2006, I packed up my gear and traveled to the Mall of America for the Food Network Pizza Champions Challenge. Over the course of a very grueling day, we competed for three Guinness World Records in front of a big audience and a panel of famous judges. I won two of the world-record rounds: Biggest Pizza Continuously Spinning for Two Minutes, and Most Consecutive Rolls Across the Shoulders in 30 Seconds. By comparison, round three, the cooking challenge, felt as easy as pie. Four of us gathered at our stations to get our marching orders: create a gourmet pizza in ten minutes using none of the top ten toppings—no pepperoni, no sausage, you get the idea. So, my instinct was to combine two of my favorite pizza worlds, California and Italy. I grabbed five totally traditional Italian ingredients: prosciutto, fig jam, Gorgonzola, Asiago, and balsamic vinegar. They're classic, but the thing is, you'd never find them on a pizza in Italy, at least not all together. But to us "why not?" Californians, the combination makes perfect sense as a pizza topping, and it made sense to the judges, too.

This popular Thai dish has been cooked regularly in our kitchen ever since we first tried it in Bangkok. The first time we made it at home, we stayed true to the original recipe by stir-frying rice noodles in a sweet and a slightly spicy sauce, but through the years, it has slowly transformed into something new. Instead of stir-frying rice noodles, we now simply peel a daikon radish (courgette/zucchini also works fine) into thin strips that we toss with carrot strands, tofu and fresh herbs and cover with a peanut butter and lime dressing. Even though we have changed both cooking method and ingredients, it still has that wonderful flavor combination of sweet, nutty, tangy and a little spicy and the experience is light, fresh and, in our opinion, even tastier.

Mmm. Fried dough. On a trip to Rimini, a resort town on Italy's Adriatic coast, I had a memorable fried pizza topped with cheese and ham. To re-create it, I came up with this shallow-fry method in which you fry the dough, then flip it, top it with mozzarella, and cover it with a lid to melt the cheese. In honor of Rimini, I've topped this one with the region's famous squacquerone cheese, which is as deliciously soft and runny as it is difficult to pronounce. If you can't find it, you can use crescenza (also known as stracchino). It goes on after frying and quickly melts on the hot crust. I also add thin slices of the cooked ham sold in Italian delis as prosciutto cotto. Not to be confused with prosciutto, which is cured but not cooked, this is what we know as ham, but it's a bit paler, less smoky, and more delicate than typical American deli ham. For this method, it's really helpful to roll your dough out as close to the stove top as possible and to have everything set up before you start cooking: your skillet on the stove top, a lid within easy reach, your cheeses and toppings measured out, and a plate lined with paper towels right next to the stove. Keep a close eye on the heat as you fry and adjust it as needed so the dough cooks all the way through without burning on the outside.

If I had to choose my all-time favourite family recipe, it would be this.

Traditionally, punch is made with some kind of spice element. We satisfied that requirement with this tea-infused vermouth, which was a real game changer for us.

I rarely rave about my own recipes, but this is one I can just go on and on about. It is the definition of freshness with its sweet-and-sour late-summer flavors, and it is also an utter delight to look at. But the most incredible thing about it is that it uses a few ingredients that I have been lovingly cooking with for many years, and believed I knew everything there was to know about, yet had never thought of mixing them in such a way. That is, until I traveled to Istanbul and came across a similar combination of fresh tomatoes and pomegranate seeds in a famous local kebab restaurant called Hamdi, right by the Spice Bazaar. It was a proper light-bulb moment when I realized how the two types of sweetness-the sharp, almost bitter sweetness of pomegranate and the savory, sunny sweetness of tomato-can complement each other so gloriously. I use four types of tomato here to make the salad more interesting visually and in flavor. You can easily use fewer, just as long as they are ripe and sweet.

The inspiration for this was Sarah's grandmother ("nan") Dulcie in Tasmania, who always used to add some honey to the pan before roasting her carrots. I'm not sure what Dulcie would have thought about a tahini yogurt sauce served alongside, but the sweetness of the carrots certainly welcomes it. Make this extra vibrant by using different-colored carrots.

Light, pretty, festive, and special, this can pull off the trick of being either the Christmas Yule log (without the chocolate or the sponge) or the perfect pudding for a midsummer lunch.

This savory cake is packed with Parmesan and basil. Serve it in slices for brunch alongside a salad of fresh fruit or bitter greens.

This recipe—a rhapsody for sweet, bitter, and salty—is based on one from Ruth Reichl, published in Gourmet Today.

These small turnips are perfect with duck or roast chicken.

Roasting white chocolate was a popular technique a few years back in a lot of pastry kitchens. I don't use white chocolate a lot because it is so sweet, but roasting it first caramelizes the sugar and toasts the milk solids to give it a nutty flavor, like brown butter, that balances its high sugar content.

One of my favorite post-shift hangouts was Painkiller NYC, where my buddy Richie Boccato made a mean Dark and Stormy at his tiki cocktail haven. Sadly, the bar is long gone; I raise my glass to Richie and the best Dark and Stormy anywhere. It is a favorite cocktail of mine, so I thought the combination of rum, lime, and lots of ginger would be really refreshing in a frozen dessert. This is a great summertime treat-light and airy but with a nice boozy kick. What really makes this is the fresh ginger juice. Grate peeled fresh ginger into a small fine-mesh strainer set over a bowl. Once you have a fair amount of pulp, squeeze the juice out of it. You'll need a fairly large piece of fresh ginger, about 12 ounces (335 grams) to get enough juice.

One day when I was working at River Café in Brooklyn, I smelled an unfamiliar odor coming from the pastry kitchen. I opened the oven and saw charred pieces of orange wedges. Thinking something was wrong, I took them out of the oven and chucked them into the garbage. I recut fresh oranges and put them in the oven, saving the day. I was wrong—I got yelled at for the one-hour setback to the pastry chef's special that night. By roasting oranges and their peel at intense heat, you toast the essential oils, changing their flavor. It brings out the appealing natural bitter elements in an otherwise sweet fruit. This ice cream is amazing with almond, chocolate, vanilla, and other neutral-flavored desserts that could use something to jazz them up.

As much as I like a pavlova, this dessert takes that classic combination and blows it out of the water. Piña Colada Pastry Cream lightened with softly whipped cream, layered with caramelized fresh pineapple, crunchy-chewy French meringue, and crisp strips of toasted coconut is textural nirvana. Searing fresh pineapple in a skillet adds caramel flavor to balance very sweet fruit. This is a showstopper.

Plain sugar cookies, no matter how well they are made, are a bit boring to me. You may think I have gone off the rails by adding curry powder to cookies, but along with the ground and candied ginger, the combo really wakes up a classic American cookie. Give these a shot!

Anyone who knows me knows I love a good cocktail. Growing up, our go-to vacation spot was the Caribbean, where Dad always ordered himself a piña colada and virgin versions for my brother and me. We used to try the old switcheroo at the table when he looked away. Sometimes we were successful, and his, of course, tasted even better. This pastry cream is great for cakes or meringues with coconut as a base flavor—no umbrella needed.