Vegetarian

This soup was inspired by Roger Vergé, who, unbeknownst to him, was one of my first cooking teachers. I was lucky enough to dine at his restaurant Moulin de Mougins with my parents when I was in sixth grade. Set in a restored mill in the hills of Provence, the restaurant was paradise. I remember the thoughtful waiter who spent 15 minutes discussing the cheeses on that beautiful wicker trolley. That summer afternoon, when we finished lunch, my father surprised me with Monsieur Vergé’s cookbook. This soup was one of the first recipes I made from the book when we returned home from our trip. My mother loved it, and now, every Mother’s Day, I make this pea soup for her, to remind us of that amazing lunch in Mougins.

I love dishes with catchy retro names. The Green Goddess salad was invented in the 1920s by the chef of the Palace Hotel in San Francisco, who made it in honor of British actor George Arliss. The actor was a guest at the hotel while starring in a local production of William Archer’s The Green Goddess. The basic components of this classic California dressing are anchovies, mayonnaise, garlic, tarragon, parsley, and chives. I add watercress to the puréed herbs, which turns the dressing a deep emerald green and adds a clean, peppery flavor. Thick and rich, the dressing coats the romaine leaves the same way a Caesar salad dressing does. Once you have this dressing in your repertoire, you’ll find yourself using it for all sorts of things. Try a dollop over grilled fish, or spread it on bread instead of mayonnaise when making a sandwich.

As soon we were old enough to fly alone, my sister and I would travel back east for a few weeks every summer to visit our grandmother in Connecticut. Our late-summer arrival always coincided with the peak of her beefsteak tomato crop. Every evening, we’d venture out to the backyard to pick tomatoes for that night’s salad. Still warm from the sun, those juicy red slices, sprinkled with salt, left an indelible impression on me. My next life-changing tomato experience was at Al Forno, in Providence, Rhode Island. The owners, George Germon and Johanne Killeen, would drive 35 miles to a tiny town called Little Compton to pick up crates and crates of big red beefsteak tomatoes from their favorite farmer. Slicing the tomatoes to order, they served them with red onion, salt, basil, oil, and vinegar. Again, so simple, yet one of the best things I’d ever tasted. I didn’t discover heirloom tomatoes until a few years later, when I got a job at Chez Panisse in Berkeley. Amazed by the odd shapes and variety of colors, from white to orange to almost black, I sampled every variety I could get my hands on. At Lucques, our regular customers start asking for this heirloom salad in early June. It’s been on the menu every year since we opened and seems to signal that summer is finally here.

Fava beans have a cult status in my kitchen, and during their short spring season, I use them as much as possible in salads, ragoûts, and salsas. Here, they are gently stewed in olive oil with garlic and chile and puréed until creamy. This fava bean “hummus” is on my list of perfect foods. Though the classic cheese served with favas in Italy is pecorino, I break with tradition and crumble feta over the purée instead. If you have any leftover purée, make an open-faced sandwich topped with arugula, shallots, a drizzling of olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, and a few shavings of pecorino (or feta). It’s the ultimate snack or light lunch.

Certain foods taste better when you eat them with your hands, like barbecued ribs and corn on the cob. This salad is the perfect way to indulge that primal urge. Use the endive leaves as scoops to gather up some olive shards, a fava bean or two, and a slice of lemon. The crisp spears explode with flavor, and before you’ve finished the first your hand will be reaching for another. Hand out forks if you must, and make sure to tell your friends that the Meyer lemon slices are for eating. They’re sweet and delicious, peel and all. Slice the olives thinly, so their intense taste doesn’t overwhelm the other ingredients. As for the dressing, gently stir (don’t whisk) in the cream to incorporate it without whipping it.

When first conceiving Employees Only, we knew we wanted to create our own house vermouths. We abandoned the idea of making our vermouth from raw wine and decided instead to use dry vermouth as a base for an infusion of additional herbs. The primary flavors in dry vermouth are rosemary, thyme, lavender, and anise—the same botanicals that make up the herbes de Provence blend used in cooking. To extract and transfuse flavors, we use a hot infusion method to create just a small amount of highly concentrated liquid that can be blended with the rest of a bottle of vermouth without cooking out all the alcohol. This controlled method of infusing reduces the amount of contact between alcohol and herbs—if left to steep too long, the finish is bitter. EO Vermouth de Provence is one of the key ingredients in the Provençal cocktail (page 49).

I love a good bread and butter pickle, so I decided to create my own version. While I don’t have the classic spices here, my blend of rice vinegar and yuzu juice approximates the same acidity of the original. These are terrific with (or on) sandwiches. Of course, I like to eat them straight, too.

If you’ve always wanted to try making your own pasta dough, this is the recipe to start with. I leave the work of kneading to my stand mixer, though I prefer to roll the dough through my hand crank machine. This basic recipe can be turned into any strand pasta and also makes a great ravioli wrapper.

Yes, This is good for you. But that’s not the reason I eat it. By whipping the egg whites just until foamy, the resulting omelet is light and delicious. (Unwhisked egg whites get rubbery.) Unlike regular omelets, which shouldn’t color, this one gets cooked in a blazing hot pan until crisped and brown and the fresh herbs get sealed right into the whites. While lemon may seem an unlikely pairing for eggs, the bit of zest at the end adds a brightness perfect for the clean flavors here.

One of my first lessons as an apprentice, both in my mom’s kitchen and in my first restaurant position, was how to perfect an omelet. It should be fluffy, with runny eggs, and never browned. Back then, we used steel pans. We now have the advantage of nonstick pans, which make the technique more foolproof and the omelet every bit as delicious. Although the chiles are optional, they’re my favorite part of this dish. They add a bright note to accent the wilted spinach and creamy goat cheese melted into the eggs.

I consider myself a pretty high-energy guy, but some mornings, even I need something that will really wake me up. The fresh ginger and pinch of salt brighten the fresh fruit and vegetable juices here, making this an ideal breakfast drink. It also cures a hangover like nothing else. Or so I’m told . . .

Chloe’s favorite breakfast dish has become mine, too. I wouldn’t trade our weekend ritual of whisking the batter together for anything.

One saturday, Greg Brainin, my director of creative development, threw this together for his daughters. When he made it for me the following Monday, I knew it would become a regular weekend treat for my family, too. It’s as comforting as a classic buttery coffee cake, but the crunch of raw sugar and sea salt in the topping makes it taste refreshingly new.

One summer morning, I decided to make good use of the ripe stone fruit I had picked up at the farmer’s market. I didn’t have any brioche at home, but I did have a loaf of sourdough. It turned out that the tanginess of the bread was delicious with the sweet fruit. And amaretto adds just the right hint of almond.

This is the ultimate French toast. It’s more like dessert, with the crème anglaise and caramel, but one well worth having in the morning. To achieve the perfect balance between crisp outside and custard center, you must completely soak the bread.

As a rule, I season my greens in direct proportion to their degree of bitterness. To mellow the edge of mustard greens without overwhelming them with seasoning, I use this technique of cooking them in salty boiling water with butter melted into it. It infuses the greens with tons of flavor, but keeps their natural edge intact. If you love that hot, mustardy bite, be sure to add the mustard oil at the end.

To bring out the best in this snowy white root vegetable, I simmer it in honey and citrus. A little heat balances the luscious sweetness.

I came up with this technique of boiling a squash whole while watching a movie. I didn’t want to miss the good parts—and the kids didn’t want to pause it for me while I tended the stove. The squash ended up cooking beautifully, becoming juicy and tender with zero effort.

This unsung root vegetable deserves more attention. It’s sometimes called vegetable oyster or oyster plant because it actually has a hint of that sweet brine. To highlight that unique flavor, I cook these roots in lemon juice and toss them with a lemony beurre fondue.