Vegetarian

This is a very rich pasta dough, as made in Emilia-Romagna. My feeling is if you’re taking the trouble to make fresh pasta, it ought to be sensational. This recipe meets that qualification. If this is the first time you’ve made fresh pasta, allow extra time; the rolling process takes some getting used to. But the dough is very sturdy and can be worked over and over, so eventually you’ll get it right. And, believe me, it will be easier each time you do it.

Spaetzle is harder to spell than make. In fact, it’s one of the easiest and most impressive side dishes there is, a noodle whose dough is about as complicated as pancake batter and that can be crisped up in a pan to create a delicious accompaniment for almost any poultry or pork dish, especially braised ones. Once you get the technique down, you’ve got plenty of latitude with how you flavor these fresh little dumplings. The recipe here is for plain spaetzle, though adding two or three tablespoons of an assortment of flavorings in the first step will infuse them with taste without changing the method at all. Try pureed chives, roasted and minced garlic, chopped shallots, and so on.

A prime example of the simplicity with which you can successfully treat fresh Chinese egg noodles, which are available at many supermarkets.

A perfect start to a Chinese meal, this can be prepared almost entirely in advance, varied in a number of ways, and even served as a main course if you like. Though it can be made with peanut butter (the natural kind, please, with no added sugar or fat), it’s easy enough to buy sesame paste (tahini) at health food stores, stores specializing in Middle Eastern or Asian ingredients, and even supermarkets. Sesame oil, which contributes mightily to the flavor of the finished dish, is a staple sold at Asian food stores (and, increasingly, supermarkets) and belongs in every refrigerator. Chinese egg noodles are sold fresh at almost every Chinese market, most Asian supermarkets, and even many ordinary supermarkets. Regular dried pasta makes a good substitute here.

Given all the fuss that has been made about the difficulty of producing the real thing, I wouldn’t blame you if you bought “instant” polenta. But polenta—and its identical Romanian cousin, mamaliga—is basically cornmeal mush, ethereal when made correctly and hardly neurosurgery. First off, forget about stirring clockwise for 40 minutes with a long-handled wooden spoon or any of the other myths you’ve heard about how it has to be made. If you want great creamy polenta, cook the cornmeal very slowly and add as much butter as you can in good conscience. Second, this is a case where Parmigiano-Reggiano, the real Parmesan, will shine. Finally, note that the amount of water you use is variable: use 5 cups if you want to make very firm polenta that you can later grill or sauté; use more water if you want smooth, soft polenta, into which you will stir cheese and serve as a simple side dish or perhaps with a little tomato sauce. The following recipe is based on one food writer Mitchell Davis learned from the chef at Cibreo in Florence, Italy. You could, of course, omit one or all of the herbs if you didn’t have them on hand. With herbs or without, this polenta is great with any Italian roast or braised dish or with simply grilled Italian sausage.

Here is kasha, simply prepared with butter. It’s good with olive oil, too, but best with rendered chicken fat.

Farro is a wheatlike grain grown in central Italy (known as spelt here). Barley makes a good substitute; cook it the same way. Here it is combined with a simple pesto; it’s a lovely picnic or summer party side dish, with almost anything.

This is lovely, strong-tasting, and quite complex. It’s a wonderful side dish but can also serve as the centerpiece of a vegetarian meal.

From the land of risotto comes yet another rich, full-flavored (but far simpler) rice preparation; butter is nearly essential here. With thanks to the great food writer John Thorne (see his Simple Cooking Web site, www.outlawcook.com), who first made me aware of the existence of this Lombardian dish.

In all but the best restaurants, risotto is abused—cooked in advance, baked, and who knows what else—so if you have never made risotto at home, you are in for a treat. It takes a little patience and a little practice, but it is not a difficult process at all. True risotto alla Milanese contains—indeed, features—bone marrow, but don’t be discouraged if you cannot (or will not) deal with that. Risotto is wonderful without it, and prosciutto makes an adequate substitute. What you do need are Arborio rice (now sold everywhere, but still best purchased in Italian markets), real saffron, and, ideally, good, homemade stock. (Having said that, see my “bare-bones” variation.) I might add this: After years of trying every possible technique to make my risotto as creamy as the best I’d ever had, I realized that the “secret” was large quantities of butter. Don’t hold back unless you must.

A kind of pilaf, really, but one that has become its own category, the mother of dishes ranging from Paella (page 519) to Coconut Rice and Beans (page 516). I cannot resist sautéing the rice in oil or butter first, but it’s not entirely necessary; see the simpler variation. (You can also use any of the variations on Pilaf, Many Ways, page 513.) Turmeric is a common and an inexpensive but one-dimensional substitute for saffron; it has none of the depth of flavor, though the color is terrific. You can put in a few roasted red peppers (page 470) or canned “pimientos” also, if you like; add them along with the rice. This is a side dish that has far-ranging applications but is especially fine with soupy beans.

Unlike the often inedible rice that comes on every combo platter of tacos or enchiladas in this country (and, increasingly and sadly, in Mexico as well), this is the real thing. It’s the perfect side dish with any Mexican meal, especially when paired with Refried Beans (page 438). Whereas Spanish rice gets its color and flavor from saffron, the source here is fresh tomatoes.

Throughout the northern Mediterranean littoral, chestnuts not only grow on trees; they fall to the ground each autumn and are, for many people, a free crop. (They once did the same on this continent, but a blight wiped them out.) The first fall I visited northern Italy, I saw them drop and realized there were more than anyone could possibly eat. As a result, they are used in a much wider array of dishes there than they are here. This is a rich soup, one that can be made in a matter of minutes with cooked, frozen, or even canned chestnuts, and the results are inevitably good. Add a little splash of port just before serving to give this a bit of a kick.

A different type of coconut rice, one that is made fairly sweet but served with savory (even spicy) foods, like Stewed Lamb Shanks with Mushrooms and Pasilla Chile Sauce (page 414). You can add about 1/3 cup raisins or corn or thinly sliced and lightly browned ripe plantains (page 472) or even a bit of cinnamon.

When families in Mexico give up meat—either for Lent or for other reasons—they turn to soups like this one. You might have trouble finding fresh favas, though Latin markets frequently stock them, especially in spring, and I’ve even seen them at supermarkets in recent years. Their wonderful flavor has no exact match, but fresh peas are a good substitute. The best chile for this dish is the mildly hot dried chile negro; it’s best when toasted, which is an easy enough process: put the chiles in a dry, ungreased skillet over medium heat and cook, turning as each side browns, until browned and fragrant, 5 to 10 minutes.

Brilliant orange pumpkinlike squash fill the vegetable stands of Morocco and most other Mediterranean countries every fall, and they show up in stews, couscous, pasta, and soups like this.You may find the same squash in the States, but butternut, acorn, or sugar pumpkin—pumpkin grown for flavor, not size—are perfect substitutes and easy enough to find. (Canned pumpkin is an acceptable if not ideal alternative; drain it well.) Make this up to a day in advance, reserving the cream and cilantro to add just before serving.

I call this Caribbean because that’s where I first had it, but not surprisingly it’s a staple in much of Southeast Asia as well. Great with jasmine rice, it’s perfectly fine with any other short- or long-grain rice and can be varied in many ways. If you like, garnish with some chopped cashews or peanuts. I love this with spicy stews.

Most people seem to adore chickpeas, and one of their strongest attributes is that, unlike other dried legumes, they produce delicious cooking liquid. So if you lack stock for this dish, don’t worry about it. But—and this is true for the several chickpea recipes that follow as well as this one—the cooking time for chickpeas is unpredictable. Cook the beans the day before you plan to make the soup if at all possible, or at least soak them for several hours to reduce the cooking time (or, in a pinch, use canned chickpeas). Once they’re done, the cooking time is just a few minutes. If you are so inclined, this soup remains equally authentic and becomes more substantial if you add 1/2 to 1 pound browned sausage chunks. You can brown the sausage right before the onions, in the same skillet.

Rice and lentils are both daily fare in much of India, but rarely are they cooked together. An exception is made for the quite-quick-cooking red lentils, which are prepared in a manner not unlike that used in the Middle East.

A great way to use leftover rice and a nice cooked treatment of kimchi, which you can buy at any Korean market if you don’t want to make your own. Good as a side dish with Korean food, this also makes a fine snack or even a main course (add chicken, pork, beef, or shrimp if you like). The butter is a contemporary feature, but it’s how I learned this (from a Korean-American friend), and I like it that way.