Gluten Free

Brian Wolff is the chef de cuisine and resident pickler at Lucques. Every time I turn around, he’s got something in the vinegar, like shell beans, cherries, or tiny onions. His pickled raisins are delicious and make a great last-minute condiment. Keep a jar in the refrigerator; if you have a terrine or leftover roast chicken or pork, these raisins make a wonderful sweet-and-sour topping.

This dish offers an opportunity to showcase the great variety of citrus that farmer Peter Schaner grows for us this time of year: pomelos, Oro Blancos, grapefruits, mandelos, tangelos, clementines, and blood oranges. When making the vinaigrette, choose the juice from the oranges and tangerines rather than that of the grapefruits (too bitter) or blood oranges (too dark in color). You’ll have more juice than you need for the vinaigrette, so you can pour the leftovers into a chilled glass and sip it as you finish making dinner. (Vodka is optional.) As for the avocados, look for Reed, Hass, Fuerte, Pinkerton, or Bacon varieties. The olives may seem like an odd addition to this dish, but their brininess contrasts wonderfully with the fresh, juicy citrus and the buttery avocado.

The colored beets and bright green arugula in this dish make for a visually stunning presentation. The sweet roasted beets marinated in lemon vinaigrette play off the pure white fish and horseradish cream. Look for a few different types of beets, such as golden beets and Chioggia beets, and dress them separately, so the dark ones don’t bleed their juices onto the lighter ones. In the spring, you could make this dish with wild salmon. And to make a more hearty meal, serve some beluga lentils on the side (see page 331).

During my college years, I’d return home to Los Angeles every summer and promptly—you guessed it—look for a restaurant job. One summer, I did a stage at L.A.’s premier French restaurant, L’Orangerie. I started my stage in the pastry kitchen with Chef Yves. He taught me the classic techniques of crème brûlée, chocolate puff pastry, and soufflés made to order. But my favorite of his desserts was sautéed apples with caramel sauce and crème anglaise. A little less formal and traditional than the rest of his repertoire, that dish was simple, straightforward, and all about the apples. To make our own version of Chef Yves’s apples at Lucques, we cut the apples in half, toss them with lots of butter, cinnamon, brown sugar, and Calvados, and roast them, basting all the time, until they are a deep golden brown and glistening with spicy juices. With a scoop of cinnamon ice cream melting over the apples, this easy-to-make dessert is an elegant way to finish a winter feast.

One particularly chilly weekend (yes, we have those here every once in a while), I needed a dish that would be opulent and soul-satisfying. At first, duck braised in red wine came to mind. But, I wanted something even more intense and a little bit sweet, and I arrived at Banyuls, a fortified wine from the south of France. Extracted from grenache grapes grown on the rocky, terraced vineyards that overlook the sea, Banyuls is classically paired with chocolate and has deep notes of chestnut, mocha, and dried fruit. As the duck and Banyuls cooked together slowly in the oven, the deeply concentrated wine permeated the meat and produced a rich ruby broth. A gratin of turnips and potatoes dotted with prunes and baked with cream proved the perfect companion for the tender, falling-apart duck bathed in crimson juices.

My first real chef position was at Alloro, a small Italian restaurant in Boston’s North End. In this all-Italian neighborhood, the owner was not Italian, but rather a Portuguese guy named Armando. Some cultures care more about food than others, and, like the Italians, the Portuguese are definitely devoted to their cuisine. Armando loved to tell me about the Old Country and the dishes his mother made for him when he was growing up. This dish is traditionally made with pork loin, but when I tried it, the loin was dry and didn’t seem to marry well with the flavors of the clams. So I decided to try it with pork confit, which would get crispy on the outside but stay meltingly tender on the inside. To give more pork flavor to the broth, I added chorizo and came up with my own version of pork (and pork!) and clams. In honor of Armando, I always make my pork and clams with fried potatoes. If he had his way, everything would come with fried potatoes.

Earthy, sweet beets and tangy, juicy tangerines were meant for each other. I’m just the hungry matchmaker. I set them up on an exotic date with a splash of fragrant orange-flower water and ribbons of mint. Not only do they taste delicious together, they also make quite a stunning couple.

These leeks are also delicious cold, dressed with a mustard vinaigrette and served with sliced prosciutto and chopped egg.

I’m not sure which parent I’m indebted to for this recipe. Probably both. When my mother met my father, she was neither a practiced diner nor an experienced cook. To rectify the situation and satisfy his own culinary demands, my father gave my mother a copy of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking as soon as they were married. When I was growing up, this was one of my favorite recipes from that book. I served my own interpretation of the dish at one of our first Sunday suppers at Lucques. First I browned the chicken thighs and slathered them in a quick-to-make mustard-and-breadcrumb combo and then roasted them on a bed of braised leeks. The chicken emerges from the oven crisp and brown, while the leeks become tender, and permeated with the flavors of the chicken.

When I was chef de cuisine at Campanile, I had to make brisket every Friday for the weekend brunch menu. Pounds and pounds of it passed through the hot ovens and sat resting on the counter before it was put away in the refrigerator. Sometimes I’d hear someone whisper, “Hide the brisket, she’s coming.” Nancy Silverton, the owner, would suddenly appear from around the corner, fingers poised to pilfer the fatty top layer from the roast. It was so rich and addictive, we couldn’t blame her. When you buy your brisket, don’t let your butcher cut away that top fatty layer; it adds essential flavor and keeps the brisket from drying out. Look for a brisket sold “point-on”—that triangular end is the most tender and flavorful part of the meat. You don’t have to serve both sauces with the brisket, but I think it’s super delicious that way. One bite gets an herby, acidic note of salsa verde and the next one rewards you with a fiesty horseradish cream. When I made this dish at home, my husband, brother-in-law, and best friend managed to polish off the entire 6-pound brisket by themselves while watching a single basketball game. I was shocked. It’s always better to make more brisket rather than less. And even if your friends don’t have as big appetites as mine do, you’ll be happy to have the leftovers for sandwiches or hash the next day.

The amount of oil called for in this recipe might shock you, but to get the rapini nicely sautéed and coated in all the flavors of the chile, shallot, and thyme, it really is necessary. If you don’t want to end up eating all that oil, you can remove the rapini from the pan with tongs, leaving the oil behind. Or you can serve it all together, and let the olive oil pool beneath the rapini on the plate. Of course, I can never resist sopping up the oil with a crusty hunk of bread!

Of all winter squash, Kabocha holds a special place in my heart. Rich and sweet, its dense orange flesh is one of my favorite winter flavors. For this soup, instead of sautéing the squash and fennel, I roast them in the oven to bring out their natural sweetness. If you can’t find Kabocha, use another winter squash, such as butternut or Hubbard. The pumpkin seeds, or pepitas, are coated in sugar, paprika, cumin, cinnamon, and cayenne; I think of them as adult Halloween candy. Sprinkled over the top, they give this delicious winter soup a feisty coronation.

This invigorating dish is a refreshing change from the hearty comfort foods of winter. The herbs here aren’t relegated to the sidelines; tossed with arugula, they become the main attractions of this bright salad. Meyer lemons are diced with their peels on and combined with green olives, champagne vinegar, honey, and olive oil for a bracing sweet-tart salsa to accompany the grilled halibut.

This is one of those salads that I can’t stop eating once I start. It’s thirst quenching, crunchy, and downright addictive. The juice from the pomegranate binds with the olive and hazelnut oils to make a bright, acidic dressing for the peppery arugula and sweet persimmons. Juicing your own pomegranates is easy, but if you’re not careful, it can result in some embarrassing mishaps. One night at Lucques, a customer asked for a pomegranate martini. Bartender Soren Banks, having seen a bowl of pomegranates in the kitchen, happily agreed to make her one. He rushed back to the kitchen for a quick juicing lesson, and then back to the bar. Following what he interpreted to be my instructions, he proceeded to spray himself and all the customers at the bar with the bright-red juice. Fortunately, everyone was more amused than angry, especially after a free round of pomegranate martinis (juiced this time in the kitchen). See Fall Market Report (page 205) for the best way to juice a pomegranate.

Shellfish and beans are a classic Italian combination. In the tradition of frugal and resourceful peasant cooking, nothing goes to waste in this dish. As the beans simmer away with the thyme, rosemary, and chile, they create another invaluable ingredient: a delicious stock. Starchy and flavorful, it’s added to the steaming shellfish, thickening their juices into a complex broth. The cavolo nero adds an earthy note and a chewy texture to the seafood stew. This is a rustic family meal in which everyone should take part, serving themselves from the bountiful platter at the center of the table. And don’t forget to serve big hunks of crusty bread for sopping up all those juices.