Gluten Free

There’s a moment in late May when something in the air shifts. Fava beans and other spring treats are still plentiful and the evenings are still cool, but change is coming. The air at the farmers’ market is suddenly humid with the scent of basil. Small piles of cherry tomatoes, summer squash, and fresh beans show up on the folding tables beside mounds of fresh corn. It’s as if summer is testing the waters, seeing if we’re ready, because it can hardly hold back any longer. Before changing my spring menu to summer, I sample a few beans, checking for crunch. I peel back a cornhusk, bite into the cob—is the corn sweet yet? And finally, I pop a cherry tomato in my mouth to gauge its sugar. If they all pass the test, it’s time to make this First-of-the-Season Succotash Salad, dressed with a simple lemon vinaigrette. After waiting all year, what a joy it is to taste all these sunny flavors on one plate.

This recipe was developed by Julie Robles, longtime Lucques cook, then souschef, then chef de cuisine. It’s one of those magical recipes in which you combine a few simple ingredients and end up with an unexpectedly dramatic result. It’s a foolproof recipe, but, tasting it, you’d never know how easy it is to make. As long as you have a blender (it doesn’t work as well in a food processor) and really great tomatoes, this refreshing gazpacho is a guaranteed crowd-pleaser.

This delicious salsa is great on corned-beef sandwiches as well as on grilled lamb, veal, or even a melted-Gruyère sandwich.

Julie Robles, one of the first cooks at Lucques and later the chef de cuisine at A.O.C., came up with this delicious savory (as opposed to sweet) cherry compote. This time of year I go crazy for cherries and also serve this compote on roast pork or with an assertive cheese like Taleggio.

To make this exotic green rice, simmer basmati rice in a broth of mint, chives, parsley, and cilantro perfumed with sautéed red onion, fennel, and fennel seeds. When you prepare the herbs, don’t waste too much time on fastidious herb-picking. They all get puréed into an emerald green broth, so no one will ever know if you cheated a little and left some of the stems on.

Skirt steak is among those cuts of beef that a novice cook sometimes avoids, despite their excellent flavor and reasonable price. But few steaks will be more delicious when properly cooked, and I assure you it’s not hard to get right. With skirt steak, remember a few key points. Start by caramelizing it well on the hottest part of the grill. Then move it over to a cooler spot to finish cooking just to medium-rare. Any less cooked, and it’s chewy; any more than medium, and it becomes leathery, livery, and tough. Be sure to let the skirt steak rest a few minutes before slicing it. The most crucial thing of all is to slice the meat against the grain to ensure that it’s tender and not rubbery. Though mayonnaise might sound strange as an accompaniment for steak, the aïoli melts into a creamy sauce, leaving behind a trail of olives.

When I was growing up, my mom and sister were obsessed with lobster. My father and I just never got it. But on both their birthdays, my father would take us all to the chosen lobster spot of the moment. While Jessica and my mom happily cracked their way through dinner, hardly glancing up from their plates, Dad and I would glumly saw through our landlubber specials. I admit I felt a little envious watching Jessica and Mom picking apart their matching dinners, knowing that I would never have that lobster bond with my mother. Normally, my mother prefers her lobster plain and simple—steamed and served with lemon and drawn butter. But one Mother’s Day, I took liberty, hoping to entice her with this rendition of a classic chopped salad. It worked; while we’re still on opposite sides of the table at the lobster shack, we both get excited about this salad.

Call me boring, but I prefer my sweets on the simpler side, and I drive my pastry chefs crazy with my penchant for, well, plain vanilla. When it comes to custards, I’m a particularly staunch traditionalist. So, when pastry chef Roxana Jullapat told me about her coconut flan, I was skeptical. But its elegant and classic presentation charmed me instantly—a snow white cylindrical custard oozing with golden caramel syrup and surrounded by Elgin Marble apricots simmered in Beaumes de Venise, orange juice, and spices. Roxana’s coconut flan convinced me that there’s life beyond a vanilla pot de crème (which is also delicious! See page 235).

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.

Like a lamb shoulder or veal shank, duck legs require a long, slow braise (in fat in this case, rather than stock) to break down their sinew and make them succulent and tender. Choose an earthenware dish or a roasting pan that will hold the legs snugly (the legs should just fit in the dish, without overlapping). Four cups of duck fat sounds like a lot, but don’t worry, most of it is left behind in the pan, and you can use it over and over again, as long as it’s strained well and kept chilled or frozen. You can also store the duck legs in the fat.

In Italy, there are many variations of semifreddo, which, literally translated, means “partially frozen.” Sometimes a semifreddo is made from sponge cake layered with slightly frozen cream; other times it’s cake-free, simply a lighter version of ice cream. At Lucques, we make this semifreddo from an uncooked “custard” base that has beaten egg whites (to make it buoyant and light) and whipped cream (to prevent it from freezing completely) folded into it. The result is a creamy frozen dessert that doesn’t require an ice cream maker or a true custard cooked at the stovetop. Strawberry and rhubarb are a classic combination, but though it’s tempting to temper the sourness of the rhubarb with sweet strawberries, I prefer the intense mouth-puckering quality of rhubarb on its own. This is a great party dessert since you can prepare all the components ahead of time.

Since both my parents worked full-time, when I was 2 weeks old they hired a seemingly proper English lady to take care of me. But Ammie was not the mild mannered woman she appeared to be. In fact, she turned out to be the quirkiest third parent you could ever imagine. She fed us forbidden chocolate (despite her belief that chocolate actually “made your blood boil”), and she let us watch TV when my parents were out of town (very illegal). Ammie was nothing if not opinionated. She displayed the nationalist zeal of an expatriate and was completely obsessed with the royal family. She was so pro-British and anti-Irish that every March 17 she would thumb her nose at her enemy by sending my sister and me off to school dressed completely in orange, in honor of the British monarchy. Needless to say, corned beef and cabbage was not a food ritual in our household. I didn’t discover it until I moved back east to college, where I sampled it at the homes of many of my Irish-American friends. The Lucques version is an updated rendition of that classic one-pot Irish meal. Traditionally, the vegetables are cooked alongside the meat for hours, producing dull, mushy carrots and sad, gray turnips. To keep the vegetables bright, I cook them separately in the beef broth. The parsley-mustard sauce (great for sandwiches the next day) cuts the richness of the corned beef and perks up the entire dish.

Part Indian, somewhat Moroccan, a little bit French, and vaguely Slavic, this dish is a true mutt. Arranged on a bed of vibrant herbed rice and topped with spiced cucumbers, this snapper takes you into a world where hot, sour, sweet, and salty exist harmoniously.

Dungeness crabs are caught off the Pacific coast, from the tip of Alaska to as far south as Baja California, during the cold-water months of November to early June. If you’re not on the West Coast or can’t find Dungeness crabs, look for stone, peekytoe, or blue crabs. And if you’re short on time, purchase the crabs already cooked, cracked, and cleaned from a good fishmonger. If you’re feeling less extravagant or can’t get to the fish market, a crabless version of this dish makes a pretty good salad, too.

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.

Every night around 4 a.m. at Employees Only, we offer up a hot cup of chunky chicken soup to the survivors of the long, cruel night. It is a tradition came by way of Greek night clubs. It is how we say “thank you” and “good night” to all the people who might expect one more drink.