Beverages

I’m sure every cook who loves Italian food has a special recipe for osso buco. But I’m not so sure that anyone has a recipe to serve one, because it’s not the sort of thing you make for just one person. But it’s simple to reduce. The crucial factor is the pot; you need that heavy 4-cup pot with its own lid, so that your shank piece just fits into it and the liquid level stays almost to the top of the meat while it is simmering. That way, you don’t require too much cooking liquid, and the flavor develops intensity. I sometimes make this on a Saturday afternoon, when an Italian opera is playing on the radio, and just hearing the singing and smelling the osso buco as it perks away on the stove heightens my anticipation of a lovely meal to come.

I adore sweetbreads, but, alas, they are becoming increasingly hard to get. So, whenever I see a package of them in the supermarket, I snatch them up and give myself a treat. I’m apt to vary the aromatics, but basically the technique is the same. If you do all the preparation in the morning, or even the night before, the final sautéing with just the right complementary flavors takes about 15 minutes. And when you have your first bite, there is something so deeply satisfying about the tender creamy texture of sweetbreads, and their ability to absorb and transform the aromatic flavors you give them, that you feel a small miracle has taken place. No wonder they are called sweetbreads.

As a child, and well into adulthood, I was allergic to scallops. But little by little I got over it. It can happen; the body does change. So I’ve been making up for my years of deprivation and quite often treat myself to a full plate of carefully cooked sea scallops. I remember Julia Child emphasizing how important it was to use a large pan, so the scallops would have plenty of space to brown. And because they needed to cook over high heat, clarified butter was essential. We were once having lunch at an elegant French restaurant in New York, which will be nameless, and Julia ordered scallops. After her first bite, she put down her fork and proclaimed that the chef hadn’t used clarified butter. As she tucked away most of the flawed dish, she emphasized again the importance of using clarified butter when browning over high heat, although she did admit that most Americans aren’t going to take the trouble to clarify their own butter, and that it was okay for the home cook to use half butter and half light vegetable oil, which would temper the burning. I am always careful to watch the pan, as if Julia is still looking over my shoulder, whenever I make this dish.

I’ve loved shirred eggs ever since I first sampled them in a Paris brasserie years ago. But I didn’t know exactly how to make them until I came across the carefully instructive recipe in Julia Child’s masterful tome, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, where they were called oeufs sur le plat or oeufs miroir (in deference to their shimmering surface). Here’s my favorite version, which I invariably make when I have plucked the packet of giblets from the cavity of a chicken. It should always include a plump liver—the cook’s treat.

This is ideal to make when you’ve bought too much watermelon.

Steamed mussels make a lovely dish to eat alone slowly, plucking the plump flesh from the shells as messily as you like and sopping up the heavenly liquor with chunks of French bread.

Make this simple shrimp dish often, but only recently did I discover how good it is served on a bed of farro (see page 190), which Lidia Bastianich introduced me to. It’s also delicious with rice, grits, or polenta. You’ll get a good two meals out of this amount.

I recently saw something labeled “Snapper Lake Victoria (Kenya) Farm Raised,” and it looked glistening and fresh through its plastic wrap. Because the slice, just under a pound, was rather plump and not firm-fleshed and fatty, I felt it would take well to braising with some vegetables. I happened to have about half of a small fennel in the vegetable bin, and some roasted red peppers (from a jar, another good standby item, or put away your own [see page 242]), so I decided to make a bed of those aromatics and, when they were cooked semi-soft, to tuck the fish in and let everything finish cooking together. It was particularly delicious with leftover cooked potatoes browned in duck fat.

This is a favorite dish of mine that I would make often when I lived in Paris in the late 1940s. I’ve learned to simplify it a bit and make relatively small portions. I am partial to leeks, no doubt because of my Welsh husband, who called them the poor man’s asparagus, and they marry particularly well with delicate veal.

I can’t resist a piece of calf’s liver when I see it—all too infrequently—in the meat counter. It’s even better if you get it from a considerate butcher who will cut an even-sized 1/4-inch slice and spare you the finicky job of removing the outside membrane. Liver in a winey sauce is particularly good on a cold winter night; somehow I always feel my red corpuscles are strengthened by its rich meatiness. I like it with some potatoes alongside. If you have a couple of cooked potatoes, you can brown them in a little butter while the liver cooks, or if you don’t have them on hand, try grating a medium raw potato through the coarse holes of a grinder and make a quick potato pancake.

This is something I’m tempted to make when my supply of rich beef broth is low. But maybe that’s an excuse. The truth is, I love eating these cuts, spooning out the marrow from the shank, and, in the second dish, sucking off meat from the little tail bones. It’s nice, messy eating, perhaps best enjoyed alone with a kitchen towel around one’s neck. I usually still have some meat left after lapping up these two dishes—just enough to make myself a pasta on a night when I want a quick supper. Then there’s the treasure of the rich beef broth to put away.

This is my favorite steak. I like the chewiness of the cut and the faint marbling of fat, just enough to keep it well lubricated. And I find it a good size for the single cook. A skirt steak of approximately 14 ounces gives me three fine meals. First I have a piece of rare steak quickly sautéed and garnished with a little pan sauce of wine and shallots; then I have a few slices of it cold for lunch with a piquant sauce; and finally, later in the week, I’ll use what remains in a delicious baked dish with mushrooms and breadcrumbs, an inspiration of the late Mireille Johnston, whose books taught us so much of what regional French home cooking is all about—thriftiness, inventiveness, and good taste.

Sandy’s mom, Margie (aka Marge), has a passion for bread pudding and is a self-proclaimed connoisseur. This is the only bread pudding out of a pile of test recipes that Marge gave her stamp of approval, noting it was the richness of the vanilla custard that won her over. Go ahead and try it. Marge approves!

Contrary to popular belief, chicken tetrazzini was served at many upscale restaurants throughout the United States in the early 1900s. The dish was inspired and named after the great Italian opera star Luisa Tetrazzini, and it was widely popular. In fact, it was so popular that home cooks everywhere began trying to re-create the famous dish in their homes, and it lost its appeal as a gourmet delicacy in fine dining establishments. Lucky for us at home, we can still enjoy this amazingly good comfort dish with our family and friends, unfettered by any unnecessary pretenses. Typically it is made with heavy creams and lots of butter, but we have found some healthier substitutions, such as low-fat cream cheese, which still provides the decadence and creaminess of the original. The opera isn’t over until the fat lady sings, but this much lighter version of a comfort food favorite will leave you enjoying the music!

Crystal’s brother-in-law Jim is a native of Maine, and he has a passion so strong for lobster that we have nicknamed him “Lobster Boy.” We have joked that if he were rich, he would eat lobster in some form or fashion every day—lobster rolls, lobster omelets, and even lobster casseroles. This casserole salutes you, Lobster Boy! We recommend serving it over buttered egg noodles that have been tossed with poppy seeds for color and a bit of a crunch.