Sides

In our house, Chanukah means latkes, potato pancakes. All five of us love latkes. What's not to like about potatoes fried in oil? We always have them at least once on Chanukah; often more, as our kids clamor for them. Over the past decade, my husband, Jeffrey, became our household's chief latkemaker, in part, I think, in response to my tendency to try to make them a little healthier. "Lots of oil is key," he'll declare as I attempt to demonstrate that you can make "perfectly good" latkes with only a thin film of oil or, even worse, with cooking spray instead of oil. I have to admit that, while a minimal amount of oil does make "perfectly good" latkes, a substantial amount of oil makes perfect latkes.

These are the same biscuits we make for the biscuit sandwiches served at Serious Biscuit, downstairs from our pizza joint, Serious Pie Westlake, but at Serious Biscuit, we cut the dough into bigger squares, about 3 1/2 inches, bake them, split them in half, and fill them with everything from fennel sausage with fried egg, melted fontina, and spicy-sweet pepper relish to crispy fried chicken with fried egg and savory black pepper gravy. If you want to make your own biscuit sandwiches, just cut the squares a little bigger than directed in this recipe, bake them, split them in half and fill them. This smaller, 2 1/2-inch biscuit is perfect for breakfast or brunch.

Ingredients

A whole cauliflower is quite a presence on the table, especially when you've scattered over it a sauté of yellow peppers, red tomatoes and bright green herbs. This recipe is a boon to a special meal with courses, as the cauliflower is served at room temperature.

Here is a technique you don't hear much about. The idea is to cook peppers and onions in a hot dry pan, relying on the moisture in the vegetables to keep them from burning (though they do char in a pleasant way). Since both the vegetables are high in water content, they begin to steam, but the high heat evaporates the steam immediately. As they are stirred, they start to take on a bit of color and soften. Once they are half-cooked, add salt and a small amount of oil, which allows them to caramelize, intensifying their natural sweetness. Eat them hot or cold. They're good plain, but I usually add garlic, hot pepper, parsley or basil, and a little vinegar too.

It appeared mysteriously spartan on the menu at Coi, Daniel Patterson's ashram for food in San Francisco's North Beach: "Carrots/Coffee." What did it mean? It turned out to be genius--sweet, smoky, and earthy genius. Pencil-thin carrots are baked on a bed of coffee beans that warm gently, releasing their oils. This unexpected dish celebrates all the advantages of slow cooking: the coffee fumes gradually infuse the vegetables, creating an ephemeral sensation of something roasted that one can identify as "coffee" only after the tongue whispers to the brain.

Ingredients
 

Ingredients

Sprinkle some salt on a slice of watermelon and its flesh contracts to subtle firmness, its aroma blooms, and its flavor crescendos. If that's what a few scattered crystals can achieve, imagine what lavishing that slice with the unerring saline expanse of a salt block will do to it: fragrant, sensual, symphonic.