My dad often made clam chowder around the holidays as a special treat for Thanksgiving or Christmas, which elevated its status in my family. When Dad brought home clams, we always knew what that meant. I’m not exactly sure where or when he learned to make clam chowder, but he did pick up a lot of recipes while he was in the army. I like to imagine that some tough, tattooed cook taught it to him on the sly during mess hall duties.
This is a classic chowder, hearty and creamy, and serving it with crusty bread or oyster crackers makes it extra satisfying. All things being equal, though, I really like this over rice, too. You can also make the soup thicker and serve it with linguini like a clam sauce. Try it out!
We’re doubling up on the crisp topping because, let’s be honest, that’s the best part and there’s never enough! The crumbly mix is sweet and golden brown, and the apples are flavorful, tender, and not too mushy. The not-so-secret ingredient is instant tapioca, which makes a jammier filling than that of other apple crisps. It also creates the perfect gooey layer where the apples meet the crisp, which is my other favorite part of apple crisp.
This is the dish that could define cha chaan teng: a fried pork chop, a searing orange tomato sauce, a pan of golden fried rice, luxuriant cheese melted and blistered on top. Making it the long way means understanding, finally, the extravagance that cha chaan teng cooks can serve in ten minutes.
These delectable sandwiches are decidedly savory, made with a good aged Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese (those crystals in the Parm season the dough and really bring the flavor) and filled with tomato and basil cream cheese. Serve them with cocktails, or as part of an afternoon tea spread to balance the sweeter treats. Look for jarred, roasted tomatoes at the supermarket. They’re more flavorful and less leathery than sun-dried tomatoes and meld better with cream cheese.
There is nothing more comforting than a light and fluffy sponge, overflowing raspberry jam, and too much vanilla bean whipped cream. To achieve the cake’s perfect spongy texture, be careful to not overmix the batter once the flour is added. When making the whipped cream, don’t substitute vanilla extract for the vanilla bean paste—you won’t get the same warm vanilla notes that this cake needs!
These beautiful pastries can be found in many Chinese bakeries, particularly throughout Hong Kong. We’ll use the same fluffy dough as that of the sausage-filled Czech klobásník (page 112), but instead of leaving it whole like a pig in a blanket, the hot dog–filled pastry is sliced and twisted to form the shape of a flower before being topped with sesame seeds and scallions. Once baked, the flowers are glazed with sugar syrup to give them a nice sheen.
I come back time and again to this pie (or, in the more American sense, tart). It is as much a staple at a festive party (topped with whitefish or salmon caviar) as it is at a simple dinner with friends. Creamy, salty and full of flavor, it is ridiculously easy to make. Traditionally, we make it with Västerbottensost, a Swedish hard cheese with a sharp, salty character. You might find Västerbottensost difficult to track down, so an extra sharp cheddar or aged gruyère works just as well.
Bacalaítos are crispy, greasy, salty, and my absolute favorite fritura (fried food). They are made by frying scoops of a savory batter dotted with salted codfish. Fresh bacalaíto batter is a bit labor-intensive to make, but if you’re game, I have a recipe for you. Bacalaíto batter from scratch isn’t always in the cards for me. That’s why I use boxed bacalaíto mix for these onion rings. Serve with Spicy Mayo-Ketchup.
When I studied abroad in Rome, my curriculum was supposed to be focused on architecture, but the education I actually took home was how good down-to-earth authentic Italian cooking could be. One of the most memorable things I ate that year was asparagus simply topped with grated Parmesan. That’s it! That’s all it needed to be perfect. Since asparagus is one the stars of the spring season, I like quickly roasting until it’s perfectly tender and then spooning on this light spring jacket of a Parmesan sauce. And while I personally only wear a light spring jacket one or two days out of the year, I find this sauce gets worn much more frequently.
This giant crumbly cookie is a specialty of Mantua, in Lombardy. But I first tasted it at a cooking class at the home of a chef from Parma, in Emilia-Romagna, where it is also popular. This makes sense, as Parma is just about an hour south of Mantua, and popular cookies tend to travel beyond their place of origin.
Also known as torta sbrisolona, the name of this cookie roughly translates to “crumbly cake.” It comes from the verb sbricolare, which means “to crumble.” The cookie was once upon a time prepared by farmers using simple ingredients that they were likely to have on hand—flour, cornmeal, sugar, a little lard or butter, and almonds. It was eaten as a snack to revive them after a long morning of work.
When assembling your sbrisolona, resist patting the sandy dough into the pan too firmly. It needs to be loosely packed in order to yield that fall-apart texture that makes it so irresistible. Once baked, it is customary to break this cookie into irregular pieces for serving, though you can cut it with a knife for a neater presentation.