My mom adapted this from her Italian mother-in-law’s whole steamed artichoke recipe (see page 232) to make a dish that easily feeds a crowd. It uses the same flavors but eliminates the prep work required for whole artichokes and capitalizes on that mid- twentieth-century game-changer—frozen food—in the form of a package of frozen artichoke hearts. As in many ethnic families who have added their personal flavor to the standard Thanksgiving meal fare, this is my family’s “Italian” staple side dish and the first leftover scavenged the next day.
Classic Cuban picadillo—ground meat flavored with sweet raisins, savory tomatoes, salty olives, and fragrant cinnamon—is the ultimate comfort food. Here, I’ve turned those same flavors into an easy-to-make warm dip that uses black beans in place of the meat (with a hint of soy sauce to add some umami). The result can be eaten warm or cold with tortilla chips.
These smashed potatoes are inspired by my favorite stir-fried mala potatoes I get from the Sichuan restaurant near my house. Their version is crinkle-cut, but the seasoning here is the same and the shape is just as playful. Mala refers to a blend of primarily Sichuan peppercorns and spicy chilis, and lends its name to that buzzing, almost tingly sensation you get from eating Sichuan food. This spice mix also includes cumin seeds and white pepper to round out the heat with a little earthiness, turning these smashed potatoes into tingly taters.
When he’s in charge of pizza night, Saba follows a ritual: He starts the day before, making the dough from scratch, using no other flour but Tipo 00 (which is known for creating dough with a light, chewy texture). He budgets at least 12 hours for the dough to rise, and when he (and the dough!) is ready, he rolls and assembles one pizza at a time, pulling from several bowls of neatly prepared toppings, like a real pizzaiolo. Finally, he heats up his Ooni pizza oven to bake the pies. It’s a whole thing, and he is very proud of it. Needless to say, pizza night my husband’s way is not something that happens frequently. And yes, it’s special for that reason alone.
But this recipe is not that! And you might not approve of calling it “pizza,” but let’s just go with it. This is pizza night my way—lazy but delicious. It takes less than 15 minutes to assemble and does not require time for the dough to rise, nor a special oven. Made in a sheet pan, from phyllo dough and without sauce, it’s definitely not traditional. Yet the phyllo makes a light and flaky base for a simple assortment of veggies and cheeses.
Some salads are supporting actors; this salad is a star. It’s worth your attention and stomach space on a table full of other foods— yes, even (and especially) like Thanksgiving. I like to keep the farro, olive, and cheese treasures at the bottom of the serving bowl, with the leaves layered on the top for a fun surprise every time someone scoops.
This recipe is flexible, so don’t get flustered if you don’t have both endives and radicchio or Castelfranco. Just one type of leaf is fine! Don’t have Parm? Swap in feta or even blue cheese. If you want to skip the nuts, go for it, but I’d strongly advise you keep the olives in. And, you could even add in a sweet element, like a dried cranberry, golden raisin, or sliced pear, if that’s your kind of thing.
White beans dressed with little more than fresh herbs and good olive oil reminds me of meals I’ve enjoyed in Tuscany, the South of France, and the Greek islands. Here, the gremolata-style dressing is inspired by the Italian version made with garlic, citrus rind, and parsley. My variation uses a combination of preserved lemons, black garlic, and cilantro. The black garlic can be replaced with pitted salted olives—not the same, but it does have that “grounding” umami flavor.
Who doesn’t love an easy meal you can whip up after a long day with ingredients you already have in your kitchen? This saucy, comforting bean dish stew is just that. In a world where beans become brownies, pastas, and burgers, serving them whole with a pasta sauce feels rebellious. And don’t skip the garlic-rubbed toast! It really ties everything together. Whether you’re sharing this or not, I love making a whole batch. The simmered leftovers topped with a fried egg are really something to look forward to the next day.
Brother Pedro Alvarez, a monk in his mid-twenties from Mexico, introduced his favorite dish to the monks at Saint John’s. Brother Pedro lived in a Russian Orthodox monastery in Mexico City before relocating to central Minnesota. But this isn’t a recipe he learned at the monastery; he learned it from his grandmother.
As is the case with recipes that travel, this tinga reflects not only its Mexican origins but also its current home in Minnesota. Tinga is typically slow-cooked, shredded meat—anything from beef to pork to chicken—layered with the flavors of chiles, onions, garlic, and tomatoes. Brother Pedro replaced the chicken with wild turkey from central Minnesota. None of the monks hunt, but they do welcome the bounty donated to them from hunters in the area. The honey is the monastery’s own and gives the dish a sweetness that provides the perfect counterpoint to the chiles. Tinga is comforting in the winter and fun for a summertime barbecue, too. Brother Pedro’s advice is to “take it slowly, let the house fill with the smoky aroma. It will bring everyone to the table.”
My aunt Phoebe’s late husband, Uncle Samy, was a passionate cook who had a knack for turning the simplest ingredients into a meal. This five-ingredient chicken was one of his signature dishes that my cousins and I always looked forward to.
The key to perfecting this dish is to make sure the onions are cooked down and caramelized to a deep golden brown, while being careful not to burn them. Just watch and toss the onions around, managing the heat until they are ready.
Here I serve it over a big salad with blocks of feta, bread, and a bowl of Torshi (page 261). If Uncle Samy saw it this way, he’d teasingly say I ruined it with all the embellishments, and we’d have a big laugh. Every time I make this chicken, I think of him.
Maybe a lentil loaf doesn’t sound that thrilling, but you haven’t had this one yet. It has so much flavor and texture, I think it’s more satisfying than a real meatloaf. Even carnivores will ask for a second slice.