Quick dinners as a kid were often baked beans on toast, smothered in cheddar and stuck under a hot grill until all melty. I could never be patient enough to wait either, and would burn my tongue on hot cheese lava and tomato sauce (worth it). It’s not uncommon to find some kind of white bean at a Middle Eastern breakfast table, stewed in a tomato-based sauce. This recipe is a happy amalgamation of the two. You can scoop it right out of the pan with warm pitas, or spoon it onto sourdough or baked potatoes and serve it for breakfast, lunch or even dinner.
Tanto was the nickname we gave one of my close childhood friends. He is a priest today, and I sometimes wonder if anyone who knows him as Father Francis realizes that once upon a time, his irreverent friends affectionately renamed him after the elephants (tantors) in the land of Tarzan, whose comic books we consumed voraciously. When we were young, a bunch of us went camping together a lot. Each of us was responsible for a meal, and for whatever reason, Tanto always made a tomato-potato curry. Truth be told, this is nothing at all like his original dish, but I still think of him every time I make it. Some memories are funny that way. This curry is hearty and delicious; it’s not very saucy, so don’t be surprised by that (for more on what a curry is and is not, see page 19).
If you want a shrimp taco recipe up your sleeve, this is the one you need. The recipe for these tacos comes from Mazatlán, Sinaloa. The story goes that the owner of Los Arcos restaurant, Francisco Labastida, came up with this idea to impress the governor, who was visiting. That is why he called them governor tacos!
These are Brussels sprouts but with a difference. First, they are finely shredded and sautéed in plenty of butter flavoured with nutmeg and sage, then they are combined with orecchiette, double (heavy) cream and plenty of Parmesan.
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.”
We like to make up big batches of this homey chowder when the local sweet corn is at its peak. Do not toss out those corn cobs; they make a fabulous stock that gives this soup its wonderful corn-y flavor.
Bún cha’ hails from North Vietnam, where the cuisine is much more understated and subtle compared to the boldness and spice of its southern counterpart. I’ve never been up north, but my cousin’s uncle lived there and treated us to bún ch’a when he came to visit. It’s fresh, savory, sweet, and herby all at the same time. Traditional bún ch’a features rice vermicelli noodles served with a vegetal broth, seasoned pork patties, and caramelized pork belly slices. My version presents you with several dining options. You can either dip the noodles in the sauce mixture, pour the sauce all over the noodles, or enjoy it as a lettuce wrap. When you choose the lettuce to use, you can use anything but iceberg—it’s too watery! I recommend seeking out Persian (mini) cucumbers because they’re seedless and add an extra crispy texture to the experience. The pork patties are best when they’re grilled, but if you don’t have easy access to a grill, you can pan-sear them instead.
Extremely charred broccoli makes for such a great salad. I dream of the burnt broccoli salad from Superiority Burger in the East Village. Brooks Headley, the chef, is really a vegetable wizard; he always comes up with the most brilliant combinations that are so unique, and just work so well. Nothing could be more perfect than that salad, but this plays with some of the sweet, spicy, salty, charred flavors that I love so much about that dish.
This dish is on regular rotation in my house, especially on nights when we don’t think we have much on hand to prepare and eat. It relies heavily on pantry staples, with the chard being the only fresh ingredient needed. Feel free to substitute the chard with cooked nettles, beet greens, mustard greens, turnip or kohlrabi greens, or a mixture of any and all.