Hanukkah is a fine time to serve these at brunch with a dollop of Greek yogurt or sour cream on top. I am constantly amazed at just how far Jewish food travels: when I was working on the update for this book, my daughter Daniela told me that a relative of her Chilean friend posted a recipe online for apple latkes. When I contacted her, I realized it was a Polish recipe. Shortly afterward, Daniela, on a train going through Poland, tasted a similar apple pancake. You can also substitute stone fruits, like apricots, plums, or peaches—in the late spring, at Shavuot, or anytime.
Since beef was expensive in Japan when I was growing up, it was a real treat when my grandmother, Hatsuko Ishikawa, invited us over for a meatloaf with amakara (salty and sweet) sauce, made with soy sauce, honey, and vinegar. She made hers in a round cast-iron skillet and always served it with potatoes, which were tossed in the pan (with the lid closed) to make them fluffy. This recipe is enhanced with a miso-infused shiitake mushroom sauce, my own wafu version of meatloaf.
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.”
This one-pan wonder is a creamy skillet of tiny grains of orzo pasta that cook up in a snap, making it a go-to for weeknights. The contrast of the zingy lemon with the earthy thyme-infused charred broccoli creates chef-level depth of flavor in minutes. For an extra touch, garnish with lemon wheels and serve it straight from the skillet at the table. (Then it’s front and center for grabbing seconds!)
A Basque cheesecake is traditionally served crustless and with no berry adornments, but I promise you’re going to fall in love with this rebellious version. I layer it with a cookie crust; I really like the spice in the Speculoos (Biscoff-ish) cookie and bright berries, which just make the mahogany top and lusciously smooth texture sing. You’ll notice the ingredients— like the cream cheese— are cold rather than at room temperature, so it won’t overbake in the hot oven as the top browns.
This is a remake of my mama’s recipe. The southern way, the traditional way, the way my mama made hers is with sour cream, and then she would cut blocks of cheese into it and add lotsa pepper plus paprika for color.
One reason this recipe here is so sopped up is it’s layered with a rich egg custard and lots and lots of cheese. It’s the cheese that has the !ava, hunny! And it doesn’t matter what cheese you use. Grate up what’s in the fridge and mix ’em together for a pasta party! Cheddar, sharp cheddar, Gruyère, Swiss, Parmesan . . . they all like to play together!
While I make my mac in a big, deep cast-iron skillet, you can use a big casserole dish or a couple smaller ones to bake yours. Just know that your cookin’ time will be different and depend on how deep you’ve got yours layered.
My mother, Larisa, was born in Odessa, Ukraine, and has made borsch all her life. ’This is the hot winter version: vegetarian and super-quick to prepare but also hearty and filling, with a lovely sweet-sour flavor and gorgeous red beet color. It’s served garnished with fresh herbs and a dollop of sour cream.
Buckwheat is the most popular grain in Slavic cuisine. When a crisis hits any Slavic country, buckwheat is usually the first thing that disappears from grocery store shelves. That’s how much people rely on it in their diet. I was never crazy about buckwheat when I was a kid. But when mom made me this soup, everything changed. It has the most alluring deep flavor of buckwheat and mushrooms with the right balance of sweetness and earthiness. It’s just like being wrapped in a cozy blanket and taking an autumn walk in a forest. I love eating this soup piping hot with the darkest rye bread I can find.