To create stovetop Brussels sprouts that were deeply browned on the cut sides while still bright green on the uncut sides and crisp-tender within, we started the sprouts in a cold skillet with plenty of oil and cooked them covered. This gently heated the sprouts and created a steamy environment that cooked them through without adding any extra moisture. We then removed the lid and continued to cook the sprouts cut sides down so they had time to develop a substantial, caramelized crust. Using enough oil to completely coat the skillet ensured that all the sprouts made full contact with the fat to brown evenly from edge to edge.
My father, Ivor, is from a small town in the center of South Africa and, although his family’s background is English and Eastern European, he was raised with strong Dutch influences. One Dutch passion he passed down to me is his love of black licorice, specifically the salty, chewy sort—not the soft, sweet kind. Whenever we visited family in South Africa, my dad would bring home bags of what we knew as dubbel zout (double salt)—coins of salted black licorice about the size of a quarter. I devoured them every chance I got, relishing the savory, saline exterior before it gave way to the barely sweet, chewy center. Dad’s other sweet vice, which I also inherited, is chocolate. Not white. Not milk. Simply pure and dark. So, it was in honor of him, and our shared love of these two confections, that I concocted this deep, dark chocolaty cake, which gets a touch of sophisticated salt flavor, plus notes of molasses and anise, from what might seem to be an unlikely partner: black licorice. Paired together, the two confections make for a brilliant duo that is both delicious and not-too-sweet.
Banana bread was always a staple in my mom’s kitchen when I was growing up. Over the years, I have riffed on her recipe in dozens of ways: adding chocolate chips, nuts, or spices; swinging from quick bread to cake; icing or dusting it with confectioners’ sugar. Then, about a year ago, I decided to play with the idea of a banana upside-down cake, topped with banana slices and salted caramel, which both soaks into the cake and drips all around it when the pan is inverted. That little idea turned out to be a total keeper. Here it is.
This velvety cheesecake is made with toasted coconut in the crust plus a shaggy garnish of shredded coconut on the top.
Full of spices, fresh ginger, and sweet dried apricots, this is a spunky and highly fragrant stew. The kale gives it enough vegetable matter to make it a one-pot meal, and the chickpeas are velvety and satisfying.
The idea here is to cut a cauliflower into the tiniest florets possible. It’s not difficult, but it takes a little time. Of course, the cauliflower morsels are not really quite as small as couscous, but they are small enough to cook very quickly. A delicate, flavorful side dish.
This one is more ritual than recipe and, for me, a most perfect alchemy, arming the most novice of cooks with a precise and measured objective. I love fresh pasta, but, I must admit, I equally love a dried pasta that is select heritage grain, preferably organic, skillfully milled and extruded under the immense pressure of antique brass dies, and dried in a time-honored tradition. The same goes for tomatoes. Whether it’s a rumor or a tomato, consider the source — as well as how and where it was grown and whether it was picked at the height of ripeness. Both pasta and tomatoes have a permanent place in my pantry.
ESCALIVADA | a vegetable braise
A light hand with the seasonings lets the forest-y mushroom flavor lead the way. I use this as a side dish or as a topping for grilled fish, braised meats, or meatballs. The basic roasted mushrooms without the gremolata seasoning are even more versatile.
Before the conflict began, there was a little restaurant in a hidden corner of a back alley in Aleppo’s Old City, next to the old Jewish cemetery. The restaurant was called the King of Omelettes (Malik Al Ijja) and aptly named it was, too. The place was so tiny, they could only cram in two customers at a time, and there was only one thing on the menu: Aleppian Omelettes. People from all around the ancient souq flocked to it every lunchtime and lined up to get a taste. Celebrities from all over Syria came to visit and the owner proudly covered his front window with pictures of himself and the famous people. The place was shabby and unpretentious, and it operated for generations without ever changing a thing. We’re not sure whether this restaurant is still there. We loved it, and now we’re passing on its secret.