I know it is a cliché, but this soup really can be made in less than an hour and tastes like it simmered all day. Minestrone lends itself to variations, so improvise with the ingredients that you have on hand. If you were wise enough to freeze pesto at the end of the summer, you can turn this soup into Minestrone alla Genovese by stirring about 1/4 cup of the pesto into the pot just before serving.
Fresh kale is wilted ever so slightly by tender-crisp, hot onions -- and glazed with reduced vinegar before being graced with freshly made croutons, shaved cheese, and figs (fresh or dried). A single pan handles all the parts of this recipe that need heat, and the flavor that accumulates in there is absorbed by the bread as it toasts. Deliciousness builds, step by step, and the results are glorious. (My feelings about this dish are pretty much summed up in the yield estimate.)
Vegan and gluten-free
Okay, vegetarians (vegans too)! Here's a Thanksgiving entrée that even turkey lovers will want to fork into. If you plan ahead (for example, make the cornbread a few days in advance) all will go smoothly.
I had been tempted to do this for years and finally made the leap: combining two classic Thanksgiving side dishes into one.
Anything you do with this broth will make you proud. Sip it by the cup for a lift; simmer it into soups, stews, pilafs, curries and sauces.
Mashed potatoes are one of my favorite comfort foods, and it's not hard to make them taste amazing. The easy way, my friends, is fat. A lot of it. I used to work at a restaurant where the cooks dropped a brick of cream cheese, a long swig of cream, and unmentionable amounts of butter into the joint's famous smashed potatoes. So there's that approach.
Thanksgiving is less than one week away! You've got your turkey taken care of, and mashed potatoes practically make themselves. But do you have a recipe for my very favorite holiday condiment: cranberry sauce?
Let me walk you through the experience of eating a fresh gougère. It's surprisingly light as you pick it up, almost insubstantial and still hot from the oven. The crispy shell crunches as you pull it open, releasing a puff of savory steam. Then you hit the middle: soft, eggy, and indecently cheesy. Two bites and it's gone. You're going to want to make a batch of these soon, trust me.
In our house, Chanukah means latkes, potato pancakes. All five of us love latkes. What's not to like about potatoes fried in oil? We always have them at least once on Chanukah; often more, as our kids clamor for them. Over the past decade, my husband, Jeffrey, became our household's chief latkemaker, in part, I think, in response to my tendency to try to make them a little healthier. "Lots of oil is key," he'll declare as I attempt to demonstrate that you can make "perfectly good" latkes with only a thin film of oil or, even worse, with cooking spray instead of oil. I have to admit that, while a minimal amount of oil does make "perfectly good" latkes, a substantial amount of oil makes perfect latkes.