Cast Iron Skillet

Although this stew has much in common with the humble American beef stew, it is legitimately Japanese and wonderfully flavored with soy, ginger, mirin (the Japanese sweet cooking wine, for which sugar or honey is an adequate substitute), winter squash, and, perhaps best of all, the peel and juice of a lemon. The combination is one of simple and delicious counterpoints that make this a great stew. Ambitious cooks may want to include dashi, the quickly made stock that is one of the most fundamental flavors of Japanese cooking, but the stew is great when made with chicken stock or, for that matter, water. Other cuts of meat you can use here: short ribs (which will require longer cooking time), bone-in chicken thighs (which will cook more quickly), veal shoulder or round.

No rib-cooking technique makes more sense than the one used in Korea, which begins with a tenderizing poaching and continues with a kind of dry-roasting in the fat and juices exuded by the ribs themselves, along with a dose of strong seasonings. It results in ribs that are dark, glossy, and so tender that just a tug of the teeth will pull them off the bone. If possible, ask your butcher to cut the ribs into 2-inch lengths, which will make them easier to cook (and to eat). I love these preceded by Pajon (page 80) and, of course, with some Kimchi (page 444) on the side, but you may serve them with white rice and a simple steamed vegetable. Other cuts of meat you can use here: short ribs (which will take considerably longer to cook in step 2).

This is not a stir-fry but a simmered dish, easy and fast. The cooking time totals about 10 minutes, and the preparation time is about the same, so make sure to start a pot of rice before anything else. Other meat you can use here: ground turkey, chicken, veal, or beef.

You’ll need a nonstick skillet for this or at least a very well-seasoned cast-iron or steel pan (or cheat and start with a tablespoon or two of corn oil). Although this recipe will work with frozen corn kernels, it is far, far superior when you strip the kernels from fresh cobs. Corn cooked this way is terrific in salads—either green or bean—where you are looking for extra crunch and flavor.

A big potato pie, one of my grandmother’s favorites. She made this in a big cast-iron skillet, usually without butter, but it is better this way and can usually be made a couple of hours before eating; it remains quite crisp. Serve to a crowd, along with a stew or roast.

Where to put a recipe like this? The Swedes eat these pancakes as dessert, but my guess is that 90 percent of Americans who make them will consume them before noon, as breakfast or a brunch dish. Though I’m in that 90 percent, these are undeniably sweet enough for postmeal status. There is a special pan for these, with small depressions, so you can make your pancakes the appropriate size. But using a tablespoon works almost as well. Serve them with confectioners’ sugar, applesauce, lingonberry preserves or any other jam, ice cream, sour cream, yogurt, or whipped cream. Or try an assortment.

In their simplest form, quesadillas are warm corn tortillas encasing spicy melted cheese, but the basic construction simply begs to be built upon. See the variations and keep in mind that the possibilities are endless—take advantage of what you have in the refrigerator or garden. Fresh corn tortillas are best, but flour ones are acceptable. You may dry-sauté the quesadillas, with no oil, in a nonstick or well-seasoned cast-iron skillet.

A classic Spanish tapa, cooked quickly in small ramekins and served sizzling. In Spain, the ramekins are put over direct heat, which, frankly, makes me nervous; I use a heavy skillet and take that right to the table. The Spanish are practically obsessed with the type of shrimp they use and prefer them to be fresh rather than frozen; but most of us don’t have much choice. That’s okay: as long as the shrimp are of high quality, the dish will be delicious. Double the amounts here if you want to serve this as a main course, and, no matter when you serve it, be sure to offer bread as well; the sauce is incredible.

What is important to remember about this dish is that the steak and the sauce never cook together. That way, all the meat juices remain in the steak; if you were to cook them together, the juices would seep out. Meanwhile, the pepper-and-mushroom sauce remains bright and fresh with the flavor of the tomatoes and vegetables.

This is a delicious breakfast dish, very easily prepared and quick to cook. It is something like Yorkshire pudding.

They use deep-fat fryers at the Pirates’ House. If you have one at home, by all means use it.

In my family, favorite dishes are always being altered according to what is available and what is best—especially when I’m cooking. Here’s a perfect example: chicken and potatoes, fried together in a big skillet so they’re crisp and moist at the same time, is my mother’s specialty. Growing up, my brother and I demanded it every week; our kids, Tanya and Joe and Eric, Paul and Estelle, clamored for it too. And now the next generation of little ones are asking their great-grandmother to make chicken and potatoes for them. When I am at the stove—and though I follow my mother’s basic procedures—I can’t resist playing around. Some days I add sausage to Grandma’s recipe, or capers or olives; I might douse the chicken with a splash of vinegar; sometimes I cut up a whole chicken, other times I’ll split little poussins or Cornish hens. If I’m in a hurry, I quickly cook small pieces of chicken breast with the potatoes. (You can see what experiments have worked well if you look through my previous books.) This recipe gives you Erminia’s classic formula—chicken, small potatoes, a bit of onion, and fresh rosemary—with two of my latest twists: pickled cherry peppers and bacon strips, in bite-sized rolls. Cherry peppers are plump golf-ball–sized antipasto peppers in vinegar that you’ll find in jars on the pickle shelves of the supermarket. They come in sweet and hot varieties—and the latter are explosive, if you take just a bite. But when they’re seeded, sliced, and added sparingly to the chicken, they imbue the dish with a mellow heat that I love. If you and your family are hot heads, cut up two or more peppers; otherwise slice only one, or use the sweet cherry peppers and see how you like that. My latest spin on our chicken-and-potato tradition is one everybody loves, especially the kids: we roll bacon slices into little bundles, pin each one closed with a toothpick, and caramelize them along with the chicken. The bacon fat slowly renders and lends the meat a layer of flavor that’s picked up by the potatoes and onions too. By the end of cooking, the rolls have turned into crisp morsels that are a treat to eat with the juicy chicken and tender potatoes. (But be sure to remove all the toothpicks!)

Here’s another of my delicious discoveries at Le Lampare, in Trani. Farro is again paired with seafood, the simply cooked grain tossed and dressed, like pasta, with a lively sauce of cured tuna, tomatoes, and capers. We can’t match the tuna used at Le Lampare—theirs was expertly house-cured from the flavorful and expensive ventresca (belly flap) of the fish—but with this recipe you can make a version that is truly delicious in its own right, using good-quality Italian canned tuna (packed in olive oil, of course). It is a great summer dish, as a main course or an appetizer.

As much as Puglia is about the land, it is also flanked by water: the Adriatic on one side and the Ionian Sea on the gulf side. Hence, one finds a big tradition of seafood as one travels down to the tip of the heel. In the quaint seaside city of Trani, along the Adriatic shoreline, is a delightful restaurant called Le Lampare. There I was introduced to farro con legumi e cozze, a beautiful stew of ceci and cannellini beans cooked with farro, one of my favorite grains, tossed before serving with savory mussels and their juices.

Manfredi’s version of chicken cacciatora was chock-full of delicious Sicilian eggplant. Indeed, the vegetable chunks shared the spotlight with the meat and made it more bountiful and satisfying. Undoubtedly, I realized, this dish must reflect the resourcefulness of cooks in Sicily in generations past. With many mouths to feed, and a limited supply of chickens (or money to buy them), they could extend the dish with the sweet tomatoes and meaty eggplants that grow so prolifically in every small garden patch. I hope you’ll be creative with this recipe too: if your chicken is smaller than the one called for here, or if you want to serve more people, fry up more eggplant and cook up more tomatoes for sauce. From one small chicken, you’ll have prepared a feast, all in one pot. Serve this with panelle (page 281) or polenta (page 109), or dress a bowl of pasta with the sauce and eggplant. Rest assured, no one will leave your table hungry.

We have all seen countless dishes called al Marsala on the menus of Italian-American restaurants. Too often, I have found, they disappoint me. The pork scaloppine I enjoyed at the Ferdinando brothers’ trattoria reminded me that this simple preparation depends so much on the quality of the wine that is splashed into the skillet. And I was not surprised to learn that the superb sauce coating the meat was made with a carefully chosen Marsala, dry and aromatic. After all, the town of Marsala lies just a few hours west of Palermo, and from that western tip of the island comes all authentic Marsala, in a wide range of vintages, colors, and degrees of sweetness. The finest Marsalas, aged a minimum of 10 years, are ranked with the great fortified wines of the world—sipping one of these is a pleasure you shouldn’t miss. But for good cooking, I recommend a moderately priced Superiore (aged 2 years) or Superiore Riserva (aged 4 years). I always prefer dry (secco) Marsala, even for desserts like Espresso Zabaglione (page 156); for these scaloppine, secco is a must.