Anchovy

This combination of crusty potatoes and salty anchovies will either appeal to you enormously or make no sense. One of the best-known dishes in Sweden, it’s served at almost every holiday party—logically, if you ask me, because it’s great snack food. It makes a good side dish for a hearty roast as well.

In Sweden these little fish “sandwiches” are made with Baltic herring, but you can make them with any small fish from which you can remove the backbone, such as smelts, anchovies, and sardines (the names of all of these fish are confused anyway—many true herring and anchovies are called sardines and vice versa). To bone these fish, grasp the head and pull straight down; most of the innards will come out along with it; use your thumb to open the fish up from the front, then grasp the backbone and remove. You’ll be left with two tiny fillets joined by the skin. Plan to make eight of these—four sandwiches—for each serving if you make them as a main course.

A classic Niçoise appetizer that is like fondue—a “warm bath”—of anchovies, garlic, and olive oil (you can use butter in place of some of the olive oil if you’re feeling indulgent), served with fresh raw vegetables. It’s an unusual dish by today’s standards but remains a wonderful combination. A fondue pot is the ideal serving vessel, because it’s important to keep the sauce hot at the table; an earthenware dish that retains heat well will work if you preheat it and serve the Bagna Cauda immediately.

It’s quite possible that nothing has ever sounded worse to you, but believe me, nearly everyone who tries these crisp, salty, sweet tidbits falls in love with them (some prefer the less assaultive Thai version in the preceding recipe). Best served as a little nibble, but hard to stop eating once you start, these rank as one of my favorite snacks to accompany an ice-cold beer or cold sake (or some soju, the deceptively mild Korean vodka). Buy the smallest dried anchovies (page 25) you can find for this dish, preferably no more than an inch or so long.

Like the nut and bean preparations on pages 27–28, these savory crisp snacks from Southeast Asia (closely related to the similar recipe from Korea that follows) can be eaten out of hand. Also like them, they’re great with beer. Though unfamiliar to some people, they’re instantly liked by most. (You can buy dried baby anchovies—described on page 25—at most Asian, and some Latin, markets.) In Thailand, they’re sometimes tossed with Fried Peanuts (page 27), a lovely little combo.

Peppers and anchovies are a delicious standby appetizer, and when you use piquillos (page 47) and good anchovies (page 25)—packed in olive oil—they become even better. If you think using the garlic this way may be too strong for your tastes, simply cut a clove in half and rub the bread with it, then discard—or omit the garlic altogether.

Along with Spanish food in general, these have become increasingly popular in the States, and they’re fun, rewarding, and easy to make at home. Of course, the key is to begin with superfresh anchovies, and we are finally seeing more of these. (You can use the same method with fresh thin fillets of mackerel, a more common fish, or with smelts, which can be handled the same way as the anchovies.) These are good served on buttered toast or crackers and passed as a snack. You might wonder why your boquerones are not as white as those sold in restaurants; it’s because you’re not using a bleaching agent.

Escarole is a big ingredient in the Italian American pantry, so one will see it frequently on an Italian American table. Escarole has always been abundant in American markets, whereas the dark-green vegetables such as chicory and broccoli rabe made their appearance much later. The usual recipe for sautéed escarole is scarola strascinata, “dragged” in the pan with garlic and oil. In this rendition, the addition of anchovies and black olives makes it more festive and gives the dish more complexity.

This is the quintessential Italian pasta dish, especially in Naples and Rome. The ingredients are three; the clams are the smaller ones—vongole veraci—and they are always cooked in their shells. Once they open, the sauce is done. Here in the States, linguine with clam sauce is made with chopped clams, and I guess this adjustment makes sense, especially since the clams here can be quite large, from littlenecks (small to medium) to topnecks (large) to quahogs or chowder clams (very large). Today, though, one is ever more likely to find smaller cockles on the market; if you find them, by all means use them.

This is not an Italian salad at all, and you would not find it in Italy. Nevertheless, it was very popular in Italian American restaurants in the 1960s and ’70s, and has made a strong comeback today. You can find it in any deli or fast-food locale, often topped with grilled chicken, shrimp, or turkey. With all its different renditions and toppings, it is a great salad if made well. This recipe will produce a delicious, tangy Caesar salad.

Caesar salad (see following recipe) is not a traditional Italian recipe, and the grilled Caesar salad seems to be a recent phenomenon. Nino Germano, the presiding chef-owner at La Scala in Baltimore, told us how, purely by accident, he invented the grilled Caesar salad. During a busy evening in the kitchen, a cut head of young romaine lettuce fell on the grill. Nino, a frugal padrone, set it aside, and when the evening was over and it was time to have his dinner, he decided to dress that grilled romaine as he would a regular Caesar salad. And so the recipe was born.

It seems that the muffuletta sandwich originated in Sicily, set on what most likely was flatbread sprinkled with sesame seeds. And since the Sicilians were the first mass wave of immigration to the port of New Orleans, it would seem that the soft sesame-seed bread of the muffuletta is an American cousin of the bread of the pane ca’ meusa (spleen sandwich) still sold in Palermo markets today. This meatless rendition of the muffuletta was made on All Souls Day; the one with the cold cuts and salad is served on more festive days.

This very tasty appetizer can also be a vegetarian meal. The Italian title says it’s “Roman,” but mozzarella and anchovies are a well-known combination in southern Italy. There are mozzarella-and-anchovy fritters; and zucchini flowers are stuffed with mozzarella and anchovies, then fried. In this recipe, the mozzarella is fried between layers of bread, and then topped with a puckery sauce of lemon, capers, and anchovy.

The marinade in this recipe also makes a wonderful salad dressing.

Phil Donaldson writes: “This Italian sauce is probably the best-tasting spaghetti sauce we have ever tasted. However, it is not very well-known. The name means ‘prostitute’s sauce,’ and the story goes that the ladies would prepare the sauce and put it on their windowsills, and the smell was so fabulous that it attracted clients for them.”

Here’s an uncommon preparation for one of the most common and popular cuts of meat in the market: thin-cut lamb shoulder chops. They’re inexpensive, wide, and meaty. Barely 1/2 inch thick, they look like they’ll cook in a minute, perfect for fast family suppers. But shoulder chops also have lots of cartilage and gristle, and usually two sets of bones, which call for slow cooking (and the meat is tougher than it looks). Though it is a thin chop, it will take about 20 minutes to cook. Get out the big skillet to caramelize the meat and flavoring agents, and then bring everything together in a superb sauce. With surprising ingredients, this is a good recipe to add to your growing repertoire of aglio e olio base sauces. Also, as the sauce reduces, it actually braises the chops for a few minutes, which tenderizes the meat a bit, although it will still be chewy (which I love). What is surprising about the sauce? In addition to my usual aglio, olio, e peperoncino, I drop a couple of chopped anchovy fillets into the pan, where they quickly disintegrate. As part of the sauce, their flavor has a subtle presence but a remarkable impact: taste a bit of lamb by itself, then a morsel with sauce, and you’ll see. Here is delicious evidence that the anchovy is a potent source of umami—the amino acid that makes other foods taste better. You can omit the anchovies entirely, but I hope you’ll give this food synergy a try: if you’re doubtful, use just one fillet of anchovy. We all need to be adventurous!