Anchovy

Anchovies usually play a supporting role in a dish, typecast as the salty accent. But we just love them, so we challenged ourselves to craft a sandwich that actually features them. We knew that if we succeeded, we’d have a sandwich that could have a small but faithful following. And so it came to pass. We adapted an interesting Scandinavian preparation that paired anchovies with eggs—the richness of the eggs balances the tartness of the fish. We liked it. And, as it turns out, so does that small (but ever-growing) band of devotees we’d envisioned.

Eggplant is like a sponge, soaking up whatever moisture it encounters. This, at least in part, is why it is typically breaded when fried—the bread crumbs serve as a shield to limit how much oil is absorbed. In this recipe, however, we salt the eggplant for about an hour to remove excess moisture and then fry it without a coating so it absorbs some oil. Decadent? Absolutely; the eggplant becomes luxuriously creamy and custardy. As buffalo mozzarella is a bit milder and softer than regular mozzarella, it is a perfect complement to the eggplant, but you can use whichever mozzarella you prefer. Interestingly, both the eggplant and the cheese are really the supporting cast in this sandwich; it is the relish that’s the star. The secret ingredient? Anchovies. If you need a purely vegetarian sandwich, leave them out, but they lend a subtle kick, and with the sweetness of the raisins and texture of the pinenuts, you have a picante and assertive relish.

I freely admit that the tonnato preparation is an idea that takes some getting used to: It means that a meat, usually veal, is topped with tuna sauce—and it’s usually served cold. But before you say “Ugh” and turn the page, please give it a try. It’s really a wonderful combination of flavors. Instead of veal, I prefer the lighter taste of turkey paired with the relatively strong sauce, and I like this dish warm, not cold.

Midway between an antipasto plate and a salad, this is typical of the kind of salads you’ll find in Rome, which rarely feature a lot of lettuce. Don’t be put off by the anchovies; they are chopped fine and contribute a big kick of flavor and saltiness. Serve it along with a plate of sliced deli meats for a picnic or fall lunch.

This flavorful tuna burger is fully inspired by the niçoise salad from the Provence region of France. I do make an exception to my “no-add-ins” rule when forming the patties for fish burgers because the fish is generally so lean that it benefits from some additional moisture. Many of the salad’s key components, such as briny and salty capers, niçoise olives, and anchovies (here in paste form), are mixed into the tuna burger itself along with sharp Dijon mustard, sweet shallots, and fresh basil. These ingredients also act as a binder, holding the burger together as it cooks. Roasting the garlic and tomato gives a deep yet mellow sweetness, while fresh lemon juice and zest supply a bright note to the full-flavored aioli. It’s an elegant take on a burger.

The classically American Caesar salad has taken on a life of its own. Forget about it as a starter—this salad has become a meal on menus across the country with the addition of chicken, steak, or shrimp. Why not take it one step further and put the salad on a burger? Refreshing romaine lettuce lends its crispness to the burger, but the zesty dressing and extra Parmesan cheese are what really make this so identifiable flavor-wise and so tasty. All of the classic components of Caesar dressing—garlic, Worcestershire sauce, anchovies (these can be your secret, but their rich saltiness is essential)—morph into a slightly spicy mayonnaise perfect for spreading all over this new way to make a meal out of Caesar salad.

I love this prepared in individual baking dishes, as described in the note below. But I know most people don’t have six such dishes, so I’m offering the recipe prepared in a single large baking dish—I don’t want you to miss out on the wonderful flavor of fresh anchovies just because you don’t have small baking dishes. If you serve the anchovies from a large round dish, cut them into wedges, like a cake. Don’t be alarmed if the “slices” crumble a little; that is the nature of the dish. You can easily prepare this recipe for two people: decrease the amount of anchovies by two-thirds to 1/2 pound, but cut the remaining ingredients in half.

Some people dislike anchovies, but it would be a shame to leave them out of this dish. They add such wonderful flavor and, most likely, people won’t even know they are there. They dissolve during the cooking and add complexity to the other assertive flavors in this dish. I like to crush canned tomatoes with my hands, so I can feel when they are the right size and how tender or firm they are. That helps me to judge the cooking time better. If you prefer, you can mash them with a wire whisk or use a food processor. If you choose to process them, use just a few quick bursts—otherwise you’ll chop them too fine and incorporate a lot of air into the tomatoes, and they will turn pink. You can add basil to this sauce if you like, or stick to the traditional Italian-American accent of fresh parsley. I choose Pecorino Romano cheese for this dish. It is made from sheep’s milk and is much sharper than Parmigiano-Reggiano, which is made from cow’s milk. But if you prefer, you may use Parmigiano-Reggiano.

Usually, pasta recipes contain something substantial such as sliced mushrooms, vegetables, seafood, or meat. This recipe, like the aglio e olio on page 103, has a very simple sauce and will make 6 “Italian” portions. Simplicity goes a long way, especially with intense flavors such as anchovies and capers. If you’d like more substantial servings, increase the spaghetti to 1 1/ 2 pounds and the rest of the ingredients by one-half.

Pick the youngest, crunchiest romaine heads you can find. Keep them crisp, before and after cleaning, in the vegetable drawer of the refrigerator. Even if you pick young, crispy lettuce, you should use only the pale-green and yellow inner leaves for this salad. But don’t throw out the outer leaves. Shred them and stir them into soups, or into a panful of sautéed fresh peas. The dressing shouldn’t be too dense; it should be just thick enough to coat each leaf lightly. The cheese that is added at the end will thicken it a little. Oil and vinegar stirred in at the end is a little touch of mine. It’s how we serve the salad at Lidia’s Kansas City and Pittsburgh. Another little touch that looks nice on a plate is to set one or two whole romaine leaves on the plate and pile the cut leaves over it. Shaving Parmigiano-Reggiano over the finished salad looks nice and tastes nice, too. It’s a good thing to keep in mind for other salads as well. Traditionally, Caesar salad was made with a barely cooked egg. Here I use a hard-boiled egg, as I do in my restaurants, for safety reasons.

We made this dish at Ristorante Buonavia in the early 1970s with white bread. Now I find I like the flavor and texture of wheat bread, and I like it even more if the bread is lightly toasted before you put the sandwiches together.Vegetable stock is nice here—it cuts the acidity of the white wine without adding a definitive flavor. If you don’t have vegetable stock, use water or, if you want to add a richer flavor, chicken stock.

The flavorings in this dish are zesty—a combination of the traditional and a few touches of my own. The anchovies add a lot of flavor, but if you don’t like them, don’t use them. Lemon zest lightens the flavor of this hearty dish a little. (You might find that adding just a little bit of zest to other robust dishes will do the same for them.) It may seem strange to chop the crushed red pepper—especially as they fly around the chopping board a bit while you’re trying to do so—but it prevents you from biting down on a big flake of pepper in the stuffing. If you have vegetable stock or chicken stock, you may use it in place of the water called for in the recipe. It will surely add flavor.