Liver

I can’t resist a piece of calf’s liver when I see it—all too infrequently—in the meat counter. It’s even better if you get it from a considerate butcher who will cut an even-sized 1/4-inch slice and spare you the finicky job of removing the outside membrane. Liver in a winey sauce is particularly good on a cold winter night; somehow I always feel my red corpuscles are strengthened by its rich meatiness. I like it with some potatoes alongside. If you have a couple of cooked potatoes, you can brown them in a little butter while the liver cooks, or if you don’t have them on hand, try grating a medium raw potato through the coarse holes of a grinder and make a quick potato pancake.

What does this look like, chopped liver? Actually it looks like a mosaic. Like great Southern folk art, this recipe takes something humble and puts it on a pedestal so it can be admired. Chicken livers are so inexpensive and can be transformed into a luxury with the addition of a poultry seasoning blend, onions, butter, and bacon. Lining the bowl with plastic wrap and taking some artistic license with bread and butter pickles and pimientos means that this spread, when inverted for serving, becomes something to behold.

A good recipe for chicken liver pâté is critical. This is not your grandmother’s chopped liver; my version is supremely silky and light, with a hint of brandy. The chicken liver as well as the crostini toasts can easily be made a day ahead: refrigerate the liver, pressing plastic wrap directly on the surface, and store the crostini in an airtight container.

A jar of rendered golden chicken fat, or schmaltz, is a faithful friend in the kitchen—tossed with noodles and toasted bread crumbs, added to dumplings in chicken broth, or smeared on flatbread with herbs before baking. These livers are a good companion to a hearty vegetable dish like the Warm Mushroom Salad (page 198).

The fried onions in this recipe are sliced very thin and coated with flour to make them crisp. We wanted them to be a bit tart, but the more customary buttermilk just didn’t take the onions where we wanted them to go. So we first soak the onions in vinegar, then flour and fry them; this way they have the acidity we were after. (Think salt-and-vinegar potato chips.) The radish salad adds some heat to the equation, balancing the ensemble.

When searing meats or fish, the size of the skillet is important. A roomy skillet will retain more heat after you add things to it, and will climb back to searing temperature much more quickly than a smaller skillet. Once you put the slices of liver in the pan, let them sit undisturbed, giving them a chance to form a caramelized crust. If you like your liver rare or medium-rare, as I do, the second side should always cook less than the first—about half the time. If you like more well-done meats, reduce the heat under the pan after you have flipped the meat over to prevent it from scorching, then cook it to your liking. Salt draws liquids and juices from meats, and that is why I season the liver after it is cooked.

The elegant Gilbert Simon invited me for tea in her beautiful apartment in Nîmes, a city in the south of France dating back to the Roman Empire. Born in Lyon, Madame Simon, who is in her late eighties, married a Jewish “Nîmois” whom she met at a dance. But then the Nazis came in 1942 and started taking Jewish families away. “We left before they could find us,” she told me. “They were searching for my husband because he was a doctor here, working in the Resistance.” When they left Nîmes, the Simons hid in the mountains. “We found a house to live in with our two little girls. The peasants sold us vegetables; sometimes they killed a lamb; they brought us cheese and butter. When we returned to Nîmes, it was very difficult. There were not very many Jews left.” Today the majority of Jews are Sephardic, having immigrated to Nîmes in the 1960s from North Africa. Thinking back to happier and more prosperous times, this is the pâté she made through the years for her own family on Friday nights and the holidays, as well as for Jewish students who stayed with her while studying in Nîmes or nearby Aix-en-Provence.

Michel and Françoise Kalifa met over a slab of meat. “When I looked at Françoise, I saw only goodness in her eyes,” said Michel, a butcher who has a flowing black mustache. “She had a generosity of heart.” The two met in Michel’s butcher shop on Rue des Écouffes, in the Marais. Françoise’s parents came to the Marais after the Second World War, looking for other Jews from Poland who had survived the Nazi occupation. “They all said they would meet in the Pletzl, as the quarter was called,” Françoise, a caterer, told me. Now she and Michel, who is from Morocco, live in an apartment above their store with their baby. When we arrived at their renovated apartment, located in an old courtyard, a large platter of the charcuterie that Michel had prepared for us was on the table in the living room. “You should eat with your eyes first,” Michel told us. I picked up a thin slice of turkey smoked with beech wood: moist, mellow, and subtle in flavor. As I tasted my way through the platter, I learned to recognize the various flavors that regional differences make in charcuterie. And now that so many butchers, like Michel, are coming from North Africa, regional products like merguez lamb or beef sausage with its harissa-infused flavor are becoming butcher-shop staples. One of Françoise’s amazing specialties is this chopped liver from her Polish family. “On my mother’s side, we add onions to almost everything we eat,” Françoise told me. Not as finely chopped as most American versions, her liver was laced with finely sautéed sweet onions browned in duck fat and cooked until a caramel color. “The onions are the real secret,” Michel added. “They give it the sweet taste.” Although the Kalifas wouldn’t reveal the recipe, food historians Philip and Mary Hyman, who accompanied me, helped me get close, we believe.

Here I have taken a Pakistani recipe for stir-fried liver made in the wok-like karhai and changed it just enough so Westerners, who like their liver softer and pinker than South Asians do, may enjoy it too. If you want the Pakistani recipe, after the liver has browned, cut it crossways into 1-inch squares and add these pieces to the onion sauce when it is ready. Continue to stir and cook on low heat until the liver is done to your satisfaction. Serve with rice and a salad or a green vegetable.

This Lebanese specialty is served as an appetizer, but it is also good as a main course accompanied by mashed potatoes. Calf’s liver has a better flavor and texture, so use it if you can.

Serve with potatoes.

Lamb’s liver is traditionally used, but calf’s liver is tastier and more tender. It is also more expensive.

Dress your fresh strangozzi with this meaty, multitextured sauce—ground veal and chopped chicken livers cooked in a tomato base—for a hearty dish that will delight carnivores and pasta-lovers simultaneously. This is also a great sauce to incorporate into risotto. If you are not enthusiastic about the flavor of chicken liver, use only 1/2 pound, for a subtle flavor boost. But if you love the organic richness of livers, as I do, use a whole pound. This recipe makes a big batch of sauce, so you can use half and freeze half (it will keep well for 4 to 6 weeks).

This smooth pâté can be set up in small jars for a more festive presentation up to 2 days ahead. A simple wine jelly topping—optional, of course— serves as both a conversation starter and a tart-sweet counterpoint to the rich mousse.

My introduction to skate took place when I was a child, during a summer spent on Cape Cod, where, with my older brother and sister, I ran into a fisherman. He was an old salt, his arms deeply tanned and wrinkled from the sun, his beard scraggly and speckled with dried seawater. We asked what he had been catching. "Skate," he replied. Not familiar with the fish, we inquired further and he told us, "In New England we call skate poor man’s scallops." He explained that "back in the day," people on the cape would cut out rounds of the meat as a substitute for scallops because the species shared a common sweetness. What he didn’t tell us is that skate is notoriously difficult to work with when whole. I learned that lesson the hard way and, at the same time, realized the true value of the fish. In the fall of 1999 I had a lot of free time on my hands. Annisa wasn't open yet and I was just learning the art of angling. Jen and I had driven all the way from Manhattan to Shinnecock Canal on Long Island because we heard that striper fishing was particularly good there. After a few hours, and a rough time of it, I landed my skate. I am by no means squeamish, but this fish broke me. None of my extensive culinary training prepared me for what followed. It was the skate that would not die. It took hours; multiple gashes in the head; a three-and-a-half-hour airless trunk ride from Long Island back home to Manhattan, and a drag-out struggle on the cutting board. We gave up the good fight and decided to let the skate die while we watched TV in the next room. Since that traumatic experience, I have not personally killed another skate, but it’s often on the menu at annisa. It is robust and, yes, sweet-flavored, but to call it "poor man’s scallop" is inaccurate and doesn’t do justice to the distinct character of the fish.

Chef Todd Aarons of Tierra Sur at Herzog Wine Cellars in Oxnard, California, shared this recipe as part of a Hanukkah cocktail party menu he created exclusively for Epicurious. Make the pâté just before serving—it's a very quick recipe to put together—as this dish has the most flavor and the best texture when it's warm and fresh from the broiler.

One of my favorite at-home foods is this appetizer/snack, which I love to munch on while I’m cooking out in my backyard. These are great with cocktails and addictive as hell. They’re easy to throw together and put in the smoker alongside whatever else you may already be cooking in there.

This recipe appears at just about every occasion in Cajun Country. Whether it's a holiday, funeral, family reunion, or potluck dinner, you can bet there will be at least one form of dirty rice or rice dressing. At the Link family reunion in Robert's Cove, I counted six versions, all different. The essential ingredients are few, but flavor and texture vary greatly. The main difference between dirty rice and rice dressing is that rice dressing is generally made with ground beef or pork, whereas dirty rice is made with pork and chicken livers. Many people think they don't like liver, but when it's balanced with other flavors, the liver taste is not overpowering. I've served this deeply flavored rice to many people who claim they hate liver, only to have them love it.

Leftover quatre épices from our Confit Duck Legs adds mellow depth to this smooth, velvety pâté spiked with Cognac. The classic flavors of this tried–and–true starter served with baguette toasts are sure to brighten any cocktail party.