Poultry

...in the style of Nereto. An old Longobard town in the north of Abruzzo’s province of Teramo, Nereto grows walnuts and breeds turkeys. And when the turkeys grow fat on the walnuts, their just-dressed flesh, roasted with aromatics, indeed tastes of the sweet, smoky nuts. A classic dish for Christmas there, I fix it for our Tuscan version of Thanksgiving. And because our local turkeys, as is likely the case with yours, do not feed on walnuts, I gift the bird with a luscious paste of them smoothed under the skin of its breast. I like the Neretese-inspired turkey infinitely better than the more famous tacchino alla Canzanese, turkey in the manner of Canzano, which typically asks that the bird be relieved of his bones and poached with a calf’s foot and knuckle, then cooled and presented in its jellied broth.

If you’ve never had grilled duck breasts, you’re in for a revelatory surprise. The contrasts are striking: the smoke of the grill against the richness of the duck fat, the juicy meat capped by crispy skin. At the restaurant, we buy Liberty Farms breasts (see Sources), which I have found superior to others in taste and texture. They raise a variety of duck called Pekin, a smaller, more compact bird (a single breast is perfect for one person) with a brighter, more delicate flavor and feel. You may have more luck finding Muscovy duck breasts, which are heftier, more steaklike. If you use Muscovy, you’ll only need four breasts to feed six people. Grilling duck breasts requires some attention. The fat from under the skin will inevitably drip into the fire, causing flare-ups, which can blacken the breasts if you’re not careful. If a flare-up occurs, use tongs to snatch the breasts off the grill for a few seconds, then return them once the flames have subsided. You may need to move them around the grill almost continuously as the fat renders out. The reward for this vigilance, however, is perfection—crisp golden brown skin and plump, succulent meat. An easier option is to sauté them in a cast-iron pan over medium-low heat, still skin side down, taking your time to render the fat from under the skin. Once the skin is crisp, which can take longer than you might expect, turn the breast over and cook a few more minutes, until medium-rare.

One particularly chilly weekend (yes, we have those here every once in a while), I needed a dish that would be opulent and soul-satisfying. At first, duck braised in red wine came to mind. But, I wanted something even more intense and a little bit sweet, and I arrived at Banyuls, a fortified wine from the south of France. Extracted from grenache grapes grown on the rocky, terraced vineyards that overlook the sea, Banyuls is classically paired with chocolate and has deep notes of chestnut, mocha, and dried fruit. As the duck and Banyuls cooked together slowly in the oven, the deeply concentrated wine permeated the meat and produced a rich ruby broth. A gratin of turnips and potatoes dotted with prunes and baked with cream proved the perfect companion for the tender, falling-apart duck bathed in crimson juices.

I stole the marinade in this recipe from my husband. That strange combination of ingredients—toasted bay leaves, coriander, white pepper, honey, and sherry—lends an exotic and aromatic quality to the squab. Farro, Kabocha squash, and cavolo nero are three of my favorite things on earth, so in this dish, I just give in, sautéing them all together into a slightly labor-intensive but super-delicious “stir-fry.” I could eat it for lunch (or dinner!) every day. Embellished with a jewellike pomegranate salsa, this dish is a foray into the Near East.

I’m not sure which parent I’m indebted to for this recipe. Probably both. When my mother met my father, she was neither a practiced diner nor an experienced cook. To rectify the situation and satisfy his own culinary demands, my father gave my mother a copy of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking as soon as they were married. When I was growing up, this was one of my favorite recipes from that book. I served my own interpretation of the dish at one of our first Sunday suppers at Lucques. First I browned the chicken thighs and slathered them in a quick-to-make mustard-and-breadcrumb combo and then roasted them on a bed of braised leeks. The chicken emerges from the oven crisp and brown, while the leeks become tender, and permeated with the flavors of the chicken.

Chicken breasts probably wouldn’t make the list of my favorite foods. But these chicken paillards are a different story. Pounded thin, dredged in Parmesan breadcrumbs, and sautéed until golden and crispy, these chicken breasts are a synthesis of a few retro classics: chicken Parmesan meets chicken Milanese meets fried chicken. Whatever you want to call it, it’s a true crowd-pleaser, for everyone from the most sophisticated diner to the pasta-with-butter-eating child.

I hope this quail recipe tempts you to venture away from the usual poultry mainstays. These smaller birds don’t have as much meat as others, but they make up for their size in flavor. On this platter, you’ll find all of my favorite Sicilian ingredients. Ricotta is the favored soft cheese of the south, and here I’ve blended it into a hearty, savory pudding. Pancetta, the essential flavoring of so many things Italian, gives the wilted spinach its salty punch. Olive oil–toasted breadcrumbs are the crunchy finish, a tasty result of the Sicilians’ thrifty mentality. And last but not least, currants and pine nuts are a classic Sicilian combination, bringing sweetness and earthiness to the dish. Grilling the quail gives them a smokiness you can’t achieve in the oven. Build a large fire, and spread the coals to heat the entire surface of the grill. If your barbecue is too small to accommodate all twelve birds at once, grill them in batches and reheat in a very hot oven just before serving. Watch the birds carefully as they grill, so they don’t overcook and dry out.

While I’m not a fusion person, I do often find myself melding different cultures into a single dish. This chicken dish is a great example, drawing paprika and sherry from Spain, and dates, saffron, and couscous from Morocco. In place of Morrocan couscous in this dish I use fregola sarda, Sardinia’s answer to traditional couscous. Fregola sarda is made from hand-rolled balls of coarsely ground semolina. Although often called “Italian couscous,” its larger size and slightly toasted flavor distinguish it from its North African counterpart. It lends the dish a nutty flavor and chewy texture, and is the perfect accompaniment to soak up all the spiced broth and fragrant saffron onions. The final addition of sliced dates and fresh herbs gives this Mediterranean tagine a sweet finish.

Like a lamb shoulder or veal shank, duck legs require a long, slow braise (in fat in this case, rather than stock) to break down their sinew and make them succulent and tender. Choose an earthenware dish or a roasting pan that will hold the legs snugly (the legs should just fit in the dish, without overlapping). Four cups of duck fat sounds like a lot, but don’t worry, most of it is left behind in the pan, and you can use it over and over again, as long as it’s strained well and kept chilled or frozen. You can also store the duck legs in the fat.

This dish proves my quirky theory that green and orange foods go together. Think about it: peas and carrots, oranges and asparagus, winter squash and arugula. Saffron, a beautiful rusty orange, pairs perfectly with spring’s green bounty. Saffron has been used as a flavoring and coloring agent (even as hair dye!) since ancient Egyptian times. The saffron thread is actually the stigma (part of the female reproductive organ) of the saffron crocus. Each one must be handpicked from the flower, which accounts for saffron’s outrageous price. Fortunately, a little goes a long way. Use it with a light hand, as too much saffron can easily overwhelm a dish. Buy whole threads, not powder, and store them in a cool, dark place. Buy only a little saffron at a time, so you’ll be able to use all of it while it’s still fresh.

Every night around 4 a.m. at Employees Only, we offer up a hot cup of chunky chicken soup to the survivors of the long, cruel night. It is a tradition came by way of Greek night clubs. It is how we say “thank you” and “good night” to all the people who might expect one more drink.

Daniel del Vecchio has been working with me for nearly twenty years. For a long time, he was known as my right-hand man—and for good reason. That’s why I now entrust him with opening and maintaining my restaurants around the world. More important, he’s like family. We’ve celebrated many holidays and milestones together, including, of course, Thanksgiving, when his turkey has often been the star of the show.

If you want to impress at a dinner party, this is the dish to make. The secret ingredient? Jordan almonds, those impossibly hard candies handed out at weddings. They turn into a gorgeous caramelized crust on the roasted duck breast. Simply cooked baby turnips make an elegant accompaniment.

My alsatian upbringing and my time in Asia often merge in my cooking. This take on classic Cantonese roasted duck pairs beautifully with Sweet and Sour Cabbage (page 193). I love when the soy-infused duck juices run into the tender vegetables.

Talk about addictive. My director of creative development, Greg Brainin, created these, and I can’t get enough of them. For a double dose of heat, fresh chile slices cling to the fiery sauce on the crisp wings.

If you want the crunch of fried chicken without the fuss of cooking big pieces, you have to try this quick, streamlined recipe. My technique for cutting chicken steaks gives each person white and dark meat and makes for a hearty serving. This all-season dish is perfect with simply blanched vegetables. In the winter, I serve it with broccoli; in the spring, snap and snow peas; and in the summer, wax beans and haricots verts.

You don’t need bread crumbs in my take on chicken parm. The blend of finely and coarsely grated cheese with just a little flour creates a crunchy, savory crust. I love to serve this with Salsify in Lemon Butter (page 192).

Miso, A japanese fermented soybean paste, is the ultimate marinade. It infuses chicken with a subtle yet intense salty-sweetness. Both leafy and woody herbs add freshness to this summer cookout dish.

Every home in France has a version of this rustic dish—now my home in New York does as well. I love how the vinegar infuses the chicken with a rich tanginess. Be sure to have some good bread on hand to sop up the sauce.

Boneless, skinless chicken breasts are often derided as dry and bland. But I love pounding them and then grilling them until juicy. Their subtlety makes them perfect for a range of flavors—especially in salads. This is one I eat throughout autumn as a complete meal.