Sausage

Save extra pesto to use on other grilled meats or fish. It will last up to 1 week in the refrigerator.

Grilled knockwurst goes well with yellow or Dijon mustard and soft pretzels. The knockwurst will char quickly on the grill; be sure to turn it frequently.

Quahogs are found mainly off the eastern coast of the United States; steamer clams may be used instead.

Luscious cannellini beans are one of my favorites, whether plain, drizzled with olive oil, or baked with melting garlic and rosemary. They can be cooked in a wood-fired oven, in embers in the fireplace, or over indirect heat on a grill. Cook the sausage at the same time. This recipe is extraordinarily easy to make, letting the clay pot and the fire be the star flavor contributors, along with the sausage.

In Spain, the native land of paella, this classic dish is often prepared over a live fire. Georgeanne Brennan and I adapted this recipe from The Mediterranean Herb Cookbook on a wood-fired grill at her home, using onions, garlic, peas, and fresh herbs from her garden. You can use fresh or frozen calamari. The quality of the ham and chorizo is very important, so shop for the recommended types. If you can’t find them in your local store, shop online at The Spanish Table or La Tienda (see Resources). One of the secrets to this dish is that the herbs are added in layers. The second secret is to cook it over a wood fire!

This is one of my favorite savory calzones because the filling is so delicious. The sausage and onions become smoky because they are first cooked in the wood-fired oven. Spinach is a natural with these two ingredients. The creamy, slightly nutty fontina cheese is a great companion to the toasted pine nuts. This combination would be wonderful on a pizza as well.

Good freezer management makes it so much easier to get away with two-timing. When the freezer door won’t close, we know it’s time for a couple bags of sauerkraut for an Alsatian choucroute (pronounced shoo-KROOT) garni. A French peasant dish from the Alsace region, choucroute garni means sauerkraut “garnished” with an abundance of pork products, or occasionally goose or duck. It’s the perfect freezer purge for using up all manner of cheater pork plus any sausages, bacon, or ham bones. Whatever you find in there will pretty much work with this dish. Choucroute (the sauerkraut) is traditionally slow-baked in a heavy casserole with slab bacon or a ham hock, carrots, onion, garlic, apple, and wine or beer. The seasoning mix depends on the cook (or the pantry), but usually includes juniper berries, bay leaves, cloves, black or white pepper, even cumin and coriander seeds. The sausages, ham, and other meats are added near the end of cooking. Get the bagged or jarred sauerkraut for the freshest taste. While the sauerkraut turns French in the oven, thaw the trove of frozen meats. A fruity, dry Alsatian Riesling is traditional for both cooking and drinking. French and German beers are also a good match. To complete the meal, add boiled potatoes and a green salad.

A traditional low-country boil is a whole lot easier in a kitchen than on a deck with all that huge pot, outdoor burner, and propane tank business. Usually, the corn on the cob and the new potatoes are cooked right in the boil with everything else, but in a regular kitchen stockpot, we think it’s easier to cook the vegetables separately. We like the extra depth that a little bottled smoke adds to the shrimp boil.

Cinco de Mayo actually marks the 1862 Mexican victory over the French, not Mexican Independence Day, as some believe. Thanks to Madison Avenue, it’s a holiday more enthusiastically embraced north of the border than south. To celebrate this semicorporate affair, grilled Burgos de Mayo combine all our favorite Mexican flavors (including the tequila) on one bun. Top them off with Mayo de Mayo, our Cinco “special sauce.”

Dating back at least to the 1950s is a party classic known as sweet-and-sour meatballs, or smoky sausages in an easy blend of mustard and jelly. We’ve seen signature variations on this theme using just about every flavor of jelly and mustard around. In the end, they all work the same, producing an easy sweet-and-sour sauce for the meat to bathe in. R. B.’s Aunt Kate, a veteran hostess and merrymaking ringleader in Melbourne, Florida, gives particularly high marks to dishes like this that score lowest in effort and highest in empty bowl at cocktail-recipe swap meets. Our somewhat Asian fusion variation calls for broiled fresh pineapple and kielbasa.

Recipes, like everything else fashionable, rise and fall with popular perception. They’re in, they’re out, they’re hot, they’re hopelessly last season. Liver has never caught the wave of coolness, unless it’s taken from a force-fed goose. Even liver as haute couture as foie gras is on the OUT list, branded as inhumane and even outlawed in some places. Slumming with ready-to-wear liverwurst, on the other hand, is looking pretty fresh. Why shouldn’t it? Liverwurst has plenty in common with foie gras, especially its color and buttery smoothness when it’s blended with cream cheese. Instead of slapping it on rye bread with mustard, serve it with the sweet flavors that commonly adorn foie gras, and your perception will instantly change. This is absolutely one of R. B.’s favorite cheater recipes.

There is an ancient and savage imperviousness about la barbagia—the high, central plateaux in the Gennargentu Mountains. The Romans named it barbaria—barbarian—they having muddled all campaigns to vanquish the rough Sard clans who lived there, who live there still. And so it was with all who braved ingress onto their wild moors, into their Mesolithic woods. Of ungenerous earth fit only to pasture sheep and goats, these barbagianesi live simply but somehow not poorly, their uninjured traditions nourishing them as much as the fruits of their hunting and foraging. Too, they are primitive artisans, building, weaving, carving objects of rustic beauty and comfort, enriching their homes and villages, themselves, with a most tender spirit. And riding the thin, tortured roads that thread through the mountains, one is carried back into their unfrayed present. Seeming to seep from the pith of the mountains is the village called Desulo, and there one is greeted by citizens dressed—as they dress always, as they have dressed always—in ancestral costumes of handwoven cloth tinged in the reds and blues and yellows of their allegria, of their perpetual, quiet festival of life. And, too, one might be invited to sit at a family table to eat mutton boiled with wild bay leaves and wrapped in warm, thin breads baked over embers. But this after a great bowl of malloreddus—vitellini—little calves, for which Desulo is famed. Not calves at all but tiny, plump, hand-rolled, saffroned pasta that, to the Sards, resemble fat little heifers.