New Years

Fresh briny oysters out of a jar satisfy our periodic oyster craving without the hassle of shucking. To cheat, swap the half shell for a casserole dish and dress the oysters with smoky shallots, butter, and lemon. A few minutes under the broiler and you’ve got a seaside party anywhere, anytime. Slurp them up with saltines. Cold beer, sparkling wine, and dry white wine are what we’re drinking.

After the fast demise of Sybaris, it was Taranto that grew up, the city most splendid of Magna Graecia. And it was there that oysters were first cultivated, for the coddling, I suppose, of true sybaritic cravings. Taranto was and is quite perfectly situated for the business, sitting, rather like an island, between the mar piccolo—the little sea—a coastal lagoon fed by both fresh and sea water and the mar grande—the big sea—part of the Gulf of Taranto in the Ionian Sea. And it is this very shifting in the salinity of the waters around Taranto that builds up the sweetest, fattest oysters. Nothing better can be done to a fine oyster than to slip it down one’s throat, chasing it with sips of some crisp, icy white wine. But here follows a recipe for barely roasting oysters that, if not ennobling them, at the least takes nothing from their own natural goodness.

The original Champagne cocktail recipe illustrates the simplest incarnation of the cocktail in general: spirits or wines mixed with sugar, bitters, and water. Over the years, some recipes for the Champagne Cocktail called for the addition of brandy or cognac for a stronger kick and bigger body. But no matter what goes into it, the drink has always been the choice of prominent and well-heeled U.S. citizens because champagne commands a lofty price and is a status symbol in America. We at Employees Only choose to make this cocktail with Curaçao, specifically Grand Marnier. We find that it adds more flavor notes and blends more effortlessly than does cognac. It’s a misconception that one must use the finest Champagne in this cocktail. Please do not destroy a masterful tête de cuvee with bitters and sugar. Use a well-rounded nonvintage brut, which has the bones for such a cocktail.

In this tasty “down home” dish, bits of tart apple add a delightful flavor twist. If you have the time, make a pan of your favorite vegan corn bread.

To help these hors d’oeuvres retain their twisted shapes, thoroughly chill them before baking. You can freeze the formed straws for up to three weeks (no need to thaw), but once they’re baked, it’s best to serve them as soon as possible.

Count down to the new year with twelve cupcakes, each with a designated hour, arranged to suggest a clock. The hands of the clock are made from a clip-art design easily copied onto paper and cut out (see page 340). This clock has a timeless look thanks to the Roman numerals, but you can alter the style of the numbers as you please. You may also want to try your hand at piping a different letter of “Happy New Year” on another dozen cupcakes (or simply frost and serve alongside); in this case, you will need to make a full batch of buttercream.

Collard greens are sweet and yummy, but you need to cook them all the way through or they can be bitter and tough. Cooking them in salted water will speed up the process so you can get these greens into your mouth as soon as possible. A little splash of vinegar at the end of cooking helps brighten the flavor. We use these as a bed for the Bolognese Balls (page 6), but they work well with pretty much any meatball in the book.

Here’s a stew that comes and goes on our menu, rotating with a couple of other meat stews. It’s lighter than the others and is simmered with ten different vegetables. It’s healthy food for your meat-lovin’ soul.

I could live on collard greens and corn bread! I like collard greens better than turnip greens because I think collards are sweeter. When I make my corn bread and greens bowl (crumbled-up buttermilk corn bread covered with collard greens and a little juice), I add a little hot pepper just for fun. In the South, collard juice, or the cooking liquid that accumulates, is often called pot likker. My daddy always planted a big collard patch every spring, not only for the family but also to share with friends. Through the years, friends knew the patch was just out back of the barn and they were free to drive in and help themselves.

I’m sort of a snob when it comes to trying new recipes. I just seem to like my old tried and true ones best, and it takes a lot for something new to grab my attention. I had to have the recipe for this dip after I tried it on Super Bowl Sunday 2006. Garth is a die-hard Steelers fan, so it was an exciting day. Everybody always brings something for the party, and this was my friend Kim’s contribution. Being a good southern girl, I love anything with black-eyed peas in it, but for you folks who are right now turning up your noses at the idea of eating black-eyed peas, all I can say is just try it. In fact, maybe I should name it something else for those skeptics. How about Pea Dippy?

I’ve laughed a lot while writing this cookbook—and gotten very hungry! I laugh because most people consider these tasty meatballs the perfect small bite for a party or wedding reception, but I sometimes make them just to satisfy a craving! They are usually served cold, but when I make them at home, I serve them warm, right out of the oven, and they are awesome! So to answer the burning question, can you make an entire meal out of sausage ball appetizers? Yes!

We never went hungry as kids. And we have no inherent fear of the next Great Depression or anxiety about canned food. Still, we always want more. Wanting and eating four of the Swedish shrimp-egg things you can buy in the restaurant at IKEA is a good example of that. Another good example is how we would have piled more stuff on this modest toast if we could have fit it: a can of sardines from Bretagne, maybe, or quails stuffed with crab hiding in the corner. Our first reaction on seeing this photo was, “Shit, we forgot clams.” There are thirty items here, and if we do another book, we will put in sixty, we promise (just so we don’t run out of food). Disclaimer: In no way do we aspire or pretend to serve authentic Scandinavian food. This is just our view projected onto a classic. The closest we have been to Scandinavia is Fred Heimlich-maneuvering a Dane who choked on the biggest oyster ever eaten raw. And it was a weird experience because it was like they kissed; they were shy around each other for the rest of the evening. In the list that follows, an asterisk means a recipe is included. If there’s no *, it means the item is straightforward and you can figure it out. We suggest serving the items on rye bread or a baguette sliced lengthwise and buttered. You then eat your open-faced sandwich with a fork and knife. Or, you can do as we do: add condiments and eat it like a military strategist, portioning, placing, moving, and rationing. Regarding yields: the smorgasbord is more of a concept than a straightforward recipe. The smorgasbord shown here serves 4 to 6, and includes every single thing listed. You don’t have to follow our lead (though we would be pleased). Typically we put 4 or 5 proteins and 4 or 5 condiments on the average smorgasbord. Following this rule, each of the small recipes serves four.

My mom use to take me and my brother to a pastry shop in a weird apartment building in Ottawa, and it had the best pastries. She would always choose the merveilleux. A meringue dessert is the best thing to make when you want to use up egg whites, after, say, an eggnog party! We make it every few weeks at the restaurant and pour hot chocolate sauce over the top at tableside. Everyone digs it.

This is more of an appetizer than a cocktail. What’s the reason behind the size? Hunger, gluttony, and insecurity are but a few. Serve in a large glass or a Mason jar.

We cannot not dedicate this recipe to the New Dynasty restaurant in Montreal’s Chinatown. Every Joe Beef cook has woken up at least once with an odd burn in his or her gut from the MSG and a soy sauce stain on his or her mouth after eating there. At New Dynasty, the tables are covered and the lights are really bright, not unlike Dexter’s murder rooms! The kitchen serves until 5:00 A.M., and the boss is patient with drunks who are loud and drunks who fall asleep at the table (that is, Peter Meehan). Here you can find every sea crawler you dare to eat: eel, jellyfish (served with cold chicken), huge live crabs, winkles, hacked-up crispy lobster, razor clams, and more. Inevitably, we start a meal at New Dynasty with the big Vancouver oysters, steamed with black bean sauce, one or two each, and a hefty pour of cold beer from a teapot. For this recipe, we use Gigas oysters from our friend Victor McLaggan of Cortes Island, British Columbia. They are as big as my feet and a bitch to open, but they have huge meats that can be overcooked without much sorrow. This is a case, unlike real life, where it’s easy to feel inept with a big one. If possible, ask your fish guy to open the oysters. If you can’t get these big oysters where you live, use smaller shucked oysters and bake them in ramekins. You’ll probably have sauce left over, so store it in the fridge and use it on chicken, duck, or anything else that sounds good.

When we started Joe Beef, the town was suffering from a weird vibe, a kind of up-the-ante feeling with regard to food: people went out to eat like college kids drink beer. If someone was doing testicles, you could count on someone else to pair them with pizza. Feet were kept on chickens, and heads and eyeballs were served as sides. There was no end in sight, much less vegetables. To put a damper on the frenzied quest for more, we thought that maybe the next ingredient should be inedible: not gold shavings, but what about an old radio? Doesn’t “oysters on the radio” sound good? When we ran out of radios, we used bags of sugar, erotic novels, or old album covers. The oysters themselves are simple: plump specimens topped with crisp bacon, chives, potatoes, eggs, cream, and some bread crumbs. Serve yours on any inedible ingredient of choice.

As we write this, it seems much more acceptable to spend $18 for an entire appetizer than it does to spend $180 an ounce for real caviar. What makes this setup grand is the ceremonial feel it has, like something you could get on the Orient Express. Feel free to use any kind of fish eggs: whitefish, salmon, trout, or even smoked or preserved fish. It’s also crucial that what you save on the real caviar, you spend on Champagne and on an overpriced silver serving dish from eBay. Eat it in your bed or on the bus.

This is yet another recipe that evokes that nostalgic, “Why don’t people make this anymore?” feeling, like a beautiful picture from the old Larousse, a civil-war reenactment, or sleeping on a train. There is only one good reason to make this dish: because you can! Thankfully, people like Frank, Marco, and Emma (our kitchen mainstays and true Joe Beefers) see the value in making historically relevant dishes like this, and it stays with them forever and can live on. The most difficult part of this recipe is measuring the dough to cover the pâté. Although some pâtés are served hot, the salt content in this one means it only tastes good cold. We serve it with some mustard and a glass of Morgon.

Anson Mills, the company behind the South's heirloom-grain revival, helped usher this beautiful little pea back into the limelight. Chef Ashley Christensen orders hers from ansonmills.com, though you can substitute dried black-eyed peas and cook them for about 1 1/4 hours.