Keto

Agnello Piccino, Piccino, Picciò (Delicate, more Delicate, The most Delicate Lamb of all). Just outside the village of Campo di Giove—Field of Jove—southeast of Sulmona, there lives and works a butcher who is also a chef of sorts, roasting and braising, as he does, some of his wares in a great, old stone bread oven that sits behind his pristinely stuccoed shop. His clients come sometimes to buy their lunch or their supper still warm and fragrant, readied for the table. Though it was achingly cold on that February morning when first we came upon the butcher at work in his outdoor kitchen, we joined the long, decorously kept line that wound its way from his ovens down the country road. We offered our good-days to the mostly women in whose midst we now stood, women typically Abruzzese, with serene, high-boned faces. They carried their pots and casseroles in sacks or against a hip and, when they felt our interest, they talked to us a bit about the dishes for which the old butcher was celebrated. Mutton braised overnight with tomatoes and onions and red wine; pork braised with bay leaf and garlic and peperoncino in Trebbiano d’Abruzzo; tripe and pancetta with tomatoes and yet more peperoncino; kid roasted with centerbe (an artisanly distilled liqueur made with mountain herbs). Long and reverent was their litany, but when one of them spoke of his agnello da latte—of suckling lamb that he braised only with butter in a sealed copper pot—there came a swift agreement that it was his piatto prelibato—his dish of greatest refinement and delicacy. As the gods would have it that day, the butcher had not prepared agnello da latte but intinglio di agnello allo zafferano (page 47), which, when it came our turn, he packaged for us in a little plastic tub and on which we later lunched in the car with the motor running. It was luscious. We returned in the afternoon, forsaking the day’s program, to beg its formula and to know when the mythical angello da latte might be forthcoming. Il macellaio, the butcher, shook his head on both counts. The suckling lamb in the sealed casserole he prepared only when he found lambs of just the right plumpness and age whose mothers fed only on certain grasses. He turned to the next question. “Una ricetta è una questione di cuore, signora mia; è molto personale,” he said. “A recipe is a thing of the heart, my lady; it is most personal.” I simply looked at him, neither beseechingly nor with delusion, and proceeded to tell him how I thought it had been accomplished. I spoke for a long time, I suppose, he never interrupting even as clients accumulated around his cold white cases. I sealed my discourse by asking why he’d used imported saffron rather than the milder one harvested locally up near Navelli. By now, he was laughing, mostly at my accent, I thought, which is distinctly Northern and often unpleasant to southern ears. At a point much later, after we knew each other longer, he confessed it was only my determinazione—determination—that had made him laugh. The butcher, at least with words, never told me if my understanding of his beautiful lamb stew was correct, but each time I make the dish, I know that the pungent, melting result is a fine tribute to him. And so, when Campo di Giove sits even remotely on our route, we visit, happy to see our friend and hoping to find agnello da latte. We are always a day too late, a week too early. Someday our timing will be divine. Curiously enough, though, the butcher, without my asking for it, one day told me its formula.

When I was growing up, my mom and sister were obsessed with lobster. My father and I just never got it. But on both their birthdays, my father would take us all to the chosen lobster spot of the moment. While Jessica and my mom happily cracked their way through dinner, hardly glancing up from their plates, Dad and I would glumly saw through our landlubber specials. I admit I felt a little envious watching Jessica and Mom picking apart their matching dinners, knowing that I would never have that lobster bond with my mother. Normally, my mother prefers her lobster plain and simple—steamed and served with lemon and drawn butter. But one Mother’s Day, I took liberty, hoping to entice her with this rendition of a classic chopped salad. It worked; while we’re still on opposite sides of the table at the lobster shack, we both get excited about this salad.

Yes, This is good for you. But that’s not the reason I eat it. By whipping the egg whites just until foamy, the resulting omelet is light and delicious. (Unwhisked egg whites get rubbery.) Unlike regular omelets, which shouldn’t color, this one gets cooked in a blazing hot pan until crisped and brown and the fresh herbs get sealed right into the whites. While lemon may seem an unlikely pairing for eggs, the bit of zest at the end adds a brightness perfect for the clean flavors here.

After my brother Philippe builds the perfect fire in the grill, my son, Cedric, cooks the perfect whole tenderloin. Quickly marinating the beef in herbs and oil and then using that oil to baste the beef keeps the lean meat from drying out and infuses it with flavor. Serve this with good mustard or Barbecue Sauce (page 247).

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).

This is far and away the most popular salad at the Shop, where we serve a handful to accompany every sandwich. We prefer Fuji apples because they are crisp and acidic and balance the peppery arugula and sweet apple cider dressing. In most of the restaurants we’ve worked in, chives are used as a garnish and rarely as an ingredient, but their mild, oniony flavor is absolutely key in this salad. In a pinch, scallions can be used in place of the chives.

While these tomatoes are especially delicious in this salad, make a double batch so you can toss them with roasted veggies, steamed green beans, or sautéed spinach, or spread them as a condiment on your next sandwich. These can be made ahead and kept tightly covered in the fridge for up to one week.

When it’s summer, especially in August, when the zucchini, corn, and tomatoes are at their peak, we love to fire up the grill for this salad any chance we get. This is a great recipe for entertaining because you can make it ahead, which means you have more time to hang out with your guests.

This salad is all about contrasts. The grapefruit adds a slightly tart punch to the creamy avocado, and the herbs add flavor and texture. This salad comes together in a flash because there’s no separate dressing—just a squeeze of lemon and a splash of olive oil.

Another addictive antipasto dish—the smoky grilled flavor here is a bright note with the marinade. This is best served at room temperature, so plan on making it in advance. Eggplant is extremely absorbent—don’t worry if it soaks up all of the olive oil. The oil provides plenty of flavor and helps prevent the eggplants from burning over the open flame.