Broil

Do you suffer the old internal temperature anxiety around pork chops? When is pork really done? Is it safe? The other white meat should really be the pale pink meat because once it goes white, it’s too late for anything but lots of gravy. The pork guys say 160°F (and that’s a lot lower than they used to say). The restaurant guys say pull pork out of the heat at 135°F. We tend to go with 140°F, and it seems to work. To tame the chewy chops, you should brine first. Then be bold enough to stay in the pink. Once out of the brine, the chops must be patted dry or you won’t get any crust. Wet chops look steamed. For the restaurant hot salamander sear, give lean pork chops a little oil massage to encourage browning under a hot broiler.

No, even we can’t live only on pulled pork barbecue. Now that we’ve taken you through the fat trenches with delicious pulled pork aplenty, here’s sensible lean tenderloin that’s quick to brine and broil. Don’t overcook it, or it will taste like sensible shoes. Take the flavor in any direction with your choice of dry rub. The cider-soy brine is essential for keeping the “tender” in the ultralean tenderloin and adds a nice penetrating flavor that’s impossible to get with a quick topical seasoning. Change up the brine to keep things interesting. Any of the brines on pages 77 to 78 will perform the same juicy service.

Just as one special cocktail sets the party mood, one special condiment streamlines the party food. Try Min’s Main Dog Slaw as a simple solution to the cluttered condiment bar or mustard tasting. The switch from hot dog to hamburger bun puts a signature twist on a dog.

Spareribs in the slow cooker? We first tried this method simply to rule it out for Cheater BBQ. We figured the ribs would come out gray and soggy, more like a slow cooker stew. We couldn’t have been happier in our disappointment when the ribs turned out better than okay. In fact, they were handsomely browned and crusted with tender, not soggy, meat. A big 6- to 7-quart slow cooker will do two good-size racks of spare or St. Louis ribs, and you can be multitasking elsewhere. (If you actually like using the oven, you can finish them with a sauce in the oven or under the broiler.)

A heavy little cast-iron hibachi is R. B.’s favorite outdoor grill for fast and efficient high-heat cooking. Indoors, that efficiency is called the broiler. Both tools use direct high heat to sear tender cuts of meat hot and fast. It’s just that the broiler heats from above, the grill from below. Even better, the broiler gets burning hot in minutes with the turn of a knob. Quick Sticks are a very loose version of Thai satay—thin cuts of chicken and steak rubbed with curry, threaded onto skewers, and quickly broiled. The dipping sauce is first-class cheating—barbecue sauce with some chopped peanuts thrown in. Icy Q-Cumbers (page 153) are a Quick Sticks must.

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.

In spite of his Irish tendencies to worry and brood, R. B. pretends to think of himself as an upbeat guy who genuinely wants to like things. Even so, he’s given up on grilled shrimp-stuffed jalapeño peppers. It’s hard to cook a raw shrimp tucked inside a pepper unless the pepper is roasted to bitter death. Cheesy alligator snouts—broiled and blistered jalapeños with melted cheese—never disappoint. Broil or toaster-oven these treats and all they need as garnish is plenty of cold beer. Serve the broiled snouts as a conversation-starting appetizer, whole and hot from the oven, or sliced and set in little tortilla scoops. Serve them as a side to a Mexican feast paired with Cheater Carne Adovada Alinstante (page 56). Jalapeños are usually tolerably hot, although it’s impossible to know until you take a bite. Satisfy all your guests with a combination of hot green jalapeños and the mild mini red and yellow sweet bell peppers.

Hummus may come and go, but warm spinach cheese dip, with its highly satiating qualities and homey familiarity, is still and always will be an excellent choice for casual parties involving cocktails. Broiler-charred jalapeños are our spin to bump this old classic into flavor advanced placement. As with any creamy cheese spread, R. B. will find any leftovers, no matter how buried in Min’s fridge, to plop on open-faced burgers.

For more than fifty years, Min’s two family branches, the Merrells and the Almys, have been eating at the Cortez Cafe in Carlsbad, New Mexico. The food is straightforward Tex-Mex and always finishes with a round of sopapillas and honey. Back in the ’70s, the family thought nothing odd about beginning meals with bowls of fiery green salsa scooped up with saltine crackers. The Cortez has since switched to tortilla chips and you may prefer them as well, but the Merrell-Almy clan retains its hot spot for salsa and crackers. Pining away in Nashville for that distinct Cortez flavor, Min thinks she’s figured it out—it’s mostly fresh jalapeños. Min’s cousin Eric, knighted Sir Cortez by the clan, now brings his version of Min’s Cortez Salsa recipe to every family dinner—with sleeves of only the freshest saltines, of course.

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.

Made with bruscandoli, hop shoots, should their wisp of a season embrace Easter. If not, one searches out the first, slimmest shoots of asparagus.

Every winter, when the first blood oranges appear at the market, I’m as impressed as I was the first time I saw one, while visiting Rome my junior year abroad. One morning, at the local café where I had my daily cappuccino and pretended to read the paper, I heard a loud racket coming from behind me. When I turned and looked, I got my first glimpse of that blood-red juice spewing from the juicers lined up on the bar. I had to order a glass. When I got the bill, I was shocked by the steep price. But even back then, I knew it was something very special and worth every lira. This salad is my homage to those blood oranges that won my heart so many years ago. Layered with sweet dates, Parmesan, almonds, and a few leaves of peppery arugula, the blood-orange slices burst with sweet, tart juice. Because this salad has so few ingredients and nothing to “hide behind,” now is truly a time to seek out the very best ingredients. Once you’ve gathered your perfect components, the only difficult part is arranging them on the plate. Thoughtfully weave the ingredients together, layering them into “hills and valleys,” rather than piling them up into a “mountain.” Think of this as a tapestry, rather than a tossed salad.

This is one of those salads that I can’t stop eating once I start. It’s thirst quenching, crunchy, and downright addictive. The juice from the pomegranate binds with the olive and hazelnut oils to make a bright, acidic dressing for the peppery arugula and sweet persimmons. Juicing your own pomegranates is easy, but if you’re not careful, it can result in some embarrassing mishaps. One night at Lucques, a customer asked for a pomegranate martini. Bartender Soren Banks, having seen a bowl of pomegranates in the kitchen, happily agreed to make her one. He rushed back to the kitchen for a quick juicing lesson, and then back to the bar. Following what he interpreted to be my instructions, he proceeded to spray himself and all the customers at the bar with the bright-red juice. Fortunately, everyone was more amused than angry, especially after a free round of pomegranate martinis (juiced this time in the kitchen). See Fall Market Report (page 205) for the best way to juice a pomegranate.

I like this baked ricotta warm and slightly underbaked to a soft, creamy consistency. Avoid the grainy, flavorless, commercial ricottas from the supermarket, and seek out a fresh, artisanal version. Bake the cheese in a Spanish-style cazuela or small attractive casserole and serve it at the table so your guests can help themselves.

Everyone has had berries in cobblers and pies, but when people see this gratinéed dessert, their eyebrows rise in curious anticipation. The raspberries and custard are cooked briefly under the broiler, creating a delicious warm crust that only partially hides the tart berries and warm cream beneath. Once you learn this technique, you can use it with other berries, or winter, a gratin made with sautéed apples or pears with dried fruit is delicious, too. Choose an attractive dish that can go from oven to table.

The beauty of this dish is the butter and soy combination. I dress a fresh green salad with a light, lemony soy sauce vinaigrette, then top it with shrimp coated in a creamy beurre blanc. To marry the two elements, I use champagne vinegar in place of the traditional white wine for a sharper beurre blanc.