Skewer

You’ll find strongly seasoned, crunchy pork everywhere in Latin America, and it’s always irresistible.

Branches of rosemary are ideal for this dish, especially if you live in a Mediterranean climate where rosemary grows in shrubs. You can slide the food right onto them (in the direction of the needles, so as not to dislodge them), and they flavor it brilliantly; but so does some rosemary tucked in among the chunks of food. If you skewer on wood or metal skewers, turning will be made easier if you use two sticks in parallel for each skewer, separating them by about a half inch; you can also buy two-pronged metal skewers that do the trick nicely.

As is so often the case in Indian cooking, butter is the “secret” ingredient here, one that gives the chicken extra moisture and richness. The combination of that, mild spices, and grilling is what has made this dish so popular in the West. Serve with plain Paratha (page 559) and mint chutney, if you can.

Yakitori shops—small places, mostly joints, where you sit at the counter—specialize in chicken, though you can use this sauce and technique for almost anything that can be cut into bite-sized pieces: chicken wings, chicken skin, chicken livers or gizzards, bits of pork, shiitake mushrooms, scallions, even garlic cloves. Sometimes different things are combined on skewers, too, so feel free to go that route. A good hot fire, preferably made with real charcoal (not gas and certainly not briquettes) is requisite. Chicken thighs are often boned before sale; if you can find only bone-in thighs, you will quickly figure out how to remove the meat from them—it’s simple (and the bones make great stock). Do not use breasts in this recipe unless you are a fan of dry meat. As long as you have the grill going, you might make some Roasted Red Peppers (page 470). Or, if you feel like it, Sautéed Peppers with Miso (page 78). Either is a great accompaniment. Shichimi pepper is a spice mixture sold in Japanese markets.

I don’t know how strongly to stress that the boneless chicken meat to be used for kebabs should be from the thighs rather than the breasts. Thigh meat will remain juicy and tender, whereas breast meat—almost no matter how careful you are—will become dry, pasty, and tough. Buy boneless thighs (or, as I’ve seen recently, boneless legs) or bone them yourself (and save the bones for stock)—the process is intuitive and easy. As with Shish Kebab (page 354), if you want to grill other vegetables—tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, more onions, whatever—skewer them separately, then brush them with a little olive oil and sprinkle them with salt and pepper before grilling. Sumac is a sour spice found at Middle Eastern food stores.

These are best grilled slowly so that the sweet sauce caramelizes slowly as the chicken cooks through. You can use boneless breasts for these, but they will almost invariably dry out. Do not marinate these for more than an hour or so; the meat will begin to get mushy. In fact I don’t bother to marinate them at all unless it fits into my schedule. Thai fish sauce (nam pla) is described on page 500.

Lemongrass has a distinctive flavor that is instantly likable and very closely associated with the cuisine of Vietnam (it’s grown and used elsewhere, especially in Southeast Asia, but nowhere quite as widely). This dish is often served on a flat bed of plain rice noodles, but I like it best over a salad, dressed with a little nuoc cham. For information on Asian fish sauces like nam pla, see page 500. Other cuts of meat you can use here: pork, cut from either the loin or the shoulder.

Meat to be grilled for shish kebab, usually lamb, is ideally marinated in a paste of yogurt, minced onion, and spices, even if it’s only for a few minutes. If you prefer to eliminate the yogurt, use a couple of tablespoons of olive oil instead. And if you have dried ground sumac—a sour spice found at all Middle Eastern stores—sprinkle a little of it on the meat just before serving (you won’t need the lemon). If you choose to grill other vegetables—tomatoes, peppers, mushrooms, more onions, whatever— skewer them separately. Simply brush them with a little olive oil and sprinkle them with salt and pepper. These skewers, of course, are ideal with Pilaf (page 513). Other cuts of meat you can use here: beef tenderloin (filet mignon) or boneless chicken thighs (which will require a little longer cooking time).

Kofte are at home in a dozen or more countries, under a variety of names. The most basic combine ground lamb and onion in a fairly smooth paste—not chopped, like the best hamburgers are, but quite dense—and are grilled on skewers (you can, if you prefer, shape them into burgers or meatballs and grill that way). Beyond the basic, there are infinite varieties; I get into some of them, but this is a subject on which one could write a book . . . Serve, if you like, with Parsley-Onion Condiment (page 596).

When I was served this dish, of alternating bay leaves and chunks of lamb, the bay leaves were fresh (I was told that the world’s best bay leaves are grown around Smyrna, in Turkey). I couldn’t imagine that dried bay leaves would be much less delicious, and indeed they’re not. Either a rice dish or ordinary crusty bread is fine here, along with a salad like Spicy Carrot Salad (page 191), any of the eggplant salads on pages 191–193, or simply some plain roasted peppers or grilled vegetables. Other cuts of meat you can use here: chunks of boneless pork shoulder (which will need somewhat longer cooking) or beef tenderloin (filet mignon).

Simple skewers brushed, after grilling, with an easy, traditional Sicilian sauce. Grill some vegetables at the same time if you like. For an indoor version, see the variation.

Lemongrass stalks are used as skewers throughout Southeast Asia, where lemongrass grows like . . . well, grass. (It will grow that way for you, too, if you stick a couple of stalks in the ground, especially if you live in a warm climate and keep it well watered.) Simply trim the stalks, skewer the shrimp on them, and grill; you can gnaw on the stalks when you’ve finished the shrimp. Serve these with Nam Prik (page 586) or Soy Dipping Sauce (page 583). For information on Thai fish sauce (nam pla), see page 500.

Most satays are thin slices of meat threaded through a bamboo skewer and grilled; they are almost inevitably dry. But this Malaysian version is made like kebabs, with bigger chunks of meat, which remain juicy and tender. Since they can be assembled ahead of time, they make a convenient starter, especially if you’re going to be grilling anyway. More on tamarind on page 587 and on nam pla on page 500.

This is similar to Grilled Satay, which follows, only in that it is meat on a stick. But this deep-fried version is crunchier, and the skewer itself is best when made from lemongrass or sugarcane, either of which imparts a subtle aroma to the meat (and gives you something to gnaw on, if your tastes go in that direction). Since the meat is pressed around the skewer like a meatball—the result is kind of a meat lollipop—it needs to be finely minced to hold together well; a food processor does the job perfectly.

A staple of many tapas bars, and among the most elementary of appetizers, this is a surefire crowd pleaser—as long as your crowd isn’t vegetarian. Even if some members are, you can skewer plain mushrooms or mushrooms and other vegetables—like red peppers and zucchini, for example.

This very tasty appetizer can also be a vegetarian meal. The Italian title says it’s “Roman,” but mozzarella and anchovies are a well-known combination in southern Italy. There are mozzarella-and-anchovy fritters; and zucchini flowers are stuffed with mozzarella and anchovies, then fried. In this recipe, the mozzarella is fried between layers of bread, and then topped with a puckery sauce of lemon, capers, and anchovy.

PAT Oh, how we love grilled pineapple—and everyone loves grilled shrimp. And as Gina says, “Let’s keep it pretty,” so we skewer these two favorites together. Always remember to soak your skewers in cold water so they don’t catch fire on the grill. A brush of the syrupy glaze at the end will have your guests licking their sticks.

What better way to make use of the frenzy of vegetables that bursts on the scene in midsummer than these easy grilled skewers, all dressed up in pesto vinaigrette. Keep it fun and simple by loading the skewers with whatever mix of fresh, seasonal vegetables you find at the market.

The first apartment I rented in New Orleans was a summer sublet with a tiny balcony, just big enough for a hibachi grill. This sandwich, a beloved Greek specialty, was one I loved to make when I had friends over. We’d drink a bottle of chilled retsina and dream of being in a café looking up at the Acropolis. If you don’t feel like firing up a grill, these skewers can be cooked in a grill pan or under the broiler. You can also make skewers of diced chicken (breast or thigh meat). Just grill a few minutes less, so the leaner meat doesn’t dry out.

My mother learned this dish when we lived in Holland in the late ’50s. It was part of the rijstafel—an Indonesian take-out feast of many dishes—that my parents used to have delivered to the house. We used to watch wide-eyed as a flurry of delivery guys carried in dish after dish stacked in round metal containers. When we gather as a family on Christmas and other special days, we rarely have turkey or ham, but more often rice and curry or bami goreng, a noodle dish, with these satés as an appetizer. It is still the favorite family snack. The pork marinade is effortless to put together. While the meat absorbs the flavors, you can stir together the spicy peanut sauce. I tend to grill the satés, but my mother actually cooks these on an old waffle iron that has a smooth side, not unlike a panini grill.