Cheese

An omelet makes a light, quick, nutritious, and economical breakfast, lunch, or dinner. It is a comforting dish, thanks to its tenderness and the simplicity of its flavors: fresh eggs, a touch of butter, and a little cheese or other filling to add flavor and nuance. For the omelet I make most often, I stir fresh herbs (parsley, chive, sorrel, tarragon, or chervil) into the eggs before they are cooked and fill the omelet with a bit of Gruyère or soft ricotta. There are countless other possible fillings for omelets: the leftover spoonful of last night’s sautéed greens or roasted peppers, for example, or a morsel of braised lamb or sautéed ham. It should go without saying that very fresh eggs from hens fed organic feed and allowed to forage freely outdoors make the tastiest omelets. Farmers’ markets often sell such eggs. At grocery stores, look for eggs that are local, free-range, and, if possible, certified organic. Count 2 to 3 eggs per person. I prefer omelets that are not too thick, are delicately puffed and folded, and are still moist on the inside. To achieve this, I use this rule of thumb for the size of pan: 2 eggs in a 6-inch pan, 3 eggs in an 8-inch pan, 6 in a 10-inch pan, and no more than 12 in a 12-inch pan. The beaten eggs should be no more than 1/4 inch deep. The pan itself should be heavy and smooth-surfaced or nonstick. Preheat the pan over medium-low heat for 3 to 5 minutes before adding the eggs. This is the most important step for quick, consistent, and nonstick cooking. Crack your eggs into a bowl and, right before they are to be cooked, add a pinch of salt per egg (they turn watery when salted ahead), and beat them lightly with a fork or a whisk. The omelet will be more fluffy and tender if the eggs are well combined, but not beaten into a completely homogenous mixture. Put a knob of butter in the hot pan; it will melt and foam up. Swirl it around and, as the foam subsides and the butter starts to give off its distinctive nut-like aroma, but before it starts to brown, pour in the eggs. If you are making a large omelet, turn the heat up at this time to medium (this is not necessary with a small omelet). There should be a satisfying sizzle as the eggs enter the pan. The edges of the omelet will begin to set almost immediately (if they don’t, turn up the heat). Pull the edges towards the center with a fork or spatula, allowing uncooked egg to flow over the exposed bottom of the hot pan. Do this until the bottom of the omelet is set, lifting the edges and tilting the pan to let liquid egg flow underneath. When the eggs are mostly set, sprinkle on the cheese or other fillings. Cook a moment longer, fold the omelet in half over itself, and slide it onto a plate. To make a rolled omelet, tilt the pan down and away from you, shaking the pan to scoot the omelet towards the far edge of the pan and folding the near edge of the omelet over onto itself. Continue to tilt the pan, rolling the omelet towards the downward side. Then fold the far edge over the top and roll the omelet out of the pan onto a warm plate, seam side down. The whole process will have taken less than a minute. Drag a piece of butter over the top to make the omelet shine.

Risotto is Italian comfort food, a luscious dish of tender rice in its own creamy sauce. Considered by many to be labor-intensive restaurant fare, risotto is actually a basic one-pot dinner that pleases everyone. Risotto is made from starchy short-grain rice, which, when moistened with successive additions of stock, gains concentrated flavor and a distinctive saucy texture. Of the special short-grain varieties that have been developed in northern Italy specifically for risotto the best known is Arborio; others are Vialone Nano (an extra-short-grain rice), Baldo, and my favorite, Carnaroli. All these varieties have short, plump grains that can absorb a lot of liquid while retaining some textural integrity (the grains are said to have a good bite), with abundant superficial starch to make the risotto creamy. Because the rice for a risotto is cooked in fat before any broth is added, use a heavy pot, preferably stainless steel or enameled cast iron, or the rice will scorch too easily. Pick a pot with relatively high sides (but not so high that stirring is difficult and evaporation is inhibited) and a diameter that is wide enough so that when the raw rice is added it’s between one-quarter and one-half inch deep in the pot. The first step is to make a flavorful base of sautéed diced onions. The onion is cooked until soft in a generous amount of fat (usually butter, but olive oil, beef marrow, and even bacon fat are sometimes used). Once the onions are soft the rice is added and sautéed for a few minutes. In Italian this is called the tostatura, or “roasting.” The idea is to coat and seal each grain of rice. The rice will begin to sizzle and turn translucent, but it should not color or brown. At this point, some wine is added, for fruit and acidity. For 1 1/2 cups of rice, I use about 1/2 cup of wine, but I never bother to measure it exactly; I simply pour in enough wine to reach the top of the rice, without covering it. This works for any quantity of rice and is much easier than trying to make a calculation. Adding the wine before the broth gives it time to reduce and lose its raw alcohol flavor. Red wine or even beer can be substituted. When you are caught without a bottle of wine, a teaspoon or so of tasty wine vinegar added to the first addition of broth will approximate the acidity of wine. After the wine is absorbed, broth is added. I use light chicken broth most often, but vegetable, mushroom, and shellfish broths also make lovely risottos. Keep in mind that your risotto will only be as good as the broth you use to make it. Unseasoned or lightly seasoned broths are best. Many recipes say to keep the broth simmering (in its separate pan) the whole time the risotto is cooking. This isn’t necessary; in fact, I prefer not to. The longer the broth simmers, the more it reduces, and its flavor can become too strongly concentrated. I bring the broth to a boil while the onions are cooking and then turn it off. The broth stays plenty warm. The first addition of broth should just cover the rice. Adjust the heat to maintain a constant, fairly vigorous simmer. It is not necessary to stir constantly, but the risotto needs to be tended to frequently, and it certainly cannot be left on its own. When the level of liquid has dropped low enough that the rice is exposed, add more broth to cover. The broth should never be allowed to evaporate completely; the starch will coagulate and burn. Keep adding the broth in small increments; the rice should neither be flooded nor be allowed to dry out. Season the rice with salt early on. My personal rule is to salt the risotto when I make the second addition of broth. This allows the salt to penetrate the grains of rice while they are cooking. The amount of salt needed will depend on the saltiness of the broth you’re using. From the time the rice is added to the onion, a risotto takes 20 to 30 minutes to cook. Taste it often to keep track of the seasoning ...

Polenta is a very simple dish of ground corn cooked in water. It is exceptionally tasty and, like pasta, remarkably versatile. When first cooked, polenta is soft; as it cools, it becomes firm and can then be fried, grilled, or baked. Soft or firm, polenta is great next to roasted or braised meats, or sauced with a spoonful of tomato, meat, or mushroom sauce. For variety, fresh corn or fava beans can be stirred into soft polenta. Polenta can be turned into a luscious torta by layering it with cooked vegetables, cheese, and sauce. Whether ground from yellow or white corn, polenta is ground coarser than cornmeal but finer than grits. When fresh it smells sweet and looks bright yellow. Like all grains, it should be stored in a cool, dark place and replaced when old. Cook polenta in boiling water. The approximate ratio of water to grain is four to one. This will vary depending on the variety of corn, how coarse it is ground, and how fresh it is; each batch you buy may be slightly different. Choose a heavy-bottomed pot when cooking polenta to avoid sticking and burning; use a flame tamer if a heavy pot is not available. Bring the water to a rolling boil and add the polenta in a slow, steady stream while stirring constantly with a whisk. Turn the heat down and continue whisking for 2 or 3 minutes, until the polenta is suspended in the water and no longer settles to the bottom of the pot. (This helps keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.) Season with salt and cook the polenta at a bare simmer, stirring occasionally, for about an hour. The polenta will be fully cooked and softened after 20 to 30 minutes, but the longer cooking time allows its full flavor to develop. Be warned that the thick polenta is very hot, so be careful when stirring and tasting. I spoon a bit onto a small plate to cool before tasting. Polenta should have a pourable, creamy consistency. If the polenta becomes thick or stiff while cooking, add water as needed to maintain the proper consistency. If too much water is added by accident, and the polenta becomes thin and soupy, just keep cooking it to evaporate the water. Polenta will set up quickly if not kept warm, so turn off the heat and cover the pot to keep it soft and hot for 20 minutes or so, or hold it for a longer time in a double boiler or by setting the pot in a larger pot of hot water. Polenta can be finished with butter or olive oil and cheese to enrich it and add flavor. Parmesan is the classic cheese to stir in, but try others; fontina, cheddar, or pecorino for example. Mascarpone or blue cheese is a luxurious garnish to top a bowl of soft polenta. To make firm polenta, spread hot soft polenta evenly onto a rimmed baking sheet (it is not necessary to oil the pan). A depth of about one inch works well for most purposses. Let the polenta sit at room temperature or refrigerate until set. Don’t cover until it has cooled. The firm polenta can be cut into shapes to bake, grill, or fry. To bake, brush with oil and bake at 350°F for 20 minutes or until crisp. To grill polenta, brush it with oil and place on a grill over hot coals; to prevent it from sticking, make sure the grill is hot. To fry, use shallow or deep fat. Polenta will always set up when cooled, but both very thin polenta and polenta that has been finished with a lot of butter or oil can fall apart when grilled or fried. A polenta torta is made of alternate layers of polenta—either freshly made soft polenta or polenta that has already cooled and set—and sauce, such as tomato sauce, meat sauce, or pesto; cooked greens or other vegetables; and cheese. A polenta torta is a great make-ahead dish, ready to heat up any time.

Minestrone means “big soup” in Italian: a big soup of many vegetables. In order for them all to be cooked through at the same time, they’re added in stages. First a tasty soffritto (a base of aromatic vegetables) is made, long-cooking vegetables are added and moistened with water or broth, and the soup is brought to a boil, at which point the more tender vegetables are added. Dried beans and pasta are cooked separately and added at the end. The recipe below is for a classic summertime minestrone, followed by seasonal variations. The soffritto can be made of onions only but often includes carrots and celery. Fennel can be substituted for the celery when a more delicate flavor is wanted. Garlic is always added at the end of the cooking to ensure that it does not burn. Be sure to use a heavy-bottomed pot and lots of olive oil. For a more hearty soup, let the soffritto cook to a golden hue; for a less robust version, don’t let the vegetables color at all. Either way, the vegetables should be cooked through to give the soup the full benefit of their flavors; this will take 10 minutes or more. They’re done when they look and taste good enough to eat on their own. The vegetables added after the soffritto—such as squash and green beans—are cut into pieces small enough to ensure that each spoonful of soup will contain a mixture. They’re added sequentially, according to the length of time they take to cook through without getting mushy. Greens need to be cut into bite-size pieces, too; if they’re cut in strips they can hang down and dribble hot soup on your chin or your clothes. Winter greens such as kale or chard take longer to cook and should go in with the first group of vegetables. Tender greens such as spinach will cook in just a few minutes and should be added towards the end of cooking. Salt the soup as it cooks; this will intensify and improve the flavor as a last-minute salting cannot. Dried beans—and pasta, if you’re using it—should be cooked separately before being added to the soup. Save the bean cooking liquid; it adds flavor and body to the soup. The cooked beans should be added during the last 10 minutes so they have a chance to absorb flavor, but not overcook. The pasta should be added at the very end so it doesn’t overcook and get bloated and flabby. To preserve its fresh flavor, the garnish of olive oil and cheese should be added to the bowls of soup, not to the pot. I always pass a bowl of grated cheese and a bottle of olive oil at the table.

A salad of many ingredients, either all tossed together or dressed separately and arranged on a plate, is called a “composed” salad. A composed salad such as the Greek salad that follows is a hearty dish; with some crusty bread, it could be the main event of a dinner on a warm night. Or, a composed salad might be a delicate arrangement of, say, a few pieces of crabmeat, some grapefruit sections, and a little curly endive in a creamy dressing, served as an elegant first course. Almost anything can be an element in a composed salad: all the various lettuces and salad greens, of course, but also raw or cooked vegetables, chopped, diced, or cut into thin shavings; roasted meats cut into cubes or thin slices; tuna and other fish or shellfish; and hard-cooked eggs, quartered or chopped. Tasty leftovers can be delicious in a composed salad. Don’t combine too many ingredients into a single salad or it will have too many conflicting flavors. The components should be chosen thoughtfully with regard to the tastes and textures they contribute, and the dressing must complement them all. Sometimes a vinaigrette works best, when a tangy sauce is needed; sometimes mayonnaise, for mellow richness; at other times, a creamy sauce. A potato salad, for example, can be made with any of these dressings, and each will yield a distinctly different salad. When dressing a composed salad that includes both tender lettuces and heavier ingredients such as artichoke hearts or pieces of fruit, dress all the heavier elements separately and arrange them around the tossed lettuces on a platter. Otherwise the salad is hard to serve because everything ends up at the bottom and the leaves get crushed. Even salads that have no lettuce should be assembled carefully. What’s most important is that each ingredient be tasty on its own. Taste everything and season each element with a little salt or dressing as needed before adding it to the whole. When things are tossed together, don’t overmix, or the parts will start to lose their distinctiveness, muddying the flavors and spoiling the look of the salad. (You can always arrange a salad and drizzle vinaigrette over it, or even pass the vinaigrette in a pitcher.) As for what to include in such a salad and how to dress it, taste each ingredient before you decide. That is really the only rule you must follow, and while it may sound frustratingly vague, as you acquire a little salad-making experience, you’ll begin to recognize and remember the flavors you like and the ones that you like together.

Not only is this giant layer cake a stunner, it is absolutely delicious with its creamy guava filling and fluffy buttercream frosting. We had a guava tree in my mom’s garden, and when the fruit was in season, we ate our share of guava cakes, guava tarts, guava water, and pretty much guava anything. This is my homage to my mom’s guava tree.

My mom made a variation of this dessert from the time I was a little girl. I’m not exactly sure where she got the recipe, but I know it came from one of my aunts in Guadalajara. You just need to know that my uncle Ernesto would drive from his house in San Diego across the border into Tijuana to go to my mom’s house when she announced she was making strawberry pie. It’s not traditional or very Mexican, especially in its original form. She used to use a store-bought graham-cracker pie crust (which you are free to use), but I have concocted a much tastier crust using the traditional Maria cracker and piloncillo (unrefined solid cane sugar, usually found in the shape of small truncated cones). What I absolutely left alone is the filling—a fluffy, creamy, perfectly sweet filling that I could eat an entire bowl of if given a spoon. The amounts given will also work with a 9-inch round tart pan with removable bottom if you don’t want to make individual tartlets.

A great filling for tacos or topping for any grilled meat, these creamy poblano strips (rajas) showed up on the table a few times a week while I was growing up. You can cream virtually any chile, but mild poblanos add the perfect amount of spice to any dish. My favorite pairing is with sweet Torta de Elote (page 153).

Traditional basil pesto gets a run for its money with this bright, flavorful Mexican version of the Italian original. Cilantro pesto is best on cold pasta salads and is great as a topping on grilled chicken or fish.

“Drunken” salsas have been around forever. They were originally prepared with pulque, an alcoholic beverage made from the fermented juice of the once-sacred maguey (agave) plant. Pulque, which is not easy to find outside of Mexico, is not distilled and has a much stronger flavor than tequila, which I use in its place in this recipe. The alcohol is mostly burned off in the cooking process, leaving only its musky flavor. The sweetness from the freshly squeezed orange juice gives this salsa a wonderful balance.

This spicy, cheesy rice dish was served on a regular basis at my parents’ house. It’s also perfectly delicious if you prefer to omit the crema and cheese and just serve the poblano rice on its own, saving you a few calories.

The state of Veracruz is the main growing region for chayote, a gourd that is eaten throughout Mexico and was once the principal food for Mayans and Aztecs. My family often serves it steamed, with a lime wedge. Here it is paired in perfect balance with spicy chorizo for an even tastier side dish.

Thankfully, in Tijuana we don’t have to wait for summer to get the grill out. One of the benefits is that we can eat grilled corn on the cob any day of the year. Jalapeño butter is easy to make and adds the perfect finish to the slightly charred corn. If you have any left over, store it in the fridge for up to a week; it’s great on a baked potato or green beans.

Melted and slightly browned Oaxaca cheese mellows out bitter cabbage for this wonderful side dish. My son loves this with a little bit of lime juice sprinkled over it, and I like the edges, where the cheese is crisp and almost charred. When cutting the cabbage, cut on an angle so that there is a piece of the core on each wedge; it will hold the individual leaves together. For an impressive presentation, create a lattice with the strings of cheese.

This is my interpretation of the traditional Mexican dish of sautéed chorizo and boiled potatoes, which is usually eaten with tacos or queso fundido (melted cheese fondue). In Mexico, chorizo, potatoes, and cheese always go together. But my favorite part of this dish is the crust—it’s perfect for any quiche.

This is one of those recipes where success relies on the freshness of the ingredients. Use the best-quality Gorgonzola you can find, be it a mild domestic version or the more pungent Italian variety. Either one will pair nicely with the chile oil, which enlivens this classic recipe. This makes for a beautiful presentation on a platter, but you can easily divide the beet slices among individual plates and serve it that way.

This is one of my favorite salads—it is a perfect accompaniment to most traditional Mexican dishes. Serve it with Cochinita Pibil (page 126) or a carne asada. In Mexico the chicharrones (crackling pork rinds) are sold packaged like potato chips, or in larger pieces at street stands, and are eaten as a snack—on their own or sprinkled with lime juice and bottled hot sauce. Here they provide a nice crunch. Make sure to add them at the end because they will get soggy if they sit too long in the dressing. If you want to keep the salad light and healthy, leave the chicharrones out altogether.

Manchego, a mild-flavored Spanish cheese, makes this classic Mexican soup a hit. As good as this is when served as a starter, it is also great paired with water crackers for the perfect pre-dinner snack or boiled down until thickened and transformed into an alfredo-like sauce for pasta or poultry. All told, you need to buy about 3 ounces Manchego for this recipe.

My dad used to hunt, and quail was his favorite game, so grilled quail regularly appeared on our dinner table. When pressed for time, my mom would marinate the quail in store-bought Italian dressing spiced up with chile powder, grill it, and serve it as an appetizer followed by carne asada. In this recipe, I create the marinade from scratch, with just the right amount of chile powder. Squeeze a lime over the quail and don’t be afraid to eat it with your hands—it’s messy but delicious! This marinade is also great with chicken.