Vegetable

Roman ox butchers, known as i vaccinari, have been attributed authorship for this most characteristic dish of la cucina povera romana. Honored as savvy, inventive cooks, the butchers were and are wont to pot up the most particularly toothsome nuggets plundered from the great beasts. The tail of an ox, though it surrenders inconsiderable flesh, is of the tenderest texture and most delicate savor to be gleaned from the whole hulk of him.

This potato and bacon gratin was created by Rob Chalmers, a chef de cuisine at Lucques who had a great love of food and a big Boston attitude to go along with it. When he first told me about this gratin, I thought he was joking. That much fat in one pan might put even me over the edge. But lo and behold, bacon, potatoes, and cream really do taste good together!

If you’ve never had grilled duck breasts, you’re in for a revelatory surprise. The contrasts are striking: the smoke of the grill against the richness of the duck fat, the juicy meat capped by crispy skin. At the restaurant, we buy Liberty Farms breasts (see Sources), which I have found superior to others in taste and texture. They raise a variety of duck called Pekin, a smaller, more compact bird (a single breast is perfect for one person) with a brighter, more delicate flavor and feel. You may have more luck finding Muscovy duck breasts, which are heftier, more steaklike. If you use Muscovy, you’ll only need four breasts to feed six people. Grilling duck breasts requires some attention. The fat from under the skin will inevitably drip into the fire, causing flare-ups, which can blacken the breasts if you’re not careful. If a flare-up occurs, use tongs to snatch the breasts off the grill for a few seconds, then return them once the flames have subsided. You may need to move them around the grill almost continuously as the fat renders out. The reward for this vigilance, however, is perfection—crisp golden brown skin and plump, succulent meat. An easier option is to sauté them in a cast-iron pan over medium-low heat, still skin side down, taking your time to render the fat from under the skin. Once the skin is crisp, which can take longer than you might expect, turn the breast over and cook a few more minutes, until medium-rare.

White asparagus, ramps, and morels are the caviar, foie gras, and truffles of the vegetable world. Simply sautéing them together in brown butter and serving them with creamy polenta is one of my favorite ways to enjoy these edible trophies of spring.

Savory is possibly the most underappreciated herb in this country. I fell in love with it many years back when I was cooking in France. There, it’s used in the traditional seasoning mix herbes de Provence and added to all types of stews, ragoûts, and sauces. Its aroma—earthy, slightly sweet, and a little bit peppery—reminds me of the brush-covered hillsides where we played growing up. Winter savory, summer savory’s seasonal opposite, is more robust in flavor but would be a fine substitute in this recipe. If you can’t find either of the savories, substitute a combination of equal amounts of thyme, rosemary, and mint. This isn’t a difficult dish to make, but it does require some last-minute multitasking. Have your prepared ingredients—or, as we say in the kitchen, your mise en place—ready to go. Be sure that your herbs are chopped, the vinaigrette is made, the crème fraîche is mixed, and your seasonings are in reach. This dish is a great way to initiate the unconverted to the Church of the Fava Bean. The potatoes and favas are mashed together with butter and finished with pea shoots and a vibrant Meyer lemon salsa. The seared halibut goes on top with a dollop of savory crème fraîche.

Braised meats are ideal for any large gathering because much of the work can be done the day before. In my opinion, braises actually taste better when the flavors have had time to meld and develop. And in the braising process, not only have you cooked the meat, you’ve also created a sauce. Osso buco is a classic braised dish of northern Italy, usually garnished with gremolata, a popular condiment made of minced lemon zest, parsley, and garlic. That’s fine in the winter, but in spring, I like to add two of my favorite spring ingredients: peas and pea shoots. It’s a brighter rendition of the traditional preparation. The risotto, perfumed with saffron, is the perfect starch for spooning up with the braising juices. I’m usually pro-cheese, but in the case of this risotto I find myself torn. Though the Parmesan gives the risotto richness, without it the dish is a little lighter and “more of the season.” You decide.

When I was growing up, my dad and I had an ongoing asparagus arrangement: I would cut off the tips of my asparagus spears and trade them for his ends. While most asparagus eaters like the tender tips best, to this day I still prefer the fibrous-textured stalk and would happily swap tips for ends if anyone offered. In this simple first course, asparagus is grilled, then layered with prosciutto and dressed with mustard cream. I hope it’s delicious enough to disappear before your guests have a chance to debate which end is better.

Spaghetti carbonara was one of the simpler dishes in my dad’s weekend repertoire, and it was by far my all-time favorite thing to make with him. After chopping the bacon, snipping the parsley, and grating the cheese, my sister and I would stand back and watch the grand master perform the final act. As he whisked the eggs and tossed in the piping-hot noodles, we marveled at the transformation of our seemingly simple and innocent ingredients into a magnificent bowl of indulgence. It all happened in a matter of seconds; unlike his laborious stews, which took hours to make, this meal was all about instant gratification. In the spring, I stray from tradition and add lots of sweet peas and pea shoots to Dad’s original formula. The shape of orecchiette pasta suits this dish well; the “little ears” capture the sauce inside, ensuring plenty of flavor in every bite. If you can’t find orecchiette, use spaghetti or penne.

Black cod, despite its name, is not a true cod. Its other names—sablefish and butterfish—suit it better: its texture is as silky as sable, its flavor as rich as butter. I love the Japanese pairing of black cod and miso, but in this recipe, black cod gets a French treatment, a smothering with hazelnut brown butter. Ask your fishmonger where the black cod is from. It’s overfished in California and Oregon so look for black cod from Alaska, where the commercial fishing is better regulated. Black cod has a single row of bones that is very difficult to remove when the fish is raw. You can ask your fishmonger to remove the bones or cut them out yourself before cooking. Or just cook the fish bones and all; it’s easy to spot them and eat around them.

Morels are to spring what tomatoes are to summer: they epitomize the season. Their spongy texture and funny pine-cone shape give these wild mushrooms unmistakable personality. In order not to mask their delicious earthy flavor, morels are best when prepared simply. In a French kitchen, morels are often cooked with cream. And as with so many traditional pairings, when you taste the combination you understand why it’s a classic. Here the morel ragoût is bound with a little cream, spooned over toasted slices of brioche, and topped with dollops of crème fraîche. The soft herbs are left whole; when you bite into them you get a big burst of flavor.