Vegetable

For me, making a garden lettuce salad—washing beautiful fresh-picked lettuces and tossing them together with a scattering of herbs and a vinaigrette—is as much of a joy as eating one. I love the colorful variety of lettuces, bitter and sweet; the flavor and complexity of herbs such as chervil and chives; and the brightness of a simple vinaigrette made with red wine vinegar, olive oil, and a whisper of garlic, which highlights the lettuces and herbs without overwhelming them. For a salad to have flavor and life, you have to start with fresh, just-picked lettuces. I’m fortunate to have a small kitchen garden in my backyard where I grow various lettuces and herbs for salad, but if you don’t have such a garden it can take some real dedication to find good greens. Farmers’ markets are the best places to start. When my garden is not producing, or when I’m away from home, I shop for head lettuces and try to create my own combinations of lettuces, arugula, chicories, and whatever tender herbs I can find. I generally avoid the salad mixes, especially the pre-bagged ones, which usually seem to include one or two kinds of greens that don’t belong with the others. If there is a lovely mixture from a local salad grower, fine, but otherwise try to buy the best head lettuces you can find and make your own mix. Wash the lettuce, gently but thoroughly, in a basin or bowl of cold water. First cull through the lettuces, pulling off and throwing into the compost bin any outer leaves that are tough, yellowed, or damaged. Then cut out the stem end, separating the rest of the leaves into the water. Gently swish the leaves in the water with your open hands and lift the lettuce out of the water and into a colander. If the lettuces are very dirty, change the water, and wash again. Dry the lettuces in a salad spinner, but don’t overfill it. It’s much more effective to spin-dry a few small batches than one or two large ones. Empty the water from the spinner after each batch. Any water clinging to the leaves will dilute the vinaigrette, so check the leaves and spin them again if they’re still a little wet. I spread out each batch of leaves in a single layer on a dish towel as I go. Then I gently roll up the towel and put it in the refrigerator until it’s time to serve the salad. You can do this a few hours ahead. When the time comes, put the lettuce in a bowl big enough to allow you to toss the salad. If you have some, add a small handful of chives or chervil, or both, either chopped quickly or snipped with scissors. Toss everything with the vinaigrette, using just enough sauce to coat the leaves lightly, so they glisten. Beware of overdressing small, tender lettuces: they will wilt and turn soggy. I usually toss salads with my hands. (I eat salads with my hands, too.) That way I can be gentle and precise and make sure that each leaf is evenly dressed. Taste, and if needed, finish the salad with a sprinkling of salt or brighten it with a splash of vinegar or a squeeze of lemon juice. Taste again and see what you think, then toss one last time and serve the salad right away.

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.

Salsa verde, the classic green sauce of Italy, is a sauce of olive oil and chopped parsley flavored with lemon zest, garlic, and capers. It adds lively freshness to almost any simple dish. Flat-leaved Italian parsley is preferable, but curly parsley is good, too. Fresh parsley—the fresher the better—is the majority herb, but almost any other fresh, tender herb can enhance a salsa verde: tarragon, chervil, and chives are good choices. Use a sharp knife when you chop parsley (and other herbs). A sharp knife slices cleanly through the leaves, preserving both flavor and color, while a dull knife mashes and bruises them. The zest is the thin yellow outer layer of the lemon’s skin; avoid grating any of the bitter white part (called the pith) beneath. The zest brightens the flavor of the sauce, so don’t be shy with it; you may need more than one lemon’s worth. Don’t hesitate to experiment. I make salsa verde more or less thick depending on what I am using it for. I tend to use less oil when it’s for roasted meats and grilled vegetables and more for fish.

Velvety, luscious, garlicky mayonnaise—what the French call aïoli (pronounced eye-oh-lee)—is another sauce I use all the time: on sandwiches; with vegetables, both raw and cooked; with meat and fish; as the binder for chicken salad and egg salad; and as a base for sauces such as tartar sauce. Most children, even very young ones, love aïoli and will happily use it as a dip for bite after bite of bread, carrots, potatoes, and even vegetables they might otherwise refuse. Two or three small cloves of garlic per egg yolk, pounded with a mortar and pestle, make a fairly pungent garlic mayonnaise—depending on the garlic. The strength of garlic’s flavor can vary a lot, depending on freshness, season, and variety. I always pound the garlic in a mortar and pestle and reserve half of it, so I can add it later if the aïoli needs it. (You can always add more garlic, but you can’t subtract it.) It’s important to pound the garlic to a very smooth purée so the sauce will be garlicky through and through, not just a mayonnaise with bits of garlic in it. One egg yolk will absorb up to one cup of oil, but you can add less if you don’t need that much mayonnaise. Whisk the oil in drop by drop at first, adding more as you go. It is much easier to whisk when the bowl is steadied. To help hold it still, set it on top of a coiled dish towel. Adding a small amount of water to the egg yolk before you incorporate the oil helps prevent the sauce from separating or “breaking.” If mayonnaise does separate, stop adding oil, but don’t despair. Just crack a fresh egg, separate the yolk into a new bowl, add a little water as before, and slowly whisk in first the broken sauce and then the rest of the oil. Make aïoli half an hour ahead of time, to give the flavors a chance to marry. As with anything made with raw eggs, if you’re not going to serve mayonnaise within an hour, refrigerate it. Aïoli tastes best the day it’s made.

Gloria Linss, grandmother of my editorial assistant, Valeria, was kind enough to provide us with the perfect ratio of sugar and cinnamon to squash for this recipe. She also pointed out that at her house they did not chop the squash; she would literally smash the whole gourd onto the kitchen floor until it broke into pieces. You can keep it old-school and do that, but I suggest you go with a very sharp knife: it makes cleanup easier. For a sweet finish, do as Gloria does and drizzle the squash with chilled evaporated milk before serving. The cold milk is the perfect counterpoint to the extravagantly sweet, melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon-scented squash.

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).

In Mexico, pickled onions are to taco stands what pickle relish is to a hot dog cart in the U.S.—a condiment that taco-lovers can’t do without. Make it at home and save yourself the trip across the border.

I am obsessed with mayo, especially homemade mayo. All it takes is a little patience, and the end result is much brighter and smoother than any store-bought variety. It’s traditionally made by hand, by vigorously beating with a whisk, but I make it in a food processor, which is much easier. I always have a batch of this chipotle mayo in the fridge; you can easily omit the chipotles for a mayo base to which you could add any sort of flavorings. Raw eggs are used in this recipe, so it’s best to not serve this to pregnant women, children, or anyone with a compromised immune system. If you use pasteurized egg yolks, however, you can serve it to whomever you like.

In Mexico pico de gallo is used to describe a wide variety of regional salsas, which are always made with cubed fresh fruit and/ or vegetables. Pico de gallo is also known as salsa picada, which means minced or chopped sauce. The most common version is made with red tomatoes, onion, and green chiles and is sometimes called salsa mexicana or salsa bandera, because the colors in the salsa represent those of the Mexican flag. I like to make mine with yellow tomatoes when I am in the mood for a sweeter salsa. Feel free to use red tomatoes if you want to keep it traditional.

Mangoes sprinkled with a mixture of chile and salt and served on a stick are popular street-corner fare in Mexico. I love the combination of flavors so much that I used it to create this salsa, with the addition of avocado for extra richness. Mangoes come in several varieties, and any type will work as long as the fruit is ripe but firm enough that it won’t fall apart in the salsa.

Tomatillo salsas vary greatly from region to region in Mexico. Some are boiled, some are fried, some are roasted, but all of them have the same distinct acidic taste that makes the tomatillo one of Mexico’s trademark ingredients. A batch of this salsa is made daily at my house; it’s always in my fridge. It’s my topping of choice for quesadillas.

What’s better than one chile? Three! Mexican food owes much of its flair to the chile, which has been around since about 7500 B.C. Chiles add heat and depth to almost everything I make at home. (As an added bonus, some scientists believe the chile has miraculous disease-fighting powers, with the ability to promote weight loss and to prevent everything from heart disease to cancer.) Here you have the cascabel chile, which adds a slightly nutty flavor, the árbol chile, which brings heat, and my favorite, the sweet and smoky guajillo, to create a salsa that is in perfect harmony.

Every family has a recipe that is a well-kept secret. This one, created by my aunt Marcela, is ours. It took some major coaxing to convince her to let me in on the details. Chile-lovers, this is for you! Yellow chiles are left whole and are meant to be eaten in between bites of tacos or any grilled dish. If you want to get adventurous, try dipping sushi in the spicy lime-soy sauce.

My aunt Martha swears that this smoky, sweet, tropical salsa takes her back to Yucatán no matter where she is when she makes it. It works especially well with Cilantro Tandoori Chicken (page 110), but it will enhance any grilled fish or meat. If the grill’s fired up, throw the pineapple right on it; a grill pan will do just fine if you’re cooking indoors.

The smoked salmon gives this sauce great texture and is also a wonderful flavor complement to the smokiness of the chile mulato. Try the sauce on pasta or with a char-grilled chicken breast.

Nuts and seeds have been making their way into Mexican sauces and salsas for centuries. The nutty sesame seeds in this salsa, which is served at a very popular small restaurant in Tijuana called Mi Rincón Cenaduria (My Restaurant Nook), give it body and depth. Use this on steak tacos or even with grilled chicken. Peanuts can be substituted for the sesame seeds.

A fresh salsa verde, or green sauce, made with tomatillos is a perfect condiment for almost any meal (I like it on grilled chicken tacos), and just as good as a dip for tortilla chips.

“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 is one of my favorite ways to eat rice: spicy and with nuts! The spice from the chiles is perfectly balanced by earthy pine nuts. To cut down on the heat, you can always use one ancho chile instead of two, but I encourage you to try it with two the first time around. You might be surprised at how well the flavors work together. Because they are picked by hand, pine nuts can be expensive. Feel free to substitute chopped or slivered almonds instead.

Couscous, made from semolina, is a staple in North African cuisine. Here it is infused with spicy chiles and cinnamon in this easy-to-whip-up salad that would pair nicely with grilled lamb or poultry.