Starter

PAT Gina’s told me before, “If you like the kickoff, then you’re going to love these poppers!” They have the perfect amount of kick to them. Between the smokiness of the paprika and the heat of the cayenne pepper, take one bite and the game is on! We remove the jalapeño seeds so that the poppers aren’t too hot, but leave them in if you like really spicy. After all, I am a hot man, and I mean that both palate-wise and physical-wise (and, as you can tell, I’m very, very humble). Jalapeños are a vegetable that you can get seriously creative with: filling them up with cheese, using buttermilk in a batter, and deep-frying these little puppies makes one of the best appetizers you can imagine.

GINA Ever since I was a little girl, my mom has been telling me that if you don’t eat black-eyed peas on New Year’s Day you’ll have a bad year ahead of you. Now, when I was younger I didn’t care a bit. I was going through that awkward stage anyway—how much worse could it be? But as I got older, I learned to love that black-eyed pea tradition, convinced that my year was going to be fantastic! And you know what’s funny? I tell my girls the same thing. Who says traditions and superstitions aren’t effective? Not to mention that black-eyed peas are rich in calcium and vitamin A. What could be bad about that? Of course, this being a Gina recipe, I added in my favorite collard greens. . . . Mmm, even better.

Rhubarb is one of those love-hate foods. For me, it’s all about the love. Not only do I like the tartness, a zinging alternative to too-cloying desserts, but it’s pretty, too. Yes, it’s pink and it’s pretty and I’m secure enough to admit it. With the gentle bubbles emanating from the prosecco, this soup is impressive enough to end a fancy spring meal, and it’s easy, to boot.

Cacio Faenum is a fragrant sheep’s milk cheese that, like little baby Jesus, is lovingly laid on a bed of hay to rest. Unlike the newborn king, however, the cheese is actually wrapped in dried grass and buried in a hay-filled barrel for a little more than a month. You’ll recognize this incredible cheese by its charming hay wrapper and a grassy, barn-y fragrance that marries nicely with the earthiness of apricots and almonds.

I think of Robiola as what I always want Brie to be. It’s even more lush than that French imposter, with a smooth, flowing core that’s like pure silk. The very best specimens must be tasted in Italy, where they don’t let unpasteurized milk stand between any man and his cheese. We get very fine imports here, however, and depending on the producer, your Robiola may be fashioned from either goat, sheep, or cow’s milk, or a combination. Because Robiola is so rich, I like to pair it with something tart and jammy, like this easy gooseberry compote. To serve, make sure the compote has cooled completely and the Robiola is at room temperature to allow it to be its runny, best self.

One of my favorite cheeses from Piedmont, you can tell La Tur is special from the moment you see the little round presented in its ruffled paper wrapper. This is a very well-balanced cheese, young, made from goat, sheep, and cow’s milk. Cutting through the soft rind you find a slightly tangy, nearly mousselike interior, and each round feeds four perfectly. Roasted tomato “petals” make a colorful and velvety pairing, richly drizzled with the best balsamic you can afford. If you can buy 100-year-old balsamic, do it—celebrate your good fortune. If, like me, you can only afford something a bit younger, don’t let it hold you back from ending an evening with this dish. Serve with a plain baguette or slices of peasant bread; nut-or herb-flavored breads will compete with the flavors.

A cheese course for gin lovers, Ginepro is a sheep’s milk pecorino from Emilia-Romagna that is first rubbed with balsamic vinegar and olive oil and then buried in juniper berries. It’s a salty, herbal cheese with an awesome tang. To complement the flavor and amp up the juniper, caramelize some pears and flame them with gin, then allow them to macerate to develop the flavor. With that much gin going on, pour a dry prosecco to drink with it.

Go to your farmers’ market and get the freshest and best goat cheese you can find—the tang and texture are critical with a dish this straightforward. Chestnut honey has an earthiness, almost a gaminess, really, that adds depth and structure to the dish.

I love it when the first bunches of springtime sorrel appear in the market. It has a fantastic sour, lemony-mint thing going on that does something great for clams. The only drawback is that when you cook sorrel, it turns the worst color of brown. Sprinkle it on the dish at the last minute for the best flavor and look. Please try to find guanciale for this dish—it has a delightful fattiness to it that can’t really be replicated. If you can’t find guanciale, use bacon or pancetta instead. Everyone thinks clams have to be cooked over high heat. It’s not necessary in order for the clams to open, and it can render them tough if not done carefully.

Though this recipe sounds straight out of a Coen brothers’ movie, the name refers to the fact that you chop off the squids’ arms and stuff them inside their own bodies. Trust me—this is my kind of punishment. I use cooked Controne beans as a binder instead of breadcrumbs, ensuring the filling is creamy and light, and I add slab bacon for a hit of smoke and texture. When you grill the tentacles, remember that you’re just precooking them and don’t leave them on the heat too long. Another key to this dish is ensuring that your filling is at room temperature before you stuff the squid. If it’s too cold, you’ll overcook the bodies while you heat the stuffing through. If you want to stuff the squid earlier in the day, just take them out of the fridge about a half hour before grilling.

This is a dish to transport you to the Italian Riviera—the freshest sardines, simply grilled, splashed with lemon, briny olives, and the sweet anise flavor of the season’s first fennel. This is also finger food, so get out a big stack of napkins and don’t eat them with those who are excessively dainty. They don’t deserve them anyway. It would play into the whole relaxed-by-the-sea thing if you have your fishmonger scale and clean the sardines.

Save this recipe for late February, when spring garlic first appears in markets. For this dish, it’s best to use larger heads, planning on one large or two small heads per serving. Piecing out the squab makes for much easier eating and allows you to cook the different parts perfectly, with the added bonus that the wings and body add incredible depth and flavor to the sauce. If you think your knife skills aren’t up to par, you can ask your butcher to do it for you, but be sure to reserve all the pieces. If your guests are big eaters, you might want to double the recipe to allow for one squab per person and serve as an entrée. Lentils would make a nice side.

This is your grown-up chance to play with your food! Frenched lamb chops, also known as lamb lollipops, just beg to be picked up and gnawed on because the clean bones make lovely handles. Even the veg gets in on the interactive eating, with tender spring favas sautéed in their skins. Besides being fun finger food, there’s an added perk to cooking them this way: because they’re not blanched, the favas stay extra-sweet and firm. Just pick them up one by one and pop them into your mouth, like edamame served in Japanese restaurants. Don’t bother setting forks or knives at the table, but I recommend providing plenty of napkins.

For those of you not familiar with the term, “alligator pear” is a charming and old-fashioned name for avocado. I use the term here because this is less a recipe than a memory. When I was growing up, my parents thought it the height of sophistication to serve us halved avocados as an accompaniment to our after-dinner salad. They filled them with olive oil and sprinkled them with salt and never failed to mention how rare and expensive a treat we were getting. This is an homage to that family dinner tradition—half an alligator pear, made lighter and more savory with the addition of buttery Ligurian Taggiasca olives and a lightly dressed arugula salad. Serve them the next time you entertain and raise a fork to the Stowells as you do.

This delicious salad makes a solid first course or a hearty addition to a small-plate menu. Mackerel is a fantastic fish, with rich flesh and a deep flavor that is tamed and enhanced by a quick pickling treatment. Crisp radishes and assertive watercress hold up to the forward flavors, while a sprinkling of toasted pistachios adds nice texture and crunch. For a fun variation, use the same pickling liquid on sardines. Because sardine fillets are much thinner, they can be cooked simply by heating the liquid to boiling and pouring it over the fillets. Continue as directed with the rest of the recipe.

This salad is a stellar addition to a midwinter antipasto plate, full of bright flavors that seem to hint at warmer days ahead. In the short, dark days of a Seattle January, that’s especially welcome. Because of the salad’s simplicity, it’s important to use the heaviest, sweetest oranges you can find and use a firm, briny olive. Arbequinas or Gaetas are fine substitutes for the Taggiascas; mushy supermarket Kalamatas are not. Serve the salad shortly after you prepare it. As it sits, the flavor of the shallot continues to develop and the lovely balance of the salad is lost.

I wouldn’t hazard a guess as to the romantic preferences of clams. What I do know is that this dish works equally well served as a substantial soup or as a brothy pasta, depending on your own desires. I use jumbo clams in this dish because they have a more pronounced flavor. They are a bit chewier, but I think the improved flavor is worth a small sacrifice in terms of texture. For the pasta, this is where you get to have some fun. Use a ridged pastry wheel if you want your squares to be extra elegant, or haul out a sharp knife if you want basic squares. Either way, they’ll taste delicious.

This may be one of the simplest recipes in this entire book, but it’s absolutely addictive, with the marinated pecorino offering a tangy creaminess that coats the silky noodles just so. Don’t be tempted to jazz this up with anything extra—it’s the comforting straightforwardness of the dish that makes it so good. Trying to make it fancy will ruin the magic.

Trofie, also called trofiette, is a Ligurian pasta made with just flour and water—no eggs. The squiggly little twists make a particularly good vehicle for pesto because it nestles into all those little crevices. The Nettle Pesto is lighter and less herbaceous than traditional basil pesto, making this an easy first course.