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Arsip Tag: roasted
Is this a good place to admit that in all years I sat down at the Thanksgiving table when I didn’t eat meat, it never occurred to me that I needed an alternative meal? Because: sweet potatoes. Because: green beans. Because: stuffing and cranberries and dinner rolls and four types of pie! My plate was heavy. My face was stuffed. I mean, who’s really in it for the turkey?
But, you’re probably a better vegetarian than I was (one who does not consider a montage of side dishes a proper meal) or at least a better host (one who believes every guest, regardless of diet, deserves a main dish), which means that you are probably currently tasked with making something vegetable-centric that’s a) not just everyone else’s side dish, b) ideally contains protein too, c) would be a good fit for the other harvest-y flavors on the table, i.e. no small order.
May I suggest a galette? These savory free-form pies have been an Smitten Kitchen favorite since our 2006 inception. There was one with Wild Mushrooms and Stilton, Butternut Squash and Caramelized Onions, Zucchini and Ricotta, Cabbage and Mushroom and even one with Burst Tomato with Zucchini and Corn (no side-eye over the zucchini, please, there were several at the market this week! Corn, yeah, not so much). Or, if you’re looking for something new, how about this one with roasted leeks, white beans, a little lemon, garlic and really never enough gruyere cheese?
Here’s the thing: any of these recipes will make one large (that can be cut into 8 appetizer-portion wedges) or four smaller ones that could replace turkey and gravy on a vegetarian plate. The dough keeps for a week in the fridge and longer in the freezer. The baked galettes keep for at least two days in peak form in the fridge and rewarm fantastically and all are also good nearing room temperature, which means that even if you’re juggling a massive menu, they’re not going to add any last-minute cooking drama. Plus, most essentially, they’re insanely good with the flakiest dough I know how to make and flavorful fillings and really don’t be surprised if people forgo the turkey to grab one of these instead.
One year ago: Classic Pecan Pie with Praline Sauce
Two years ago: Green Bean Casserole with Crispy Onions
Three years ago: Spinach Salad with Warm Bacon Vinaigrette
Four years ago: Gingersnaps
Five years ago: Creamed Onions with Bacon and Chives
Six years ago: Sweet Potato Buttermilk Pie
Seven years ago: Winter Fruit Salad and Mushroom and Barley Pie
Eight years ago: Pumpkin Waffles and Creamy White Polenta with Mushrooms
Nine years ago: Cranberry Sauce, Three Ways, Tomato and Sausage Risotto and Sundried Tomato Stuffed Mushrooms
And for the other side of the world:
Six Months Ago: Fake Shack Burger
1.5 Years Ago: Soft Pretzel Buns and Knots
2.5 Years Ago: Greek Salad with Lemon and Oregano
3.5 Years Ago: Vidalia Onion Soup with Wild Rice
4.5 Years Ago: Rhubarb Streusel Muffins
Roasted Leek and White Bean Galettes
Filling inspired by this Food & Wine gratin
For the pastry:
1 1/4 cups (160 grams) all-purpose flour
1/4 teaspoon table salt
8 tablespoons (4 ounces or 115 grams) cold unsalted butter, cut into pieces and chill again
1/4 cup (60 grams) plain yogurt or sour cream
2 teaspoons (10 ml) fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup (60 ml) ice water
For the filling
6 small-to-medium leeks, dark green tops discarded, white and light green parts halved lengthwise
2 tablespoons olive oil
Freshly ground black pepper
1 15-ounce can cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
1 garlic clove, minced
1/4 teaspoon finely grated lemon zest
1/4 cup chopped flat-leaf parsley
2/3 cup grated gruyère cheese, divided
1 egg yolk beaten with 1 teaspoon water
Make dough: Stir the flour and salt together in a large bowl. Sprinkle bits of butter over dough and, using a pastry blender or your fingertips, work it into the flour until the mixture resembles coarse meal, with the biggest pieces of butter the size of tiny peas. In a small bowl, stir together the sour cream, lemon juice and water and add this to the butter-flour mixture. With your fingertips or a wooden spoon, mix in the liquid until large lumps form. Pat the lumps into a ball. Wrap with plastic and refrigerate for 1 hour, or up to 2 days.
Meanwhile, prepare filling: Heat the oven to 400 degrees F. Arrange leeks cut-side-up in a large (9×13-inch) baking dish. Drizzle with olive oil. Sprinkle with 1 teaspoon kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper. Flip the leeks so that their cut sides face down, add 3 tablespoons of water to the dish, cover tightly with aluminum foil and bake for 20 minutes until tender. Uncover and continue roasting the leeks for 10 to 15 minutes, or until caramelized. Leave oven on. Let leeks cool slightly, then chop into segments and place in a large bowl. Toss with beans, garlic, lemon zest, parsley, 1/2 cup grated cheese and season with salt and pepper to taste.
Assemble galettes: Divide dough into 4 pieces. On a floured counter, roll the first piece dough out into a roughly 8-inch round, although it really doesn’t need to be perfectly shaped. Transfer to a large parchment-lined baking sheet; I like to fold my dough gently, without creasing, in quarters then unfold it onto the baking pan. Sprinkle about 1/4 of the prepared filling into the center of the dough, leaving a 1 1/2-inch border. Sprinkle with about 1/4 of the remaining cheese. Fold the border over the filling, pleating the edge to make it fit. The center will be open. Brush crust with egg yolk glaze. Repeat with remaining dough and filling, making 4 small galettes.
Bake the galettes: For 25 to 30 minutes, until golden brown all over. Remove from the oven and let stand for 5 minutes, then slide the galette onto a serving plate. Or, if you’re planning ahead, let cool completely and refrigerate until needed. Gently rewarm before serving in a low oven.
If one was ever to question their lifetime of unwavering devotion to New York City, February would the month to do it. It’s cold and has been for some time. It’s cold and will be for some time. And somewhere out in California, a “friend” — but really, are they if they torture you so? — is welcoming their first strawberries. You get strawberries in New York, too, but for about 5 minutes every June and they cost about as much per square foot as real estate in a neighborhood with multiple pour-over coffee outlets.
So, yes, February is the month. But this February? I never thought it would be the one. This is, by every measurement known, the mildest winter we’ve ever had, and the shortest too. I am, by almost every measurement I can invent, the most loyal and content New Yorker you’ll meet (but not the shortest, although close). But every night for the last week, I’ve pestered my husband with talk of Los Angeles, a mythical place where it’s warm and sunny all year round, where the tacos are unparalleled, where the avocados are exceptional, where you apparently don’t need to be a millionaire to have a home with more than two bedrooms. This is probably what happens to even the most stalwart New Yorker after too long without a vacation.
Fortunately, for times of great flux and inner turmoil, there are always cookbooks offering an escape. Like many a shivering East Coasters, I’ve been gazing lovingly over the Gjelina restaurant cookbook this week, an understandable side-effect of cookbooks photographed by Michael Graydon and Nikole Herriott. That cover! Maybe I don’t even want to move to LA, I want to move into that cover, a tucked-in nest of fiery squash, protecting you from the slab concrete.
We should talk about the cooking too, and while it occasionally feels the tiniest bit formulaic, when that formula happens to be stunning gently charred vegetables, fish and meat, dabbed with something acidic (a yogurt sauce, bagna cauda, salsa verde and all of the other sauces I write across my heart), something rich (avocado, cheese, a bit of fruit), something fresh (herbs or another shaved vegetable) and something crunchy (seeds, nuts, crushed croutons, crispy onions, hiii ily), it is clearly in the service of greatness. I feel a responsibility to warn the home cook that sub-recipes abound (ocean trout rillettes has four; there are three within the rye rags with sausage, mushrooms and fennel that I’m going to make anyway because you read that title, didn’t you?) but there’s so much else in here for us — an enviable pizza section, a chickpea stew with tomato and turmeric I would swan dive into if I could — it would be a disservice to us to let this keep us away. The 30-deep vegetable section alone is worth the cover price; there isn’t a thing in there I don’t want to eat for the rest of my life.
Because I’m back in the kind of place where I roast sweet potatoes all of the time for children tiny and mid-sized, I was drawn to the yams first. They’re roasted in long wedges with a bit of honey, olive oil and a tremendous amount of pepper flakes (adjust to taste, of course) until singed and steak-like then drizzled with a sharp lime yogurt and thinly sliced scallions. For my purposes, I felt like I needed to add one more thing to make this more of a dinner centerpiece and that thing was chickpeas, roasted until crisp with smoked paprika and salt. My husband and I will unapologetically admit that we usually only eat sweet potatoes begrudgingly; they’re fine, but we mostly keep them around for the kids. Not this time. We didn’t even offer to share, just decimated the dish after they went to bed; my sole regret is having not doubled it so I’d have more left for today’s lunch.
One year ago: The ‘I Want Chocolate Cake’ Cake
Two years ago: Morning Bread Pudding with Salted Caramel
Three years ago: French Onion Tart
Four years ago: Fried Egg Sandwich with Bacon and Blue Cheese
Five years ago: Piña Colada Cake
Six years ago: Thick Chewy Granola Bars
Seven years ago: Hot Fudge Sauce and Red Kidney Bean Curry
Eight years ago: Escarole and Orzo Soup with Meatballs
Nine years ago: Baked Tomato Sauce
And for the other side of the world:
Six Months Ago: Crispy Peach Cobbler
1.5 Years Ago: Strawberries and Cream with Graham Crumbles
2.5 Years Ago: Key Lime Pie Popsicles and Butterscotch Pudding Popsicles
3.5 Years Ago: Leek Chard and Corn Flatbread
4.5 Years Ago: Zucchini Fritters
Roasted Yams and Chickpeas with Yogurt
Adapted from Gjelina
You’re going to end up with more yogurt and more chickpeas than you probably need — or fewer potatoes. It’s all a matter of perspective, really.
Serves 2, hungrily, 4, humbly
3 large yams or orange-fleshed sweet potatoes, cut into 4 lengthwise wedges, or 8, if your yams are very thick
1 to 2 tablespoons honey (I used 1; 2 are called for)
1 tablespoon crushed red-pepper flakes (Espelette are called for; I used mild Aleppo)
1 3/4 cups (1 15-ounce can) chickpeas, drained and patted dry on towels
4 tablespoons olive oil
1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika
Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
1/2 cup Greek-style plain yogurt
4 tablespoons fresh lime juice, from approximately 2 limes
2 scallions, both green and white parts, trimmed and thinly sliced, for garnish
Heat oven to 425 degrees F.
Line two baking sheets with foil, for minimal mess. Coat one, the one you’ll use for the yams, with 1 tablespoon olive oil.
Toss yams with honey, 1 tablespoon olive oil and 1/2 tablespoon of pepper flakes. Let sit in bowl for 5 to 10 minutes. Toss chickpeas with 1 tablespoon olive oil, smoked paprika and salt, to taste.
Spread yams out on olive oil-ed baking sheet in one layer. Season with salt and pepper. Roast for 30 minutes, until nicely toasted underneath. Flip/move wedges around and roast for 5 to 10 more minutes, until soft and singed. For extra color, run them under the broiler for a final minute.
Meanwhile, spread chickpeas on second uncoated baking sheet. Roast in oven for 20 minutes, rolling around once or twice so that they cook evenly, until lightly browned and crispy on the outside. Set aside.
Whisk yogurt, remaining tablespoon olive oil and lime juice together in a small dish, then season with salt and pepper to taste.
Arrange yams on plate or platter, drizzle some of the yogurt over, then about half the chickpeas. Garnish with scallions and remaining pepper flakes, plus flaky sea salt, if you have any. Keep extra chickpeas and yogurt on the side. Dig in.
Me and this salad go way back. In 2007 — you know, back in the days when I imagine that all of our conversations might have gone “What should we do today?” “Oh, I don’t know, anything we want.” — I had this salad at the then new-ish Spotted Pig in the West Village and attempted to recreate it. It didn’t go well and because I was as mature then as I am now, I had a tantrum and didn’t get back to it until 2009, at which point I made a roasted carrot dish with a bit of cumin and topped it with avocado slices that had been tossed with some lemon and everyone was happy. However, in 2011, Jean-Georges Vongerichten published a book of his homecooking favorites including this salad, which is also on the menu at ABC Kitchen and in 2012, April Bloomfield included the recipe in her first cookbook and I’ve thought it might be nice to circle back to these more complexly spiced and textured versions.
Can I veer off for a moment here? [I mean, that’s kind of my thing, not being able to finish a sentence without at least one other tangentially-related sentence inside it.] Okay, so I get a lot of cooking ideas from restaurants I go to and I jot them down but it’s not because I want to do anything sinister like pretend I came up with them first, but because I want to do something with the impression it made on me. It’s like going to a museum and admiring the soft colors in a painting and realizing you want to soften the palette in your own artwork; nobody is going to mistake you for Monet any more than anyone is going to mistake me for Beyoncé if I buy thigh-high tights and wear them as pants. (They’re more likely, in fact, beg me to never do this again.) People have said to me, “Why don’t you just ask the chef for their recipe?” or “But this recipe is published! Don’t you want to make their version?” but I actually don’t for two reasons. First, I want to stay true to what I remembered about it, even if it might have been incorrect, because it was my impression that got me daydreaming about a new flavor combination or approach to an ingredient. Second, holy moly, are chef recipes usually a headache! For restaurant purposes, this makes a ton of sense (each element prepared separately before service so it can be assembled and cooked to order) but to cook like this at home — at dinnertime no less, when everyone is hungry — is madness and a short path to being so exhausted you might need a week of takeout to recover.
Which begs the question: why make a new, more complicated version of something we were happy with to begin with? In this case it’s because every time I’ve been back to a restaurant that served it, I’ve fallen again in love with how nuanced it is. Plus, I now see its potential to be a rounded meal by making it less restaurant-style (precious and plated) and more homestyle, in a way we’d all want to dig into on a weekday night. In fact, I hope this is your dinner tonight.
One year ago: Toasted Marshmallow Milkshake
Two years ago: Five (Different) Egg Sandwiches
Three years ago: Japanese Vegetable Pancakes
Four years ago: Chocolate Buckwheat Cake
Five years ago: Vemontucky Lemonade
Six years ago: Spring Asparagus Pancetta Hash
Seven years ago: Cinnamon Raisin Bagels and Endive and Celery Salad with Fennel Vinaigrette
Eight years ago: Crispy Salted Oatmeal White Chocolate Cookies
Nine years ago: Raspberry-Topped Lemon Muffins
And for the other side of the world:
Six Months Ago: Pecan Pie
1.5 Years Ago: Pretzel Parker House Rolls
2.5 Years Ago: Cranberry Orange Breakfast Buns
3.5 Years Ago: Spinach Salad with Warm Bacon Vinaigrette
4.5 Years Ago: Baked Pumpkin and Sour Cream Puddings
Spiced Roasted Carrots with Avocado and Yogurt
- On origin: As I mentioned, this recipe has made the rounds at big-name restaurants and from big-name chefs. (Jamie Oliver, who I think was once a silent partner at Spotted Pig, also has a version. Also, if anyone who follows restaurants obsessively wants to tell me how it made the jump from the Jean-Georges to the Spotted Pig camp, I’m curious!) Everyone agrees on 90% of the ingredients — carrots, avocado, sour cream, something crunchy, cumin and citrus — but nobody agrees on how to cook the carrots and other smaller details. This version: Is all and none of the above; you’ll use yogurt instead of sour cream and there will be no segmenting of oranges on a Tuesday night. That’s a rule. Almost everything comes together on one big messy tray of dinner — sheet pans 4eva!
- Finally, I was champing at the bit to make a spring-ier riff on this with asparagus instead of carrots (but my carrot-loving husband begged to differ). Don’t you think asparagus would be amazing with cumin, coriander, thyme and citrus? With asparagus, everything will go much faster as you’ll probably have it nicely roasted in the 15 to 25 minute range, no foil lid or water in the pan needed. Do it!
I made about a 2/3 to 3/4 size of this on a 10×15 tray but you should use a full half-sheet pan (13×18) or two quarter-sheet (9×13) pans for the yield below.
- 1/4 cup water
- 1 1/2 teaspoons teaspoon cumin seeds, toasted and cooled if you have the patience, ground will work here as well
- 1 1/2 teaspoons coriander seeds, toasted and cooled if you have the patience, ground will work here as well
- 2 teaspoon fresh thyme leaves
- 1 teaspoon coarse or kosher salt, plus more to taste
- Red chile flakes, to taste
- Freshly ground black pepper, to taste
- 4 garlic cloves, minced or pressed
- 1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
- 1/4 cup olive oil
- 3 pounds thin-to-medium carrots, scrubbed, not peeled; mixed colors are prettier here but not essential
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 2 tablespoons orange juice (from about 1/4 orange)
- 2 tablespoons lemon juice (from about 1/2 lemon)
- 1 large or 2 medium firm-ripe avocados, cut in thin slices
- Salt and pepper to taste
- 1 to 2 cups radish sprouts, other sprouts or light salad greens of your choice
- 1/4 cup plain yogurt
- 2 tablespoons roasted hulled pumpkin seeds, sunflower seeds, toasted sesame seeds or a mix thereof
For the carrots
Make your spice paste by either pounding the cumin, coriander, thyme, salt and peppers in a mortar and pestle until roughly ground, using an electric spice grinder (i.e. a coffee grinder you don’t mind smelling like spices) or small food processor to do the same, or, if using ground spices, just combining them in the bottom of the large bowl you’re about to use. In the bottom of a very large bowl, combine prepared spices, salt and pepper, garlic, vinegar and 1/4 cup olive oil and whisk to blend. Add carrots and toss to coat.
Spread carrots, drizzling with any extra marinade, in prepared pans and cover tightly with foil. Roast for 25 minutes covered then remove the foil and roast for 35 minutes more, until the carrots are lightly browned and tender but not falling apart.
Meanwhile, combine 2 tablespoons olive oil, orange and lemon juices in a small dish with salt and pepper. When carrots are done, scatter with avocado and sprouts then drizzle with this citrus dressing all over. Dollop yogurt over the top and sprinkle with seeds. Dig in.
- 2 tablespoons (30 ml) olive oil, divided
- Kosher salt
- Freshly ground black pepper
- 1 large or 2 small heads of cauliflower (about 2 1/4 to 2 3/4 pounds)
- 2 tablespoons (30 grams) unsalted butter
- 1/4 cup (30 grams) hulled pumpkin seeds (sold as pepitas) (see note above)
- 1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes, or less to taste
- Juice of half a lime (about 1 tablespoon)
- Handful chopped fresh cilantro, parsley or chives
While cauliflower roasts, in a small skillet over medium heat, melt butter, then reduce heat to medium-low and add pumpkin seeds. Stirring the whole time, cook until butter becomes light brown and smells toasty, about 4 to 6 minutes. Let cool for 10 minutes, then add lime juice and season with salt, black pepper and red pepper flakes to taste.
Arrange cauliflower on a serving platter and drizzle with dressing. Serve topped with herbs.
Almost every year, I attempt to set off the summer with a pasta salad that aspires to be everything the underseasoned, swmming-in-mayo pasta salads many of us grew up dreading were not. That is, unsoggy pasta that still has a bite to it, dressings with crunch and acidity, and vegetables that are there for substance, not just flecks of color. But this is the first year I did it by public polling, and by public I mean, my husband keeps reminding me how much he likes roasted carrots, Sara, who helps out behind the scenes here, reminded me how much she likes the roasted carrots at the Dig Inn chain, and many of you have told me over the years about nut allergies and nut-free schools and workplaces, which means it’s high time to give sunflower seeds their time in the spotlight. (Besides, I’d choose sunflower seed butter over almond or cashew butter any day, wouldn’t you?)
Look, I don’t know anything about dating or making fashion choices by algorithm, but I think the results of this new-recipe-by-polling were exceptional. Carrots are out at the markets right now, but have also come a long way at the grocery store, where I bought these rainbow pretties, although monochrome carrots work too. While they’re in the oven for a quick, high-heat blast, you grind sunflowers (but not all the way, no powder here) with garlic, parmesan (if you wish), lemon zest, and some carrot greens, and if yours came without, a few kale leaves. The green is important here (and I should have used more) because the natural color of sunflower seeds is a bit gray/beige, not exactly the summery brightness one hopes “sunflower” would impart. You then stir in olive oil, lemon juice, more salt, and pepper, more than you think you’ll need because carrots are sweet, pasta is neutral, and you’re going to want the seasoning to stretch across all of it.
And that’s it, you just wrapped up lunch, or dinner, or picnic/potluck/whatever else the end of the school year requires of you fairly quickly and with a dish that is meant to be room temperature, perfect for people whose meals usually are anyway by the time we get to them, and who dream of leftovers for lunch the next day that don’t require a trip to the sketchy breakroom microwave. We should definitely do this more often.
Pasta Salads, previously:
New note, November 2019: If you’re in one of the many areas with romaine recalls right now, don’t sleep on this salad. My favorite alternatives are red and green leaf lettuces, butter/Bibb/Boston, and chicories (endive, Belgian endive, and the gorgeous castelfranco), or a mix of any of the above. As always, the dressing here is the star.
- 1 head of garlic
- 3/4 cup plus 1 tablespoon (175 grams) olive oil, plus a splash for the garlic
- 1 garlic clove, peeled
- 2 teaspoons (10 grams) smooth dijon mustard
- 1 1/2 tablespoons (21 grams) white wine vinegar
- 2 tablespoons (28 grams) sherry vinegar
- 2 large egg yolks
- 5 anchovy fillets
- Juice of half a lemon, plus more if needed
- Kosher salt
- Freshly ground black pepper
- 2 cups (180 grams) walnut halves
- 2 large egg whites
- 3 packed tablespoons (30 grams) dark brown sugar
- 1/4 cup (75 grams) honey
- Freshly ground black pepper
- 1 teaspoon (5 grams) kosher salt
- 2 romaine hearts, ends trimmed, leaves separated
- 1/3 cup roasted garlic dressing (above)
- 2 ounces pecorino romano cheese
- A handful of candied walnuts (above)
- Freshly ground black pepper
Roasted garlic dressing
To make the roasted garlic dressing: Heat your oven to 350°F. Cut a quarter inch off the head of garlic and place the head, cut side up, on a big square of aluminum foil. Drizzle lightly with olive oil. Wrap it tightly in the foil and bake for a little less than 1 hour.
Remove the garlic from the oven and let it cool in the foil. Squeeze the roasted garlic out of 4 or 5 cloves and set the rest aside for another use (“its really good just spread on grilled bread,” the book tells us). Leave the oven on for the walnuts.
Put the roasted garlic, the raw clove of garlic, mustard, vinegars, egg yolks, anchovies, and lemon juice into a blender or food processor and blend for 30 seconds or until combined. With the machine one, add the olive oil in a slow, thin stream until it’s incorporated and the dressing looks smooth. Taste and add salt, pepper, and more lemon juice as desired.
Meanwhile, make the walnuts: Put the nuts on a baking sheet and toast 8 minutes, turing your baking sheet and tossing the nuts around halfway through.Remove them from the oven and let them cool. Turn the oven down to 275°F. Cover a large baking sheet with foil and (do what I didn’t do), coat the foil with nonstick cooking spray.
In a large bowl, whisk the egg whites until they begin to have body but not until they form soft peaks. Add the brown sugar, honey, and about 10 turns of a pepper grinder’s worth of black pepper to the whites, and combine. Add the walnuts to the mixture and mix until they’re all well coated. Spread them on the prepared baking sheet and sprinkle them evenly with the salt. Bake for about 24 minutes, turning the baking sheet about halfway through. The nuts should be dry and not sticky. Remove them from the oven and let them cool.
To assemble: Place the romaine leaves in a large bowl. Pour about 1/4 cup roasted garlic dressing over the leaves, using your fingers to toss and coat the leaves evenly. (The book warns that tongs will damage the leaves here, and won’t distribute the dressing as easily.) Use the remaining tablespoon or so if needed, to taste (Romaine hearts vary a lot in size).
Divide the lettuce between two plates. Grate the Pecorino over each plate. Scatter the walnuts over the two plates and give each a grind of black pepper. Eat with a knife and fork, blissfully.
Don’t use too big a cabbage. I’ve gotten some shockingly large ones from the grocery that were too dense inside to get a nice crisp to them, without steaming first. Go with two small rather than one giant one, if you have options.
- 1 medium-large (1 3/4 pounds) or two small heads savoy cabbage
- 7 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided
- 1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
- Freshly ground black pepper
- Scant 1/2 cup (1.75 ounces) walnut halves and pieces
- 1 large or 2 smaller garlic cloves
- 1 large lemon
- Red pepper flakes, such as Aleppo (optional)
- Grated parmesan, to taste
Meanwhile, while cabbage roasts, place nuts on a smaller tray or baking dish and roast them next to the cabbage for 4 to 5 minutes. Remove and scatter them, still hot, onto a cutting board and coarsely chop them. Scoop into a bowl and finely grate the zest of half a lemon and all of the garlic over it. Add remaning 3 tablespoons olive oil to walnuts, a few pinches of salt and red pepper flakes and stir to combine. If you’ve got a couple minutes to let it all infuse as it cools, let it rest. When ready, squeeze the juice of half your lemon in and stir to combine. Adjust flavors to taste, adding more lemon if needed; you want this dressing to be robust.
The moment the cabbage comes out of the oven, spoon the walnut dressing over the wedges. Grate parmesan all over, to taste. Serve immediately, while piping hot. There will be no leftovers.
Tools: This is forever my favorite spatula, and particularly helpful here when you have unweidly wedges to flip. I prefer a Microplane rasp with more surface area and use this one.
For 13 years, this site has not had a turkey recipe for a few, perhaps not terribly convincing, reasons. I don’t usually host; it’s usually a family member with, I’m sure just coincidentally, more than a 2-bedroom apartment of space. Second, I mean, this is the internet, right? And there are, as of this morning, 200,000 search results for “roast turkey.” Probably there’s a gem or two in there for you and you’ve got this covered? Finally, the truth: turkey has never been my favorite bird. I mean, when it’s done well, I do enjoy my yearly two slices (dark, please), but I’ve rarely been summoned with the motivation to finetune a recipe in the off-season.
But then a couple things changed. A few years ago I started hosting Friendsgivings (see here and here) and now, a few turkeys later, I — inevitably — have a lot of opinions about turkey. For example, when you’re making a turkey the size you need for the 18 to 25 people most Thanksgivings may entail, you’re going to want to find a way to treat the bird in a way that it won’t dry out in all of the hours it will take to safely cook through. I’ve wet-brined (a nightmare with delicious results, but still a nightmare) and dry-brined, and the latter was the clear winner.
My second opinion is that if you’re putting anything besides a lot of quartered onions under your turkey, you’re missing out on one of the best things we have ever eaten. I tried it after rejecting the usual medley (potatoes, carrots, or other vegetable) because they were represented more generously in other side dishes at the table. I never looked back. Over a few hours in the oven collecting buttery, salty drippings, they become otherworldly: both deeply caramelized to the point of jammy sweetness, but charred and salty too. There’s enough to go around. Since they will taste too good to share, however, I might take this time to remind myself of the key Thanksgiving themes: generosity, gratitude, hospitality, and probably not standing in the kitchen eating onions off a knifepoint? Okay, fiiine.
My third opinion is, in fact, my view on All Things Thanksgiving: Thanksgiving recipes should be rivetingly simple, the kind of short ingredient list, high reward stuff that has no mise-en-place, because all of my dishes are otherwise engaged when I’m having 21 people over. If I can make a stunning, perfectly cooked, delightfully-seasoned, crisp-skinned turkey with merely 6 ingredients and 2 steps, I’m simply not going to make the one with 15. Not today, St. Martha.
This turkey follows the rules. I took a risk the first year and kept it really basic, seasoning with only salt, and pepper, and basting with butter after brining and seasoned, juicy, and delicious. However, now I’m hedging, just slightly, on this, because I accidentally did what I thought I never would: tested a turkey recipe when the month didn’t require it.
Earlier this year, I made a slow-roasted whole chicken and ended up brushing the well-salted skin with a mixture of butter, maple syrup, and gochujang chili paste and it was astoundingly good but I had this nagging feeling it this chicken wished it was a turkey. Hear me out: turkeys are slow-roasted birds; turkeys are wonderful with a salty-spicy-sweet finish. And unlike many other hunches in my life (no we’re not going to talk about the wide-leg mom jeans today), this one was actually on-point, and we get to reap the burnished, delicious rewards.
Six months ago: Raspberry Crumble Tart Bars
One year ago: Drop Cornbread Biscuits
Two years ago: Endive Salad with Toasted Breadcrumbs and Walnuts
Three years ago: Cheesecake-Marbled Pumpkin Slab Pie
Four years ago: Apple Cider Sangria and Date, Feta, and Cabbage Salad
Five years ago: Pickled Cabbage Salad and Pretzel Parker House Rolls
Six years ago: Cranberry-Orange Breakfast Buns and Green Bean Casserole with Crispy Onion
Seven years ago: Spinach Salad with Warm Bacon Vinaigrette
Eight years ago: Gingersnaps
Nine years ago: Upside-Down Cranberry Cake and Sweet Potatoes with Pecans and Goat Cheese
Ten years ago: Swiss Chard and Sweet Potato Gratin and Sweet Potato and Buttermilk Pie
Eleven years ago: Pepita Brittle and Chickpea Salad with Roasted Red Peppers
Twelve years ago: Roasted Stuffed Onions and Simplest Apple Tart
Thirteen years ago: Chocolate Stout Cake
Dry-Brined Turkey with Roasted Onions
Read the notes at the end first, pretty please.
- 1 12- to 16-pound fresh turkey
- Kosher salt
- 4 tablespoons maple syrup
- 1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
- 1 tablespoon of a chile paste — gochujang, harissa, or chipotle — plus more to taste
- 8 to 10 medium onions, half red, half yellow, peeled and cut into quarters
- 1 to 2 tablespoons sunflower, safflower, or another high-heat friendly oil
1 to 2 hours before roasting: Remove plastic and discard any juices that have collected around the bird. Allow to come to room temperature, which will take 1 to 2 hours. No need to rinse any salt off the bird; it’s all as it should be.
2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours before serving: Heat oven to 450°F with a rack on the lowest level of the oven. If you plan to stuff the turkey with anything, do so now. Truss the legs (tying them together) with kitchen twine or, uh, any other string you have around.
Toss the onions with a splash of oil (don’t worry about seasoning, they’ll collect it from the pan) and arrange around the turkey. Combine 1 tablespoon of the melted butter with the maple syrup and chili paste in a small bowl, whisking until smooth. Brush this — or use your hands to coat — all over the turkey, leaving none behind. Here you’re supposed to tuck the wings under the bird to prevent the tips from burning, something I have never successfully done, if we’re being honest. Have a big piece of foil nearby for when you will want to cover the turkey.
Roast turkey for 25 to 30 minutes, then — this is very important — reduce the oven heat to 350° and continue roasting the bird until a thermometer in thickest part of the breast reads 150 to 155.
Beginning when you reduce the heat, periodically baste the turkey with 1 to 2 tablespoons of the remaining melted butter, and then, when you’re out of butter, with the juices from the pan.
This turkey is going to brown fairly quick and quite dark. Don’t fret, it will not taste burnt, but go ahead and put the foil on when it gets as dark as you can stand it. Rotate the pan in the oven a couple times, and turn onions in pan over once, for even cooking. Remove the foil for the last 5 to 10 minutes of roasting, so the skin crisps up again.
A 14 to 16 pound bird takes a total of 2 to 2 1/2 hours of roasting. A 19.5 pound bird once took over 3 hours. Keep in mind that if you’re opening and closing the oven door a bunch of times to move other dishes around, it will take longer to cook (up to 30 minutes).
Rest, carve, and serve: Allow the turkey to rest at room temperature 15 to 20 minutes before carving, which you should estimate 20 or so minutes to do, depending on your comfort level. This will allow the juices to be locked in and the turkey to carry over to an internal temperature of 165°F. Use the rest time to rewarm any sides that need it and to make gravy (see below).
I am not going to write out carving instructions because I personally cannot do it without watching a video. I pop this or this or this up on my phone (I recommend previewing them earlier and picking the one that works for you), hit the pause button a lot, and do my best. When you slice the turkey, make sure your knife is really, really sharp to get those clean cuts. Do you know what else really clean cuts do? Make people think you knew what you were doing. (I absolutely do not.)
Your turkey is going to spill a lot of juices while you carve it. [Updated with a life-changing tip from Cindy in the comments.] Place your cutting board inside a rimmed sheet pan to collect the juices as you carve. Pour some over the sliced turkey (save any left for gravy), plus a final sprinkle of salt and pepper, before serving to keep it warm and seasoned. Arrange onions all around and serve with glee. You totally rocked this; I knew you would.
- Buying turkeys: Heritage- or pasture-raised tend to taste a lot better, if you can find them. Estimate 1 to 1 1/2 pounds per person; I tend to aim to the lower range because we don’t love leftovers and there are so many sides. If your turkey is frozen, defrost 2 to 3 days before in the fridge. They say it takes about 1 day per 5 pounds of turkey. You cannot defrost it at room temperature; it’s just not safe.
- Salt: I use Diamond brand kosher salt which clocks in at 135 grams a cup which is only important to note because the weight over other brands varies significantly, especially at this quantity. Morton brand = 230 grams per cup and David’s = 288 grams. So, please use half or just about half if you’re using another brand to avoid significantly over-salting your turkey.
- Doneness: Your turkey is done when a thermometer (this remains my go-to) inserted into thickest part of the breast reads 150F to 155F, or in the thigh at 165F, however, I prefer checking the breast. Thighs are smaller and often hit the “done” temperature sooner but are more forgiving of a few extra degrees. Nobody is forgiving of undercooked turkey breast.
- Logistics: Here’s a logistical tip I don’t think enough recipes make clear: You want to rest your turkey for 20 to 30 minutes before carving it, tented lightly with foil. It’s then going to take 15 to 20 minutes to carve (I had a friend holding a YouTube video tutorial in front of me because I’m very bad at it.) This gives you 30 to 45 minutes of empty oven time where you can reheat sides, which is more than most need. I have a single, not big, not great oven and this is how I manage to make it work.
- Extra ingredients: This is — and I know this is very bizarre to many people — and herb- and garlic-free turkey. If you’d like, you can toss 1 lemon and 1 head of garlic, each sliced in half crosswise, and a fistful of thyme, rosemary, and/or sage inside the turkey. I’ve made this turkey with none of these things and I’ve made this turkey with all of these things and I want you to know that it’s excellent both ways. The fragrance of the turkey is more dynamic with the lemon and garlic, but it doesn’t make a large difference, in my opinion, in the final flavor of the slices, so proceed as you wish.
- Cookware: I’m using this roasting pan.
Now, let’s talk about gravy. This is my core gravy recipe:
Very Simple Gravy
8 cups turkey or chicken stock (I either use homemade chicken or Better Than Bouillon’s turkey base)
1/2 cup unsalted butter
2/3 cup all-purpose flour
2 tablespoons dry marsala or cider vinegar
Melt butter in
Please read: To ensure this recipe is gluten-free, use soy sauce or tamari labeled clearly labeled as gluten-free. To make this dish vegan, use sugar or another sweetener instead of honey.
- 14-ounce package extra-firm tofu
- 2 pounds winter squash (such as kabocha or acorn)
- 3 tablespoons honey or brown sugar (see Note)
- 1/3 cup soy sauce (see Note)
- 1/2 to 2 teaspoons crushed red pepper flakes, or to taste
- 1-inch piece fresh ginger, peeled and finely grated
- 7 tablespoons vegetable or peanut oil, divided
- Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper
- 6 garlic cloves, very thinly sliced
- 1 tablespoon toasted sesame seeds
- 2 scallions, trimmed and thinly sliced on the diagonal
- Juice of half a lime
Heat your oven: To 400°F. Cover 1 to 2 baking sheets with parchment paper for easy cleanup.
Prepare tofu and vegetables: Cut tofu into 1/2-inch slices, and then in half again. Halve and seed your squash — I like to remove the seeds with a metal soup spoon, which makes it much easier to get it clean. Cut squash into 1/2 to 3/4-inch thick wedges. If using two pans, you can arrange the squash on one and the tofu on another. If using one, try to puzzle them together as I do above; it will be more snug.
In a small bowl, whisk together the honey or sugar, soy sauce, pepper flakes (to taste), ginger, and 4 tablespoons of the oil. If using two pans, pour 2/3 of the marinade over the squash and 1/3 over the tofu, and turn each slice of squash over gently to coat on both sides. If using only one, use all the marinade, coating the squash and tofu together. In all cases, season the squash and tofu with salt and pepper.
Cook: Roast for 15 minutes, then using a thin metal spatula (this is my favorite), turn the squash and tofu chunks over. In a small bowl, combine the remaining 3 tablespoons oil with the garlic and spoon this all over the squash and tofu. Return pan(s) to the oven and roast until the tofu is dark and the squash is completely tender, 10 to 15 more minutes.
Serve: Directly from the pan(s) or arranged on a serving plate. Scatter with sesame seeds and scallions, and squeeze lime juice over.
Is July the most lethargic cooking month? I don’t mean this in a bad way. I know in our productivity-fixated culture (“so busy, crazy busy”) we balk at praising apathy but what if we leaned into it instead? It’s hot. The days are long. If midsummer demands some laziness, some loosened grip on to-do lists, if de-participation beckons and we can pull it off, I’d like to try it. I could even schedule it one day next week if I move some things around.
Fortunately, there’s almost no reason to make any herculean cooking efforts, not when gardens and farm stands are overflowing with things good enough to eat without intervention, like heavy, sweet cherry tomatoes. If I am going to turn on the oven, however, it will be for this. This uses a pound of tomatoes and it’s one of my favorite summer meals of all time. These aren’t slow-roasted cherry tomatoes, the kind that semi-dehydrate and turn almost into tomato candy. They’re quick-roasted with olive oil and garlic until bubbly and otherworldly. The salty juices concentrate in the oven into a glorious rough sauce for the beans to roll around in and drink up. I finish it with a handful of basil.
While you can, and probably will, eat directly from the baking dish, it makes the most amazing crostini, ladled warm over pieces of toasted bread. You can tinker with the flavors here almost endlessly: add briny things like anchovies, capers, or cured black olives; add prepared pesto instead of fresh basil, finish with parmesan, pecorino, or even burrata. But I promise that if you only make it with tomatoes, garlic, beans, and basil, you will not feel that you’re missing a thing.
6 months ago: My Favorite Lentil Salad
1 year ago: Frozen Strawberry Daiquiris
2 years ago: Collard Greens with Cornmeal Dumplings
3 years ago: Corn Salad with Chile and Lime
4 years ago: Grilled Zucchini Ribbons with Pesto and White Beans
5 years ago: Grilled Pizza and Confetti Party Cake
6 years ago: Peaches and Cream Bunny Cake
7 years ago: Green Beans and Almond Pesto and Very Blueberry Scones
8 years ago: Sticky Sesame Chicken Wings and Brownie Ice Cream Sandwiches
9 years ago: Slow-and-Low Dry Rub Oven Chicken and Grilled Bacon Salad with Arugula and Balsamic
10 years ago: Blackberry Gin Fizz and Bacon Corn Hash
11 years ago: Skirt Steak with Bloody Mary Tomato Salad and Flatbreads with Honey, Thyme, and Sea Salt
12 years ago: Bread and Butter Pickles, Blue Cheese and Red Potato Tart, Zucchini and Ricotta Galette and Porch Swing
13 years ago: Mediterranean Pepper Salad, Cherry Brown Butter Bars and Watermelon Lemonade
14 years ago: Chopped Vegetables, Watermelon, and Feta Salad
15 years ago: Rosanne Cash’s All-American Potato Salad and Ratatouille’s Ratatouille
Roasted Tomatoes with White Beans and Basil
- 5 tablespoons olive oil, divided
- 1 pound (455 grams) very ripe cherry tomatoes, halved
- 6 small garlic cloves, but who is counting, peeled
- Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper or red pepper flakes to taste
- 1 15-ounce can cannellini or other white bean, drained and rinsed
- 1/4 cup thinly sliced fresh basil leaves, loosely packed
Heat your oven to 400°F. Pour 2 tablespoons of the olive oil in the bottom of a 13-by-9-inch baking dish. Arrange the tomatoes in the dish, cut side up. Nestle garlic cloves around the dish. Drizzle with another 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, and sprinkle with 1 teaspoon kosher salt and many grinds of black pepper. Roast the tomatoes for 20 minutes, until everything is bubbly and juicy. Remove from the oven to a trivet or cooling rack and use a fork to lightly mash the tomatoes and garlic (being careful if they spray), which will not be fully soft yet. Add drained beans and more salt and pepper if needed and stir to combine. Return to the oven for 5 minutes. Drizzle with remaining 1 tablespoon olive oi, scatter with basil and eat right away, either as is or ladled over crostini.
Note: You might have noticed that almost all of my favorite ways to eat beans come from places where I’ve swapped them in for pasta not out of any grievance with pasta/gluten/carbs, but because most of favorite pasta sauces translate so well to other ingredients. My jumping off point here is the baked cherry tomato sauce in this fusilli pasta adapted from Nancy Harmon Jenkins, though I skip the crumbs and cheese too.
fusilli with baked tomato sauce
Here are a few other bean dishes inspired by pasta:
grilled zucchini ribbons with pesto and white beans
cannellini aglio e olio
A 2009 version of this dish includes cipollini onions, which are wonderful but have to be blanched and peeled and created a hurdle to making this as often as I’d like to.
roasted tomatoes and cipollini