This week, I insist
Three things, pressing upon youPoulet rôti aux herbes
A lemon spaghetti, eaten standing up
The only omelette you need
The collections
Thirty-eight of them · only the honest onesFive pastas that will not fight you
For the Tuesday when the day has been long and the pasta must behave. No temperamental emulsions. No sauces that break if you look at them wrong.
Things I make when I am sulking
Food for when the day has betrayed you. Nothing that requires hope. Everything that requires butter.
The Sunday that saved a marriage
Six menus I have watched fix things that were very nearly broken. A roast. A braise. Bread that forgives. Do not underestimate the soft clatter of a quiet dinner.
When the fridge is sulking, too
A handful of what-is-this in the crisper. A lonely shallot. Half a lemon. I have a plan. Do not apologize for what you have. Cook it.
Dinners for impressing someone
Theatrical. Not difficult. A distinction most cookbooks fail to make. You will look like you know what you are doing, because you will.
Things to cook at midnight
For the hour when the house is quiet and the question is simply — what. A fried egg in hot butter. A brothy noodle. Cheese on toast, done properly. No judgement.
For technique — why a crust, why you rest a roast — I write at How To: Food Edition.
A more theatrical costume. A darker dining room. Long-form pieces on the physics of a sear, the architecture of a stock, the philosophy of the Maillard reaction. Recipes here. Theory over there.