Sopa de Lima


mexican limes

Not as in Lima, Peru, as in Mexican lime. I had a reader request for Yucatecan sopa de lima, the Mexican version of Jewish penicillin, and I was happy to oblige, in part because I had a big jar of freshly made chicken stock in my fridge. The timing didn’t really work out for photos as I only know how to make them look good using natural light. So you’ll have to make do with a couple that show the difference between the small, seed-filled Mexican limes (not unlike key limes) and the more ubiquitous Persian limes. Either one works for this soup, and you can even use lemon. I ended up using both. This recipe was not something I grew up eating. My mother’s cooking was much more influenced by her mother’s New Mexico roots. And although I have eaten this soup in Mérida, I consulted a number of sources to get it right, including Rick Bayless, the Chicago-based chef (and Obama favorite) whose recipes tend to be impeccably researched and very authentic. I can’t really say this is his recipe; I changed it too much. His stock calls for pork bones, and for a few other ingredients I didn’t have on hand. But in the end, I wound up with a delicious, light but satisfying soup redolent of cinnamon and cumin, with a bit of chile heat, a pleasingly tart finish and a fabulous garnish of crispy tortilla strips. It’s great in hot weather and cold, and if you have stock on hand, you can cook up a pot in about an hour. Read the rest of this entry »

Finger-Lickin’ Good


photo by george billard

We made fried chicken this weekend but we were too busy to take any pictures of it, so all I can offer you is this shot of my nephew who said it was the best dinner he’d ever had. That’s some endorsement. The recipe came from Edna Lewis and Scott Peacock. If you don’t know about these two cooks—a delightfully odd couple—let me just give you a little background. Edna, who passed away in 2006 at the age of 89, was the granddaughter of a former slave who had helped found Freetown, a Virginia farming community. She grew up on the fresh food at hand, then moved to New York City where she cooked for and rubbed shoulders with artists, musicians, writers and Communists. She had an elegant style and a gift for simple, classic flavors. Late in life, Edna encountered Scott Peacock, a gay man half her age, a kindred spirit and chef whom she mentored and befriended. In fact, the two wound up sharing an apartment, and Scott cared for her until her death. (A situation that was evidently problematic for her family.) They collaborated on a cookbook, The Gift of Southern Cooking, that is full of wonderful traditional American Southern recipes, including the one I used for fried chicken.


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Better Than Bubbe’s


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photo by sarah shatz (courtesy of food52)

The editors of Food52 picked one of my recipes as the wildcard winner this week! Hooray! They called my Tuscan chicken liver paté “a rich dose of umami,” which indeed it is thanks to the addition of anchovy, capers, parmesan, shallots, garlic and wine. This is not your Jewish grandmother’s chopped chicken liver! It is a gussied-up Tuscan version—taught to me by a diehard Italophile—and it really is a winner, especially when served with a garnish of fried sage leaves and a glass of prosecco or, my personal favorite, Lambrusco. Amanda Hesser tweeted that it would be a good prelude to spaghetti carbonara, but I can’t agree—better before a whole roasted sea bass served with broccoli rabe.



Tuscan Chicken Liver Paté

makes about 2 dozen crostini


1 pound organic chicken livers

2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

2 large shallots, thinly sliced

1 large clove garlic, smashed

3 anchovy filets (or 1 tablespoon anchovy paste)

1 tablespoon capers, minced

4-6 sage leaves

2/3 cups dry white wine

1/2 teaspoon grated lemon zest

1/2 cup grated parmigiano reggiano

grilled country bread, for serving


Trim any sinews from the livers and dry well with paper towels.


In a large skillet, melt the butter and olive oil over medium-high heat. Sautee the shallots, garlic, anchovy, capers and sage until shallots are lightly browned, 6 minutes or so


Season the chicken livers with salt and pepper and add to the pan. Cook over high heat until browned, then add half of the white wine (1/3 cup) and keep stirring with a wooden spoon, breaking up the livers as they start to cook through. When the wine is absorbed, add the second 1/3 cup and repeat the process.


Remove from heat and transfer to a food processor. Process until quite smooth, then add lemon zest and cheese and process again. Taste and add salt or pepper as needed. Serve warm or at room temperature to spread on grilled country bread.

Mi-So Divine


photo by Sarah Shatz (courtesy Food52)

Although there’s a lot to be said for a chicken roasted in the classic manner, and I’m quite pleased with my own herb-laden, butter-smeared Scarborough Fair version, I may never make it again. Why? Because that gorgeously bronzed, deceptively simple chicken pictured above is quite possibly The Best Chicken Ever. At least that’s what my guests claimed as they scarfed it down the other night.  And you’ll probably concur. I strongly urge you to make it right away. The recipe is from Tim Wu who shoots the videos for Food52, where it was an editor’s pick and garnered quite an impressive number of fans. (Misoyaki means grill in Japanese.) He has you marinate the bird in a paste of red miso and sweet mirin before popping it in a hot oven. As it roasts, you make a sauce of onions, garlic, soy sauce and mirin that is finished with a little butter and more miso. It’s incredibly easy and the chicken emerges so juicy and full of flavor, with a crisp, salty, caramelized skin that’s truly delectable. The onion sauce would seem like gilding the lily if it didn’t go so perfectly with the rice you’ll be serving alongside. I like a Japanese short grain, preferably the brown kind, if you can find it. Cook up some greens (we had quick-sauteed collards) and you’ve got a simple meal that’s impressive enough for company but easy enough to make all the time. Which you will want to. Read the rest of this entry »