Almost every culture seems to have its own version of grilled meat on flatbread: Mexican tacos al pastor, Lebanese shawarma, Greek gyros, Turkish doner kebabs, Persian shish kebabs—and my personal favorite—Indian seekh kebabs.

Most Indian restaurants pay homage to the food once served on the tables of the Mughal emperors. Cooked in ghee and redolent with aromatic spices, ubiquitous staples from tandoori chicken and butter chicken to saag paneer and rogan josh all owe their roots to Mughal high cuisine. But those dishes don’t tell the full story of the culinary influence of the Mughals. An equally important legacy is found in the streets and alleyways of almost every city in India. From Delhi to Calcutta, kebabwallas ply their trade, cooking skewers of marinated meats over glowing sigris (charcoal-fueled open-fire grills) and serving them on parathas—usually with a squeeze of lime and a few slivers of onions fragrant with chaat masala.

These late-night street grills were the inspiration behind my Botiwalla restaurants in Atlanta—and the menu below. Mix and match the skewers and sides for the ultimate cookout, starting with the iconic seekh kebab, a skewer of spiced minced meat—and the gold standard of kebabs in India. With a large enough grill, you can cook lamb in one corner, chicken in another, and still make room for fish and vegetables. You can also do as the SAVEUR test kitchen did and pull off the whole menu indoors: simply break out your grill pans and get those burners going.

The Menu

Lamb Seekh Kebabs

My riff on this beloved classic starts with ground lamb and dials back the heat and Indian spices—flavoring the meat with just a pinch each of turmeric, ground coriander, and Kashmiri chile powder. Then I bump up the cilantro, garlic, and ginger, and add lots of fresh mint to brighten the dish. The trick is to grill hot and fast so that the meat is smoky and charred on the outside, and tender, juicy, and almost delicate on the inside. Serve as a kebab with naan, lime wedges, and chutney; or form the meat into a skinny burger instead, and sandwich between pav, the soft, sweet Indian rolls, along with a cabbage slaw and Maggi ketchup. Get the recipe >

Chicken Tikka Kebabs

Chicken tikka is the sweet and sour pork or the beef and broccoli of Indian cuisine. The O.G. bastardized North Indian export has launched thousands of curry houses in the U.K. and U.S. This version calls for treating chunks of boneless chicken breast (you can also use thighs for even juicier results) with a dry rub and a wet marinade. The dry rub is super simple—just Kashmiri chile powder, turmeric, and salt—while the wet marinade is the perfect balance of yogurt, lime, and spices. Thread the double-infused chicken onto skewers, and again grill hot and fast, turning frequently to avoid over-charring. One bite of the smoky-spicy-juicy end result, and you’ll never again want to pony up for the dry, flavorless, and dyed-red chicken under the buffet heat lamps that’s trying to pass itself off as “chicken tikka.” Get the recipe >

Paneer Tikka Kebabs

Yes, you can grill cheese on a grill! Well, the right kind of cheese. Here, bite-sized chunks of paneer, a dense, pressed fresh cheese, is marinated in a gingery herbed yogurt and grilled with sweet, colorful bell peppers and onions. Get the recipe >

Machli Kebabs

While most fish in India is fried—I don’t think I’ve ever seen it grilled—this recipe inspired by my Persian ancestry rocks on the grill. Start with a firm, chunky fillet—swordfish is my go-to—and a bright, slightly sweet marinade of fresh mint, cumin, lime, and garlic. Baste with plenty of ghee on the grill, then garnish with fresh dill and dried sumac. Get the recipe >

Kachumber

A Hindi word for “chopped up into small pieces,” kachumber is also known as Parsi salad. It was served with pretty much every meal I had growing up in India. The first time I went to a Persian restaurant, I saw an almost identical dish called “salad Shirazi,” which made sense once I looked up the history: The Parsis immigrated to India from a region of Persia known as Pars, of which Shiraz is the capital. With just four main ingredients—cucumbers, tomatoes, red onions, and fresh herbs—the slaw-like salad couldn’t be simpler. Get the recipe >

Grilled Corn Bhel

Bhel is the closest that many Indians will come to eating some type of salad. We traditionally don’t eat a lot of fresh leafy greens. Our greens tend to be dark and fibrous (think mustard greens instead of baby spinach) and lend better to stewing instead of salads. Typically served by street vendors, bhel is a “salad” of puffed rice, crispy chickpea noodles, wheat crackers (puris), chiles, onions, cilantro, peanuts, and potatoes dressed with chutney and the occasional dollop of cold sweetened yogurt. My bhel-inspired corn salad keeps the crunch factor with homemade corn poha (you can substitute store-bought corn flakes) and adds grilled corn kernels, cucumbers, tomatoes, herbs, and a three-minute cumin-lime vinaigrette. Get the recipe >

The post 6 Magnificent Indian Grilling Recipes You Can Pull Off Indoors or Outdoors appeared first on Saveur.

The SAVEUR test kitchen’s version of the classic New England boiled dinner (and St. Patrick’s Day favorite) both honors the flavors of the original and elevates the dish at the same time. Japanese turnips, golden beets, parsnips, and a handful of briny, bright-green olives complement the tender, salted meat, and add color and variety to the traditional potato-carrots-cabbage formula.

Featured in “Giving Corned Beef and Cabbage a Much-Needed Update.”

The post The Best Corned Beef and Cabbage appeared first on Saveur.

Preserving is for everyone: for gardeners and for supermarket shoppers, for health-conscious parents and comfort-food-craving college kids. While store-bought brands are convenient for a quick PB&J fix, nothing beats a big pot of fruit and spice bubbling away on the stove and filling your home with sweet, heady aromas. 

For the purest jams, jellies, and preserves, skip commercial gelling additives and aim for a mix of ripe and slightly underripe fruit, which is naturally high in pectin. To ward against nasty bacteria, always follow recipe instructions for processing as described in our how-tos on safe preserving and water-bath canning. 

So, get jamming! Tackle these eight spreadable delights from our archives, and you’ll be off to a running start.  

Plum and Raspberry Jam

Berries add acid to this deep purple, plummy jam. Get the recipe > 

Rock ‘N Rye Peach Jam

Cardamom adds a floral basenote to sweet peaches, but the finish packs a punch, thanks to a healthy slug of whiskey. Get the recipe >

Rhubarb Angelica Jam

This recipe from London’s Violet Bakery mixes tart rhubarb with stalks of angelica and honey-scented yellow Chartreuse liqueur in this complex, herbal spread. Get the recipe >

Four Pepper Jelly

Southerners spread pepper jelly on sandwiches or crackers at cocktail hour. This bell pepper version gets its subtle heat from jalapeño, poblano, and serrano chiles. Get the recipe >

Rhubarb Rose Oven Jam

Vanilla bean and rosewater lend a delicate overtone to this zesty rhubarb compote that comes together in the oven. Get the recipe >

Garlic Jelly

An intensely savory jelly of fresh garlic cloves and Fuji apples makes a potent sidekick to hearty dishes like grilled lamb. Get the recipe >

Sherry Apple Chutney

Dry amontillado sherry is the secret ingredient in this chunky apple chutney we love slathering on pork roast and other braised meats. It also shines as a sweet counterpoint to salty Spanish cheeses like manchego, Idiazabal, and Cabrales. Get the recipe >

Persimmon Chutney

Fuyu persimmons and Anjou pears soak up a hot and spicy blend of garam masala, curry, mustard, and coriander seeds in this zippy chutney studded with raisins. Get the recipe >

The post These 8 Easy Jam and Jelly Recipes Let You Savor the Season’s Bounty All Year Long appeared first on Saveur.

The last sprint of summer brings a glut of phenomenally flavorful peaches, the likes of which are elusive the rest of the year. Yellow varieties, which are best for baking, are sweet and tart in equal measure, while white types—and their smushed little cousins, doughnut (aka saturn) peaches—boast a floral, more honeyed flavor that sings in salads and all things savory. 

When shopping for peaches to cook with, seek out freestones—as opposed to clingstones—for their easy-to-remove pits. To soften under-ripe peaches, toss them in a closed paper bag with a banana for a day. (Bananas give off ethylene gas, a natural ripening agent.) Overripe peaches, on the other hand, are a delightful kitchen conundrum—as if we needed an excuse to whip up a batch of peach jam, chutney, or sauce for vanilla ice cream.

To those who think of peaches as a dessert-only ingredient: free yourselves! The fruit is rave-worthy in a range of savory dishes. Grilled until beginning to soften, then wrapped in prosciutto or topped with cheese, peaches become a stellar summer appetizer that’s oh-là-là elegant yet virtually effortless.

However you choose to use up the season’s bounty, keep these recipes in your back pocket for ideas and inspiration. 

Summer Peach Pie

Bourbon, cinnamon, and nutmeg add warmth to this summery peach pie enveloped in flaky, buttery crust. Get the recipe >

Grilled Pizza with Peaches, Prosciutto, and Arugula

We love the combination of late-summer peaches with prosciutto, pecorino, and peppery fresh arugula. Get the recipe >

Peach Sorbet

Go for the gold with ripe yellow peaches and aromatic lemon verbena in this velvety seasonal sorbet. Get the recipe >

Peach Cobbler

Chicago chef Barry Sorkin has a bold claim about peach cobbler: “It’s kind of like a fruit cup. You could almost argue it’s breakfast food.” No objection, Your Honor. Get the recipe > 

Roasted Peaches in Bourbon Syrup with Smoked Salt

A handful of pantry ingredients—brown sugar, smoked salt, cinnamon, vanilla, and bourbon—transforms simple roasted peaches into a sublime summer dessert. Get the recipe >

Pickled Stone Fruit and Burrata Flatbread

A light vegetarian lunch, or perhaps a savory summer starter, this sweet-and-salty flatbread is all about the caramelized peaches with grill marks. Get the recipe >

Peach Ice Cream

Creamy, pale orange ice cream flavored with overripe peaches is a heavenly summer treat. Get the recipe >

Green Bean and Peach Salad

Crisp, briny green beans are the perfect foil for peach slices and caramelized onions in this salad that comes to us from Kansas. Get the recipe >

Peach-Raspberry Pie

A warm, gooey pie of blushing peaches and raspberries makes a stunning centerpiece at any summer gathering. Get the recipe >

The post Make the Most of Peach Season with These 9 To-Die-For Recipes appeared first on Saveur.

Whether they’re the stars of a dish or the unexpected secret ingredient, anchovies lend their savory je ne sais quoi to just about everything that they touch. But for some reason, this sustainable little fish gets a bad wrap. 

For the anchovy-shy, try experimenting with a tube of anchovy paste or a bottle of fish sauce: Whisk just a bit to salad dressings, pasta sauces, or soups and in no time, you and yours will learn to love that indefinable salty tang. 

If you can get your hands on fresh anchovies, try deep-frying, marinating, or grilling them either butterflied or whole. Out of season, seek out marinated white anchovies, such as Spanish boquerones, from your local specialty grocer for an elegant, no-fuss tapa or salad topping. Or slip the standard, oil-packed supermarket variety into anything that could benefit from a hit of umami—from pasta to pizza to steak. 

Whichever form you choose, this diminutive fish is an easy way to upgrade just about any meal. Here are some of the best anchovy recipes from our archives.

Hamsi Bugulama (Turkish Steamed Anchovies and Tomatoes)

Turken’s anchovy bugulama layers whole fish (cleaned, head and tail removed, spine left in; you could also use butterflied fillets) with thinly sliced tomatoes and green chiles. A splash of white verjus or apple vinegar (do not substitute wine vinegar) lightens the dish while bringing out the sweetness of the tomatoes. Get the recipe >

Marinated Anchovies with Candied Citrus, Pickled Raisins, and Chile

Chef Giorgia Goggi, a self-­proclaimed anchovy lover, marinates her own fillets and sun-dries raisins from local grapes to make this delicate sweet-sour dish. Store-bought marinated anchovies work perfectly well, and when they’re soaked in the dish’s pickling liquid, even grocery-store raisins will take on a juicy plumpness. Get the recipe >

Italian Pecorino, Parsley, and Anchovy Sandwiches

This crusty sandwich only calls for a handful of ingredients—pecorino, parsley, and anchovy—but has big flavors. Get the recipe >

Pissaladière

The layer of onions on a proper pissaladière should be half as thick as the crust. The sweetness contrast nicely with the briny anchovy fillets and niçoise olives on top. Get the recipe >

Classic Spaghetti Puttanesca

Rumor has it that pasta puttanesca–literally “whore’s pasta”–was a quick and easy dinner of choice among Neapolitan working ladies, but the dish’s salacious history is unlikely. Get the recipe >

Crab Gratin with Anchovies and Västerbotten Cheese

This Swedish gratin of shredded crabmeat is traditionally made using Västerbotten, a salty aged cows’ milk cheese, but parmesan works well as a substitute. This recipe first appeared in our December 2013 issue along with Corey Arnold’s article Polar Harvest. Get the recipe >

Pan Bagnat (Provençal Tuna Sandwich)

Packed with tomatoes, local bell peppers, black niçoise olives, anchovies and tuna, pan bagnat is basically a salade niçoise on crusty bread. Get the recipe >

Bistecca alla Fiorentina with Watercress and Pistachio Salad

Modeled after the famed Tuscan porterhouse, which in Italy is most often served in hefty cuts for sharing, this slightly more petite version comes together quickly, easily, and affordably for dinner at home. Get the recipe >

Schnitzel à la Holstein

The crisp-fried veal topped with luscious egg, salty anchovies, and capers is a brilliant study in contrasting flavors and textures. Get the recipe >

Grilled-Cabbage Caesar Salad

Fire-roasted savoy cabbage is tossed with garlicky bread crumbs and a caper-anchovy vinaigrette in Andrew Carmellini‘s summery, modern take on a Caesar salad. Get the recipe >

Spaghetti with Anchovy Garlic Sauce

Anchovy paste adds an umami flavor to a simple garlic and butter sauce, perfect tossed with a thin pasta such as spaghetti. Get the recipe >

Orecchiette with Cauliflower

Tender cauliflower meets umami-rich anchovies and fruity olive oil in this easy pasta recipe from The Best of Bugialli (Stewart, Tabori & Chang, 1994) by Giuliano Bugialli. Get the recipe >

White Bean Anchoiade

Salty anchovies and capers, and creamy white beans are the base for this craveable spread based on a classic French dish. Get the recipe >

The post When That Anchovy Craving Hits, Break Out These Umami-Packed Recipes appeared first on Saveur.

In the late 1400s, pursuing their desire for South Asian spices, Spanish and Portuguese explorers found the inhabitants of the Greater Antilles growing and cooking with red peppers. The fruit had a similar piquancy to the black pepper native to India, so the traders brought the ingredient back home to the Iberian Peninsula. From there, the pepper so thoroughly spread across the lands—from Europe to the Arabian Peninsula to Asia—that by the end of the 15th century, India had become one of the world’s largest producers of capsicums. Now, the end of summer brings an explosion of different colors, types, and varieties to market everywhere—a vibrant dream for the spice devotee. 

But as any pepper lover will tell you, chiles are so much more than their signature blazing heat. Beneath many capsicums’, mouth-scorching fire, you’ll find an aromatic base of floral, fruity, and sometimes even sweet flavors. Generally, the smaller the pepper, the hotter it is. Slender jawla, which are popular in India and Southeast Asia, have a peppery accent that intensifies curries and chutneys. It’s easy to see why New Mexico is hooked on Hatch chiles; in the Southwestern state, the fire-roasted fleshy peppers can be found atop enchiladas, tucked into burritos, and everywhere in between. Mastering Jamaican Jerk requires taming the Caribbean Scotch Bonnet: a fruity and floral powerhouse of Scoville heat. Entire walls are dedicated to dried chiles in Mexican markets, where the flavors run the gamut from smoky to spicy, to chocolaty, earthy, and mushroomy. Citrusy bird’s eyes—popular throughout South and Southeast Asia—make sauces and dips like Thai nam phrik brighter. Sichuan mala would not be possible without equal contributions from numbing peppercorns and raisiny er jing tiao peppers. And sweeter Korean peppers used in dried form called gochugaru are ubiquitous across Korean cuisine. 

Whether you’re picking your own hard-earned harvest or exploring all your grocer has to offer, here’s how to take advantage of all the chiles’ unique flavors in every recipe.

Sichuan Chile Oil

A toasty, subtly fiery chile oil to drizzle over soup or dip with dumplings. It’s worth making a large batch; the oil will keep at room temperature for a year. Get the recipe for Sichuan Chile Oil »

Chile-Pomegranate Paloma

While the margarita is far better known, the grapefruit-, tequila-, and soda-based Paloma is an equally refreshing Mexican classic. Using árbol chile-spiked grenadine as a sweetener—rather than agave nectar or simple syrup—adds smokiness and a touch of heat. Get the recipe for Chile-Pomegranate Paloma »

Ancho Chile Soup with Avocado, Crema, and Chile Pasilla (Sopa de Chile Ancho)

The heat of this deep-red ancho chile soup and its pasilla chile garnish is balanced by the addition of cooling crema and thinly sliced avocado. Get the recipe for Ancho Chile Soup with Avocado, Crema, and Chile Pasilla (Sopa de Chile Ancho) »

Chimayó Chile Rub

The key ingredient to this rub is Chimayó chile, an heirloom variety, harvested in the town of Chimayó, New Mexico. Use it to help tenderize meat and give grilled flavors a jolt of spice. Get the recipe for Chimayó Chile Rub »

Black-Eyed Pea Hummus with West African Chile Paste

Black-eyed peas are puréed smooth and brightened with lots of lemon juice and served with a tiny dollop of intensely aromatic shito, a Ghanian chile paste, made sweet and spicy from caramelized onions, dried seafood, and smoky chile flakes. Get the recipe for Black-Eyed Pea Hummus With West African Chile Paste »

Sesame and Chile Ramen (Tantanmen)

Toasted sesame oil and hot chile oil spice up this porky ramen. Get the recipe for Sesame and Chile Ramen (Tantanmen) »

Red Chile Enchiladas

The Gonzalez family in Las Cruces, near El Paso, makes enchiladas similar to these using an old family recipe. Get the recipe for Red Chile Enchiladas »

Chile de Arbol Salsa

This salsa is spicy—use it sparingly!—as any serious salsa should be. Its flavor is all chile and garlic, and does well atop nachos, burritos, and eggs. If you’re feeling daring, go for big scoops with your favorite bag of tortilla chips. Get the recipe for Chile de Arbol Salsa »

Chile and Cumin Lamb Kebabs (Yángròu chuàn)

The staple meats of Western China, lamb and mutton can be found folded into everything from pilafs to buns to noodles. Of course, they’re also the focal point of the region’s iconic kebabs. Seasoned with freshly ground cumin (zira in Farsi and zīrán in Chinese), which was probably introduced to Xinjiang from Persia, the kebabs get an extra kick from minced garlic cloves and ground chile powder. Get the recipe for Chile and Cumin Lamb Kebabs (Yángròu chuàn) »

Ikan Balado (Padang-Style Grilled Mackerel with Sambal)

In Padang, restaurants grill and fry small whole mackerel before smearing them with sambal, a spicy chile-based condiment commonly used in all kinds of chile recipes. We find that the skin-on fillets of larger fish work just as well. Get the recipe for Ikan Balado (Padang-Style Grilled Mackerel with Sambal) »

Green Chile Grits

For soft, creamy, and flavorful grits, chef Harold Marmulstein of Austin’s Salty Sow cooks his low and slow, then adds a rich, spicy, bright-green purée of chiles and cilantro. Get the recipe for Green Chile Grits »

Spice-Rubbed Chicken with Duck Sauce

The fiery chile-based rub on this chicken is balanced by a basting of sweet-sour duck sauce. Get the recipe for Spice-Rubbed Chicken with Duck Sauce »

Lobster Linguine with Chiles

This classic pasta, from award-winning chef Fulvio Pierangelini at his restaurant, Irene, in Florence, Italy, is enriched with the lobsters’ coral, or roe sac. It adds a pop of briny flavor to the pasta, but can be omitted if the lobsters you buy don’t contain it. Get the recipe for Lobster Linguine with Chiles »

Hatch Green Chile Chicken Enchiladas

These are rolled enchiladas—soft corn tortillas stuffed with shredded chicken and smothered with green chile sauce and cheese. If you prefer, make “stacked” enchiladas by layering tortillas, chicken, sauce, and cheese, as if making lasagna. Get the recipe for Hatch Green Chile Chicken Enchiladas »

General Tso’s Chicken

In this American Chinese classic, lightly battered chicken is tossed in a sweet, slightly spicy sauce. Though not traditional, apricot jam adds a welcome note of acidity and pop of color. Get the recipe for General Tso’s Chicken »

Spicy Haitian Cabbage Slaw

The key to great pikliz, a spicy slaw made with cabbage and other vegetables, is time. The longer the sturdy, crunchy vegetables soak up the vinegar and citrus, the better. Serve it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner on everything from eggs to steak. Get the recipe for Spicy Haitian Cabbage Slaw »

Grilled-Chile Dip with Shallots and Garlic (Nam Phrik Num)

A mortar and pestle is key to getting the right texture for this beloved northern Thai chile dip. Reprinted from The Food of Northern Thailand. Get the recipe for Grilled-Chile Dip with Shallots and Garlic (Nam Phrik Num) »

Watercress with Spicy Chile and Sesame Vinaigrette

Peppery watercress, nutty sesame seeds, and earthy Korean chile flakes are brought together by an easy lemon vinaigrette in this simple cold-weather salad. Get the recipe for Watercress with Spicy Chile and Sesame Vinaigrette »

Four Pepper Jelly

Jalapeños, red bell peppers, poblanos, and serrano chiles come together in this spicy-sweet jelly from Elizabeth Stark, the blogger behind Brooklyn Supper. It’s perfect paired with rich meats, spread on sandwiches, or served on a cheese-and-cracker spread. Get the recipe for Four Pepper Jelly »

Korean Spicy Clam Soup

A simple, light soup not short on heat or spice. Get the recipe for Korean Spicy Clam Soup »

Charred Chile Daiquiri

The Daiquiri is an adaptable creature, and it welcomes new companions in the form of bitters, infused simple syrups, or salty-sweet rims. This version keeps the classic’s sour formula, but adds a veil of spice lent from serrano- and jalapeño-infused sugar syrup. Get the recipe for Charred Chile Daiquiri »

Shrimp and Chile Oil

At Hart’s in Brooklyn, the chefs use urfa biber and aleppo chile to lend a smoky-spicy flavor to succulent shrimp. Get the recipe for Shrimp and Chile Oil »

Caribbean-Style Scotch Bonnet Pepper Sauce

Harness fiery Scotch bonnet chiles, along with sweet mango and honey, into a DIY hot sauce. Get the recipe for Caribbean-Style Scotch Bonnet Pepper Sauce »

Potato Jalapeño Latkes

These are classic latkes, grated potatoes bound with matzo meal and egg, but the simple addition of jalapeño adds a new kick to an old Jewish classic. Get the recipe for Potato Jalapeño Latkes »

Hawaiian Chile Pepper Water with Soy and Fish Sauce

Hawaiian chiles are traditional in this tangy, piquant condiment—hence the name—but Thai chiles also work well. Get the recipe for Hawaiian Chile Pepper Water with Soy and Fish Sauce »

Hawaiian Chile Pepper Water with Garlic and Vinegar

A batch of this spicy, tangy condiment in the fridge is money in the bank for Hawaiian home cooks. Get the recipe for Hawaiian Chile Pepper Water with Garlic and Vinegar »

Pommes Tapées with Jalapeño Vinaigrette

Lightly smashed and crisped potatoes soak up a jalaleno-anchovy dressing. Get the recipe for Pommes Tapées with Jalapeño Vinaigrette »

Roasted Mushrooms with Chile-Lemon Oil

Mixed mushrooms are tossed with chile-lemon oil and roasted, resulting in a flavorful, umami-packed dish. Get the recipe for Roasted Mushrooms with Chile-Lemon Oil »

Puerto Rican Spicy Vinegar (Pique)

Puerto Rican pique is a seasoned vinegar, a simple blend of chiles, garlic, and spices (with pineapple usually added for sweetness) that gets better the longer it sits. Get the recipe for Puerto Rican Spicy Vinegar (Pique) »

Cilantro Salad with Olives, Avocado, and Limes

Rawia Bishara, the Galilee-born chef behind Brooklyn’s Tanoreen, uses this crisp, bright salad as a side dish or as a fresh and herbal condiment atop fried fish or grilled meat. Get the recipe for Cilantro Salad with Olives, Avocado, and Limes »

Pepper Pot Soup

This vegetarian soup, a Jamaican classic, is made with callaloo, a spinach-like green that can be found canned or fresh in Caribbean groceries. Serve with minced fresh Scotch bonnet chiles sprinkled on top for extra heat. Get the recipe for Pepper Pot Soup »

Chilean Tomato and Pepper Sauce (Pebre)

Distantly related to Mexican salsa, pebre is an emulsified blend of tomatoes, peppers, and vinegar traditionally served with bread rolls in Santiago. Get the recipe for Chilean Tomato and Pepper Sauce (Pebre) »

Steamed Grouper in Chile Oil

Calabrian chiles and chile paste produce a fiery, brick-red oil that is spooned over delicate steamed fish, crunchy spring vegetables, and fregola, a Sardinian pasta similar to Israeli couscous. Get the recipe for Steamed Grouper in Chile Oil »

Oxtail and Guajillo Chile Stew (Caldo de Res)

Infused with guajillo chiles, this nourishing, slow-cooked stew is usually made with various tough cuts of beef, but we found oxtails to be the most flavorful choice. Get the recipe for Oxtail and Guajillo Chile Stew (Caldo de Res) »

“Creamed”Collard Greens with Peanut Butter and Chile

Greens laced with freshly ground peanut butter and fermented seafood for a funky kick is a common one-pot dish in West Africa. Get the recipe for “Creamed”Collard Greens with Peanut Butter and Chile »

Cilantro, Chile, and Pineapple Sangrita

Chile recipes aren’t limited to just dinner. This flavor-packed sipper is served alongside a neat glass of tequila at La Mezcaleria in Ajijic, Mexico. Do as many Mexicans do: A sip of tequila, a sip of sangrita—repeat, for the best experience. Get the recipe for Cilantro, Chile, and Pineapple Sangrita »

Spicy Hot Chocolate with Fermented Chile Paste

This mix goes way beyond the typical flavors with Chinese fermented black bean chile paste and chile powder for a spicy, savory hot cocoa that delivers a kick of heat to the back of your throat. This is one hot cocoa that doesn’t taste like anything else you’ve ever tried. Get the recipe for Spicy Hot Chocolate With Fermented Chile Paste »

The post So Much More Than Spice appeared first on Saveur.

There is not much improving on a tomato sandwich. No matter what your local fancy-casual restaurant may be trying to tell you with their house-made aioli and brioche toast, the best tomato sandwich is usually the one made with regular old mayonnaise and soft, not-crusty bread. My personal preference is beefsteak tomatoes, firm and fire-engine red all over, but heirlooms of course work well too. The thing should be salted and peppered and soft. (Want crunch? Make a BLT.)

But I found a worthy contender while testing recipes for the Estela cookbook. The Manhattan restaurant, helmed by chef Ignacio Mattos, serves a tomato toast for brunch in the summer that is slimmer and funkier than the standard mayo-smeared sandwich. It’s just a little extravagant, but extremely easy to make at home, and doesn’t allow any one ingredient to yell louder than the tomatoes that shine up at you from the plate.

At the restaurant, the toast-harvesting process is particularly cheffy: they take one of those dense, rectangular breads that are chock-full of seeds and grains, and cut thin slices the long way, so that your piece of toast is as long as the loaf they cut it from. Then they griddle it in a tiny drizzle of olive oil until its edges are crispy and it has veered into toast territory. On goes a smear of Fromager d’Affinois cheese, a cousin of Brie, which is applied evenly and to the edges like they’re icing a cake. The whole thing is topped with slices of technicolor heirloom tomatoes cut thin enough to resemble stained glass and gilded with a bit of olive oil and crunchy salt. The slices drape lazily over the edge of the toast, hiding everything below it such that an uninformed viewer with mediocre eyesight may see the composed dish as a pile of sliced tomatoes.

It is, as you can imagine, a thing of beauty, but it’s also stupidly delicious. The little bits of toothsome seeds in the bread stabilize the almost-gooey cheese, which itself is a buffer for weepingly juicy tomatoes. (A benefit of the edge-to-edge coverage is that the toasts can sit for a second without turning soggy, and therefore are a perfect thing to make for company.) The cheese adds funk but doesn’t steal the show: you’re still at a tomato party, just one with a few carefully chosen bells and whistles. At the restaurant it presents itself as a fork-and-knife endeavor, but it’s just as delicious eaten by hand, either as a fancy snack or in multiples, as lunch.

This is, of course, a far cheffier way to eat tomatoes on bread than buying a loaf of white bread and making use of the Costco-sized jar of Hellman’s in your fridge. But it’s much more accessible to the home cook than it first appears. Fromager d’Affinois might not be stocked at your neighborhood grocer, but is available at many better cheese shops and online. (Of course, you can and should swap in Brie if that makes more sense for you; you’ll still find yourself wondering when else you can swap out mayonnaise for a bloomy-rind cheese.) It tastes just as good if you slice the toast into, uh, normal slices instead of wrangling foot-long planks, some of which will inevitably be too thin or too thick. Past those two bits, all you need are some very good late-summer tomatoes, a bit of good olive oil, and a pinch of flaky salt. It’ll take you 15 minutes to make. It’ll be even quicker when you inevitably decide to make a few more. As always, it is a good idea to buy more cheese than you think you need.

The post The Best Tomato Sandwich Isn’t a Sandwich at All appeared first on Saveur.

According to The Museum of Food and Drink in Brooklyn, New York, there are nearly 50,000 Chinese-American restaurants in the U.S. While the menu of course varies from restaurant to restaurant—the vast majority of these establishments are independently owned businesses, after all—there’s one dish you can almost always expect to find: General Tso’s chicken.

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The dish as most Americans know it today was invented by a Hunanese chef named Peng Chang-kuei in the 1950s. Fuchsia Dunlop, the English-language authority on Chinese cuisine, chronicled the chef’s story in her excellent Revolutionary Chinese Cookbook. Peng worked as an official chef for the Nationalist government, and after the Chinese Civil War ended in 1949, defected with his employers to Taiwan. It was there that he created the original version of the now-famous chicken dish and named it after a Hunanese general, Tso Tsung-t’ang (or Zuo Zongtang), who was best-known for putting down a rebellion in the western desert region of Xinjiang in the 19th century.

This early iteration of General Tso’s chicken was very much true to Hunan cuisine. Peng described its flavors in Dunlop’s book as “typically Hunanese—heavy, sour, hot, and salty.” The dish had none of its current characteristic sweetness until the 1970s, when Peng began serving a Westernized version at his eponymous restaurant Peng’s in New York City. “The original General Tso’s chicken was Hunanese in taste and made without sugar,” Peng explained, “but when I began cooking for non-Hunanese people in the United States, I altered the recipe.”

The chile-laced sweet-and-sour sauce that resulted helped put General Tso’s chicken on the map. In her review of Peng’s for the New York Times, restaurant critic Mimi Sheraton lauded the dish as “a stir-fried masterpiece, sizzling hot both in flavor and temperature.” General Tso’s chicken soon became a trend at fancy Chinese restaurants before evolving into an everyday staple on Chinese takeout menus across the country. The dish not only planted a flag in the American culinary landscape, but it also had an enormous impact on the Chinese diaspora in the U.S. As Andrea Cherng, the chief marketing officer for Panda Express, told NBC , Americanized Chinese recipes like General Tso’s “are the reasons why Chinese immigrant families in the U.S. were able to provide for their families.” The final twist in General Tso’s journey is that the Westernized version of the dish has even traveled back to its home country in recent years, popping up on menus at upscale restaurants like Hong Kong’s Mott 32.

Curious to better understand the dish, we decided to skip delivery and make it from scratch. Here’s what to keep in mind when cooking this classic comfort food at home.

Start with a Flavorful Marinade

A thin cornstarch-and-egg mixture seasoned with soy sauce serves as both a quick marinade and a batter. Let the chicken (I prefer boneless, skinless dark meat) soak at room temperature until all the pieces are infused with flavor, about 15 minutes.

Lightly Batter Your Chicken

Using wooden chopsticks, lift the chicken from the bowl of marinade, shaking gently to remove any excess. The thin coating that remains will allow the chicken to fry up nice and crispy. Too much batter gives the meat an unappealing doughy and dense texture when it’s returned to the sauce.

Stir-Fry Your Aromatics

Frying ginger and garlic softens their flavors and infuses your cooking oil with their fragrance—but they don’t need long. The natural sugars in garlic in particular burn quickly, so do not walk away from the stove; 15 to 30 seconds should do the trick.

Use Dried Chiles

Mott 32 uses dried facing-heaven chiles, which are popular in both Sichuan and Hunan cooking, to give its General Tso’s chicken a spicy kick. The Chinese peppers have a powerful heat and a musky-nutty-tannic flavor that is enhanced by toasting.

They can be tricky to find here in the U.S.—check your local Asian markets or order them online. Tianjin chiles have a similar heat level and are easier to source. If you can’t track down either, don’t be discouraged; readily-available dried cayenne chiles are a near substitute.

If you are sensitive to heat but don’t want to skimp on the chile flavor, tone down the spice level by snipping the stems off the chiles, and shaking out and discarding the seeds before using. Either way, toast the chiles gently with the aromatics and take care not to burn them—they should be no darker than a rich, reddish tobacco brown.

Make a Well-Balanced Sauce

Two ingredients are key to this umami-rich, chicken stock-based General Tso’s sauce: tomato paste and Shaoxing wine. The addition of tomato paste may not be authentic, but it lends depth, acidity, and sweetness. It also tints the sauce that familiar red hue without relying on artificial coloring. Just don’t go overboard; the concentrated paste packs a lot of tomato-y flavor and can easily overpower the other ingredients.

Dark and complex, Shaoxing wine is made from rice in China’s Zhejiang province, where it is both consumed as a beverage and used as a cooking wine. It’s easy to find in Asian markets or online, but in a pinch, you can approximate its savory-astringent notes with an equal amount of manzanilla sherry.

Thicken the Sauce

A couple spoonfuls of apricot jam, while by no means traditional, serve as the sweetener in this General Tso’s sauce. It also adds a welcome dose of acidity, while the pectin, the natural fruit compound that causes jams and jellies to set, acts as a gentle thickener, boosting the body of the sauce. This allows you to go easy on the cornstarch, which tends to get gloopy when used in excess.

Add a Finishing Touch

A drizzle of toasted sesame oil enhances the nuttiness of the wine in the sauce and balances the acidity of the tomato paste and apricot jam. Sprinkle with sliced scallions for color and freshness, then serve with bowls of steamed white rice.

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It’s pretty much creamed spinach, says Simran Sethi, journalist and author of Bread, Wine, Chocolate, of saag paneer. The dish originated in Punjab, a state in northern India, which, as one of the most fertile regions on Earth, has a large agricultural sector. Leafy greens (saag) are smothered with butter or ghee, and chunks of fresh cheese (paneer), as hearty yet humble fare.

“It’s essentially farmers’ food,” says Sethi. “For the love of god, don’t turn this into a curry.”

Regardless of its modest roots, saag paneer in all its creamy simplicity is a beloved dish in home kitchens as well as at Indian restaurants across the diaspora. However, there have been notable variations: the type of greens commonly used in North India for this dish are mustard greens, not spinach. This is called sarson ka saag in Hindi; versions of the dish made exclusively with spinach (palak) could be called palak paneer. According to Nik Sharma, author of Season and founder of the blog A Brown Table, mustard greens have a very different flavor and texture than spinach.

“Punjab is known for celebrating mustard greens quite a bit in their cooking,” says Sharma, whose father hails from northern India and taught his mom to make the popular regional dish. “Most of the wasabi-ness of the mustard greens goes away after cooking, but it’s just very different.”

He recommends using a more bitter-tasting green for saag paneer, such as arugula or kale, and he has enjoyed using dandelion greens for it before.

Chitra Agrawal, author of Vibrant India, thinks that spinach was probably widely adopted by Indian restaurants in the U.S. for saag paneer simply because of its greater availability, as well as familiarity with diners. Whereas in northern India, mustard greens are readily available: “In the North, you will see mustard fields lined with yellow flowers, quite beautiful,” says Agrawal, recalling a drive from Delhi to Jaipur. Her father is also from northern India, and Agrawal has made palak paneer from frozen spinach on her blog, The ABCD’s of Cooking.

Aside from the greens, saag paneer is all about cheese—fresh Indian cheese, paneer. This is, to many cooks and eaters, the main attraction of the dish, the spoonful of sugar to get the medicine of leafy greens down. Those looking for an explosion of sharp cheesiness or a melty ooze, be warned: The cheese here certainly adds richness but most of all, a fun textural contrast, as the paneer stays firm, in solid chunks amidst the soft folds of leafy greens.

Paneer is sometimes referred to as “Indian cottage cheese,” because of its fresh, unaged state, but that can be misleading. Rather than runny or loose, paneer is great for browning on a pan or grilling, like the Greek halloumi (an apt substitute if you can’t find store-bought paneer, according to Sharma). Some cooks have recommended feta as a substitute, but that’s if you want a much saltier cheese than paneer—and one that will melt, rather than retain its shape, in the leafy greens.

Or, you can always make your own fresh paneer using this recipe. It may have a softer texture than store-bought paneer, but you can be assured of its freshness when homemade. If DIY paneer sounds like too much of a project, rest assured that the dish works just as well using store-bought cheese. There is also no shame in using frozen spinach instead of fresh. This was, after all, originally a humble dish for farmers. Make it the way it works best for you.

Cook Your Milk

Paneer starts with milk—get whole milk for the creamiest flavor, preferably from grass-fed cows. Once it almost comes to a boil (watch and stir often to prevent it from scorching), add lemon juice and stir until you see large curds forming. If you’ve ever made fresh ricotta or mozzarella, it’s the same process up until here!

Say Cheesecloth!

Pour your curdled milk into a pot lined with a double-layer of cheesecloth and gently squeeze out the liquid.

Now, you’ll want to tie the corners of the cheesecloth to make a sack of the curds, and tie the loose ends of the cloth to a wooden spoon. Suspend the spoon over a deep pot or bowl so that the cheese can drain, about 1½ hours. Then, transfer your cheesecloth-wrapped curd bundle to a plate, loosen the bundle, and place a heavy pot on top of the cheesecloth for 30 minutes to compress the cheese.

Sear Your Cheese

Congratulations, you’ve made paneer! Now let’s get it nice and crispy. Cut your flattened wheel of cheese into ½- to 1-inch cubes. Heat your ghee on a heavy-bottomed pan, such as a cast-iron skillet. Working in batches to fit all the paneer pieces with enough space to move around, brown each side.

Heat Your Greens

Delicate spinach leaves require little help to cook down into a creamy bliss. Beforehand, purée some garlic, fresh ginger, and chiles along with ¼ cup water in a blender or food processor. This will give your dish a silky-smooth texture and appearance. Then, add the ginger-garlic paste to the same skillet that you cooked the paneer in, along with some more ghee. Add the spinach and cook until very soft, about 15 minutes. (If using a tougher green such as mustard greens or kale, you may want to return this to the blender and pulse a few times at this point, for a smoother consistency.)

Envelop with Richness, and Spice

Add cream, garam masala, cayenne pepper, and salt to taste. Now, return the paneer to the skillet along with the greens and cook on low heat, covered, for about 15 minutes.

This will meld all the flavors and allow the liquids to thicken. It should still result in a very soupy, saucy mess that’s perfect to soak up with flatbread or rice. Saag paneer makes a great vegetable side dish as part of a multi-course meal. Or it can be your simple meal on its own—can’t lose either way.

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Following the death of dictator Francisco Franco in 1975, Spain experienced a cultural as well as culinary revolution. The country was released from its shackles, and octopus, sardines, tuna pies, and other regional dishes and ingredients hitched a ride on the wave of country-wide migration. Destination: Madrid.

The 1970s and ‘80s saw the biggest movement of workers in Spain’s history. Hundreds of thousands of migrants from all corners of the country packed their bags, left their families behind, and bought one-way tickets to the capital—and with them, brought their culture, hard-work ethic, and family recipes. When their train pulled into Atocha station, most were swept up by the winds of the construction boom, some went into hospitality, opening up hundreds of small, no-frills bars that served their new neighbors a taste of another home.

Half a century later, both modernity and nostalgia have caught up with these humble watering holes. The tides are shifting, and in an attempt to keep up with the times, their regional roots are growing harder to detect. But learn how to decode their menus and eccentric décor, and the story of those boom years will unravel before your eyes.

Here are six no-frills bars that once washed up on the cobbled shores of Madrid, and whose doors are still portals to all of Spain’s culinary nooks and crannies.

Cervecería Río Sol – León

Cervecería Río Sol is one of those places you walk past on your way to your well-researched dinner reservation and think, “That place looks cute—next time,” and there’s never a next time. In the middle of an area teeming with tourists and nightlife revelers, Fernando Lario’s little bar is an overlooked gem that quite happily lets the passer-by pass by.

The silent and seemingly stern owner stands in the doorway with both arms behind his back—a stance broken only when he spots someone he knows. He yells their name, shakes hands, maybe even hugs, and then returns back to the doorway, resuming his slightly intimidating guise toward the uninitiated. Only once you’ve decoded this secret filter used by every no-frills bar owner in Madrid are you ready to enter and be received as warmly as the locals.

Step into Río Sol or take a seat on the terrace overlooking the marvelous nearby Basilica. Order the tortilla española, made by Lario’s wife but, be warned: it contains a few controversial ingredients. Most Madrileños are embroiled an eye-watering dispute about whether or not a tortilla should contain onion, and, at times, it can be as dividing as teabag-in or teabag-out. But throw in chorizo or green peppers and it’s fine! How? Because that’s what they do in León, and all of Spain respects that (unless Jamie Oliver does it).

Bar Sidrería Aviseo – Asturias

Antonio García Pérez is an hour late opening his bar. “Come back in 20 minutes, I’ll be open then!” He shouts to me through the window. Bar Aviseo is worth going for a stroll around the block for, but give him more than 20 minutes—it is Spain, afterall, and the stereotype dies hard in the no-frills end of the hospitality industry.

I return, not at all to Pérez’s surprise, and he tells me that the octopus is very good today, pointing at his millennial son tucking into a media ración of it further along the bar—and he’s right.

Served sliced on a wooden plate, the pulpo is doused in olive oil and sprinkled liberally with pimentón and sea salt. Be sure to scoop up a good amount of the pimentón-infused oil with each bite of the octopus, and use the bread to mop up the rest.

Hanging on the wall of Bar Aviseo, you might spot a photo of the tiny Asturian village of Cangas de Narceo, where Pérez is from. “We were just seven families,” he begins, and then points to a photo of a man down a mine shaft. “My brothers were miners. If I’d stayed, I probably would have been a miner. But I left for Madrid and opened my bar. I don’t really know why I came, I just did, like everyone else was doing at the time.”

Bar Santurce – The Coast

Despite the Mediterranean Sea being about 300 miles away, sardines have become a Madrid classic, according to Raúl Lázaro, owner of Bar Santurce, and a man of few words.

Raúl was born the same year that Franco died and, just two years later, his father Felix Lázaro would open Bar Santurce in the regional fusion style of the time. The bar is named after a town in the Basque country, the seafood served was caught off the Mediterranean shores of Castellón, and, of course, the bar in the heart of Madrid’s most Castizo neighbourhood, La Latina.

Forty-two years later, Bar Santurce has stood the test of time, and it wears its wear and tear as badges of honor. The aluminium bar, the well-trodden terrazzo tiles, and the fish-scented walls and furnishings have seen everything but the Mediterranean Sea.

A dozen orders of sardines hiss on the grill, projecting fish-scale ballistics around the room. Cutlery isn’t done here so roll up your sleeves and grasp a sardine firmly in both hands. Chomp through the salt-studded skin into the salty-sweet meat like no one ’s watching. Bones are optional, as is squeeze of lemon but, fine, go for it – you are now, of course, on the Mediterranean coast.

Bar a Miña Gaita – Galicia

By now, you’ve mastered the steely bar owner filter and are brave enough to walk straight in. Play this game with María del Carmen Rocha’s husband and he shall step aside for you, welcoming you into his shrine to Galicia, the region from which he and his wife came.

The Gallego couple arrived in Madrid separately in the 1980s, waiting bars for their earlier working years. In 2003, they opened up Bar A Miña Gaita together.

“We can’t compete with the franchises that are opening up everywhere around us,” says Rocha. “They offer fast food at cheap prices. People don’t seem to care about quality anymore”, and her concern is justified. Madrid real estate prices have skyrocketed in recent years due to gentrification and speculation. Bar A Miña Gaita is situated on a quiet backstreet, just around the corner from the city’s thronging Gran Vía artery. It is a prime location, but the narrow, winding streets off Gran Vía don’t receive as much footfall as you might expect. You’ve got to know about this place to go here, and if you do, you’ll be rewarded with a charmingly ramshackle glimpse of Galicia.

Mesón Valle del Jerte – Extremadura

“¿Que os pongo, chicos?” (What can I get you, guys?) asks the woman behind the bar, in a thick Extremaduran accent. The region from which she hails sits west of Madrid, sandwiched between Toledo and Portugal. You may know Extremadura for its famed seasonal spectacle, when vast groves of cherry trees in the Valle de Jerte—the bar’s namesake—blossom all at once.

The menu at Mesón Valle del Jerte is almost indistinguishable from any other in Madrid, except for a few regional touches. Picadillo Extremeño, for example, looks just like any chopped salad in Madrid, but the Extremaduran version is more finely diced; a more notable standout is the bar’s Licor de Cereza, a sweet liqueur flavored with cherries from the Valle del Jerte.

Valle del Jerte is just across the road from El Rastro, the bustling 400-year-old flea market yet, remarkably, few market goers decide to cross over; the pleasant terrace at Valle del Jerte remains quiet, hidden in plain sight.

Bar Los Caracoles – Madrid

The migration boom may have brought many Spaniards to the capital, but plenty of Madrid residents were, of course, already there. Bar Los Caracoles is a local institution, whose landlocked food is popular with the locals and, despite having no connection to the sea, there’s a curious tidal rhythm to the place.

The ebbs and flows of Madrid’s no-frills bars are a phenomenon that takes years to master. Beyond breakfast, elevenses, lunch, and dinner, there’s also the hour of vermouth, the café con leche y churros slot, and the quick shot of hard liquor before the commute home. But the most subtle phenomenon of the Madrid bar is one carried by the city’s eldest generation: snail rush hour.

Between 8 and 9 PM, just before the enduring Spanish sun bids adiós for another day, abuelas and abuelos head to their nearest snail bar for a media ración de caracoles. This isn’t a fine-dining, sit-down experience, but rather a stand-up-at-the-bar gastronomic ritual upheld by solo, most often elderly punters. This deeply Castizo dish is a staple for a disappearing older generation. The chewy, highly nutritious morsels have a mussel-like texture and they taste of the chorizo they’re cooked alongside.

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