Chickpea flour acts as a flavorful binder in these Indian corn fritters from British Indian chef Romy Gill, whose promotion of West Bengali cuisine has earned her status as a Member of the Order of the British Empire. She serves these pakoras to her daughters, and they enjoy them with mint-and-cilantro chutney, or even ketchup on the side.

Featured in “The 2020 Saveur 100: 81-90.”

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When Chicago native Erin Scottberg was searching for an at-home version of this beef sandwich, a high-school ­classmate responded to her plea with a photo of a stained index card titled “Italian Beef—Aunt Tammy.” Our adaptation of the family recipe calls for sirloin, thinly sliced in advance by your butcher, then quickly poached in an aromatic broth.

Featured in: “The 2020 Saveur 100: 51-63.”

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The best way to cook mild-­flavored, itty-bitty Atlantic butterfish is via the technique used by chef James Mitchell at the Midtown Oyster Bar in Newport, Rhode Island: liberally seasoned with dried herbs, then roasted in a hot oven over a bed of ­tomatoes, fennel, and garlic. His method works well with any small, white-fleshed fish. For more ways to cook whole fish, check out our favorite fish recipes.

Featured in: “The 2020 Saveur 100.”

Equipment

• Large Rimmed Baking Sheet
• Parchment Paper
• Small Bowl
• Large Bowl
• Paper Towels

The post Oven-Roasted Whole Fish with Tomatoes and Fennel appeared first on Saveur.

This extravagant bread pudding from author and editor Sarah Gray Miller uses croissants and a generous amount of heavy cream. Soak the raisins in the bourbon while you assemble the rest of the dish.

Featured in: “The 2020 Saveur 100.”

Equipment

• Small Bowl
• Baking Sheet
• Large Bowl
• 10-Inch (8-Cup) Round Baking Dish or Cake Pan
• Small Pot

The post Croissant Bread Pudding with Bourbon Sauce appeared first on Saveur.

Surullitos—cheesy, fried cornmeal sticks—are a popular snack in Puerto Rico. Dunk them in homemade mayoketchup, a simple sauce of ketchup and mayo, seasoned with garlic, and a dash of Sofrito, Adobo, or hot sauce. Every Boricua has their own recipe. (Heinz also has a ready-made version.) The dough can be kept in the fridge for a day or two before frying. Check out all items from the Saveur 100.

Featured in: “The 2020 Saveur 100: 81-90.”

Equipment

• Medium Pot
• Whisk
• Wooden Spoon or Silicone Spatula
• Large Bowl
• Plastic Wrap (optional)
• Medium, Heavy Bottomed Pot
• Deep-Fry Thermometer
• Slotted Spoon
• Paper Towels
• Baking Sheet

Get the recipes for A) Shane Mitchell’s Southern Corn Fritters, B) Romy Gill’s Sweet Corn Pakoras, C) Rhode Island Johnnycakes, D) Puerto Rican Surullitos, and E) Perkedel Jagung (Indonesian Corn Fritters) >

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91. How We Like to Kelp the Planet

Not-so-fun fact: Almost all of the edible seaweed in this country is imported from Asia, where the stuff tends to be harvested from unmonitored waters, dehydrated, then re-plumped and tinted with blue and green coloring before landing on a plate at your local sushi joint.

Enter Atlantic Sea Farms, the kelp aqua­culture company that convinced a critical mass of Maine lobstermen to cultivate kelp during the ­offseason—an attractive side hustle for an industry plagued by waters warming at a rate alarming enough to kill off crustaceans. The full-circle ­benefit? Kelp filters carbon and nitrogen from the ocean, creating a more hospitable environment for the lobsters that should be the main event.

But, please, don’t take our word for it. David Chang, the restaurateur behind the Momofuku dynasty, created a popular kelp bowl for Sweetgreen using Atlantic Sea Farms kelp earlier this year. Dan Barber, poster chef for sustainable foodstuffs, served the fresh-frozen kelp at Blue Hill restaurant in Manhattan. Nowhere near these venues? No problem. Atlantic Sea Farm’s jarred salads—the kimchi-based Sea-Chi, the tangy Sea-Beet Kraut, and the Fermented Seaweed Salad—are available at some grocery stores on the East and West coasts, or by mail in packs of three (­$10 for a 15-ounce jar; atlanticseafarms.com).

92. The Cajun Scene-Stealer Time Forgot

YouTube offers all sorts of diversions: rodents eating tiny burritos, DIY pontoon-boat tutorials, countless hours of footage devoted to ingrown-hair extraction. But the words I most often type into the site’s search field? “Justin Wilson.” Back in the 1970s, when Emeril Lagasse was barely out of knee pants, Wilson was the Cajun hambone burning up the little screen, at least if you lived within broadcasting range of Mississippi Educational Television. (He did briefly achieve nationwide fame after starring in a mid-’80s commercial for Ruffles Cajun potato chips.) Wilson laid dat accent on real thick while demonstrating how to prepare dem possums and squirrels—and not just on TV. “Les see dare now,” he wrote in one cookbook. “I can’t make up my head whether we’re gonna serv’ dis rabbit sauce piquant wit’ spaghetti or wit’ rice. Dey are both some wondermous!” Beneath the late Louisianan’s (extremely entertaining) schtick, however, lay one helluva cook. I gar-on-tee it. —Sarah Gray Miller

Get the recipe for Justin Wilson’s Rabbit Piquant Sauce Beef >>

93. A Cloth for All Seasons

Bold, bright, fruity, and floral, most oilcloth patterns shout summertime. Nordic Nest, however, only stocks the work of Scandinavian designers, who have a tendency to cool things way down. So while the Swedish retailer’s inventory contains a number of ­acrylic-coated fabrics, most interpret nature motifs in muted tones, like Arvidssons Textile’s almost-­monochromatic “Ofelia” ($32 per meter). Kinda hard to relegate something so beautiful to patio furniture and picnic tablecloths. And why should you, when it’s possible to render ­indoor sofas and chairs red-wine proof?

94. The Delicacy Colman Andrews Pined for When the Borders Closed

Espardenyes are subtly delicious, with a flavor both faintly maritime and mildly earthy. I last ate them, cloaked in an emulsion of olive oil and garlic, in mid-February, at the curiously named El Motel (long story), a superlative restaurant in the Catalonia region of northeastern Spain.

These ivory-hued morsels, cylindrical and striated and a few inches long, are cut from the marine animals known as sea cucumbers. Espardenya is Catalan for “­espadrille,” the shoe whose sole the striations are said to recall. There are estimated to be nearly 1,750 species of these creatures inching their way across the world’s ocean floors. This one, Parastichopus regalis, is eaten almost exclusively along the coast of Catalonia and neighboring Valencia.

Nobody imports espardenyes to the US, as far as I know. Perishability aside, they’re expensive, at around $80 a pound, and can take some getting used to, with a texture that has been compared to raw squid or even gristle. Nonsense. Espardenyes taste like real food. Really extraordinary food. And they’ll be the first thing I order when I finally get back to Spain. —Colman Andrews

95. Multitasking Never Looked So Good.

During my childhood in England, I was entranced by the sight of my mother, one arm wrapped around a cane-­colored mixing bowl while the other beat butter and sugar together with a wooden spoon. I needn’t rely on memory alone to summon the attendant emotion. The Mason Cash Company, of Derbyshire, has produced the same piece of textured pottery since 1901. The line has grown exponentially since then. Two of our favorite recent additions? A measuring jug that doubles as a mixing bowl, and prep bowls that also serve as measuring cups from their aptly-named Innovative Kitchen Collection ($23 for the jug, $15 for a set of three cups; everythingkitchens.com). These earthenware delights, with rose-hued and soft-gray ­interiors, are brilliant enough to be around for a while too. —Megan Wetherall

96. Get a Grip.

In Taipei, Taiwan, where I grew up, every household has a dish clip. How else would you remove plates of pork-belly buns or whole fish from a hot steamer? Now that I’m a New Yorker, I’ve also found the tool—which’ll set you back about $7 on Amazon—handy when retrieving leftover takeout from the microwave. —­Jessie YuChen

97. The Tiny NYC Shop That Inspired Big Ideas

Back in 1977, when I first walked under the Silver Palate’s signature blue-and-white striped awning and pushed open the door, I felt as if I’d squeezed into a miniature spacecraft bound for some uncharted gastronomic galaxy. Inside this 165-square-foot store on Manhattan’s Columbus Avenue, raspberry vinegar, brandied damson plums, and zucchini pickles lined the shelves. Crunchy baguettes stood upright in breadbaskets. Layered terrines and ratatouille, heaped temptingly on serving platters, beckoned from a refrigerated display case. (Still a college student surviving on wedge salads speckled with Bac-Os, I may have pressed my nose against the glass.)

Nearly 100 blocks south, Dean & DeLuca opened the same year, inspiring a similar sense of wonder among SoHo residents, but it was uptown caterers Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso who defined effortless entertaining for me. Long before I traveled to the world’s great food halls—Harrod’s in London, Fauchon in Paris, Misir Çarşisi in Istanbul, the depachika of Tokyo—these two women opened my mind to global possibilities, one splurge at a time. A little tapenade or salmon mousse scooped into containers for a picnic in Central Park. Pâté de campagne with walnuts to sustain me during the train ride back upstate to school.

A couple of years later, Lukins and Rosso published their Silver Palate ­Cookbook to national acclaim. Pre-Martha. Pre-Ina. Pre-Rachael. Imagine opening that original 1979 edition to discover recipes for Caviar Eclairs or Duck with 40 Cloves of Garlic, accompanied by Lukins’ sweet pen-and-ink sketches and sidebar advice for hosting a nuptial brunch or election-night supper (worth revisiting come November). Everyone seemed to have a favorite Silver Palate dish. Chicken Marbella became the gold standard for dinner parties throughout the Hamptons and Westchester County. I preferred to feed friends, crammed around a table in my fifth-floor walk-up on First Avenue, the Fruit-Stuffed Rock Cornish Hens.

Lukins and Rosso’s influence has since stretched beyond our shores. My friend Jeremy Lee, chef at Quo Vadis in London, confesses a fondness for the duo’s desserts: “Scotland was not known for its chocolate when I was growing up there, so their brownie recipe, ever so slightly amended, is the one I love most.” —Shane Mitchell

98. Membership Has Its Privileges.

Why spend a meal in Mexico City at a tiny fried-chicken shop? The short answer: Edo Lopez of Edo Kobayashi Restaurant Group. This chef has transformed Mexico City’s Colonia Cuauhtémoc area into “Little Tokyo,” with six signature spots. In addition to restaurants devoted to ramen, sushi, and yakitori, Lopez also presides over two jazz bars offering natural wines, sake, and Japanese whiskeys. This past February, he added the Fried Club.

At TFC, you can expect the same wee-space, wee-menu, major-flavor spirit that ­characterizes Lopez’s other joints. A makeshift kitchen turns out a perfect, tender fried-chicken burger, along with other unpretentious dishes such as fried shrimp and fried soft-shell crab. Caviar on the fried chicken is an optional splurge, but the side of fries with either truffles or foie gras should not be. Pair it with a glass of Veuve Clicquot or Caguamita beer, and you’ll begin to understand why this sliver of real estate happens to be the epicenter of my city’s food scene. —Jose Castillo

99 .A Thrifty Stock Option

Before you toss those corncobs, carrot peels, ­celery cores, and squash skins in the trash, ­consider this: A quart of produce scraps can easily become a gallon of rich, vegetable ­kitchen-scrap stock. Combine the trimmings with 10 cups of water and the spices of your choosing (a teaspoon of peppercorns, two bay leaves, and a pod of star anise are a good start), then toss in a Parmesan rind for tang, and simmer for approximately 40 minutes before straining. Don’t force it—literally. Let gravity get those juices flowing, to avoid clouding the broth.

As free-form as this endeavor may be, a few rules apply: Avoid papery onion skins, which darken the stock, and too many bitter bits (herb stalks and carrot greens). Salt only after the liquid reduces, or when you’re ready to use the stock in a ­recipe. The ­delicious dividends: a head start on a pot of soup.

100. The Finest Lemon Tart in All of Paris Also Happens to Be Gluten-Free.

Here, every pâtisserie boasts the top tarte au citron. Which one truly deserves the title? Chambelland, in the city’s 11th arrondissement, eschews ­overly dense wheat flour in favor of superfine, organic rice processed no fewer than four times at the bakery’s Provence mill. The result: a crust so ethereal, one wonders how it manages to hold the filling. Tangy, bright, and not-too-sweet, this lemon custard is topped with a swoop of fluffy, golden meringue. Chambelland’s version of France’s favorite confection is so supérieure, you’ll never notice what’s missing. —David Lebovitz

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Erin Ambuster and Casey Dominguez, owners of The Salty Owl café, serve these hand pies to travelers and locals alike in the Knox County Regional Airport in Owl’s Head, Maine.

Featured in: The 2020 Saveur 100: 11-20

Equipment

• Large Bowl
• Pastry Cutter
• Plastic Wrap
• 8-Inch Cookie Cutter or Bowl
• Parchment Paper
• Baking Sheet

The post Ham-and-Jam Hand Pies appeared first on Saveur.

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Filmmaker John Waters is a regular at Lane ­Harlan’s venues. So is former Maryland governor Martin O’Malley. Harlan’s mezcaleria, Bar Clavel, and her speakeasy a block down the street, W.C. Harlan (@wcharlan), sit far north of Charm City’s fancy Inner Harbor dining scene. Eight years ago, when the now-33-year-old entrepreneur and her musician husband, ­Matthew Pierce, stumbled upon the empty corner building near their ­apartment—and Interstate 83—no one would have guessed that this block might become Baltimore’s hottest place to eat and drink.

Inside the tiny W.C. Harlan, crystal chandeliers and aged mirrors sparkle against worn, unpainted walls. Bar Clavel feels like a watering hole you’d discover in Mexico, with string lights criss­crossing the ceiling, and a carefully curated mezcal selection perched atop wood-plank shelves behind the bar. Here, Sinaloan chef Carlos Raba (also Harlan’s business partner) turns out fresh seafood ceviches and handmade tortillas filled with lamb, beef, or huitlacoche. The house margaritas are, of course, killer.

So, how did Harlan—a college dropout, with no formal culinary education or restaurant experience—get the whole atmosphere thing just right, racking up two nominations in the James Beard Awards’ “Outstanding Bar” category along the way?

“I’m something of an autodidact,” she confesses. “I get obsessed.” Mezcal captured Harlan’s attention during what was supposed to be a vacation to Oaxaca. “I went down that wormhole really hard.” Then came sake. “It bothered me that I didn’t know anything about the stuff,” she recalls. Cut to two weeks in Tokyo.

In 2018, Harlan and Pierce launched Fadensonnen, with a sake bar upstairs and a beer garden below. (“Matthew’s dream,” she admits.) Their most recent venture went in next door: The natural-wine shop Angels Ate Lemons, established late last year. The couple is sticking with the neighborhood. Both new places are just four blocks from the first one.

Intellectual curiosity continues to dictate this iconoclast’s path. “We’ll eventually nixtamalize corn for our own masa at Clavel. I’d also like to make the fermented pineapple drink called tepache,” Harlan says. “I still have so many more plans!”

Get the recipe for Ceviche de Atún con Piña »

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64. This Is So Our Jam.

When Sara Levasseur moved from Montreal to New Orleans five years ago, she couldn’t get over the unfamiliar fruit she saw growing literally everywhere. “Kumquats in the fall, figs in June,” Levasseur says. “I could grab them off trees growing near the sidewalk.” Her marvel over the year-round abundance gave rise to Jamboree Jams (starting at $10 for a 9.5-ounce jar; ­jamboreejams.co). Every bit of the produce that goes into Levasseur’s spreads is grown on small, independent farms. Star Nursery in nearby Belle Chasse supplies the satsumas for Jamboree’s standout Satsuma and Kumquat Marmalade, which also incorporates kumquats from L’Hoste Citrus in Braithwaite. Levasseur sources blackberries, purple basil, and Criolla Sella peppers—to name just a few examples—from the Poché family in Independence. “Louisiana,” the 28-year-old entrepreneur declares, “is the perfect place to make a go of the jam business.”

65. Thistle Be Your Favorite Too.

What deserves such loving descriptions as “overripe,” “rank,” and “beefy”? The semi-firm to practically liquefied thistle-­rennet cheeses, most often made from sheep’s or goat’s milk, with a complex flavor and constantly evolving texture that thrills cheese geeks (like me) everywhere.

Plant-based coagulants are hardly a new concept. ­Historians suspect that the practice of using an enzyme from the ­artichoke-like wild thistle began with Iberian Jewish communities around the turn of the Common Era. So, why haven’t we heard more about the resulting cheese? Thistle’s effectiveness can prove unpredictable—not a great quality for mass production.

Today, only a few artisans, mainly in Spain and Portugal, are making these cheeses. Standout examples include Torta del Casar (right) and Finca Pascualete Retorta, both bone-brothy, ­mushroomy delights from the Spanish region of Extremadura. Luckily, they’re imported by Wasik’s, a cheese­monger in Wellesley, ­Massachusetts, where I worked during my college years (­starting at $32.95 per pound; wasiks.com). —Kat Craddock

66. These Jars Are Ballers.

Taller than the typical pint-size Mason jar, Ball’s 24-ounce model more ably accommodates willowy asparagus and carrots. It also makes for a better flower vase, smoothie shaker, and to-go cup. This baby does, however, share some key characteristics with its squat country cousin, including a low price (around $10 for nine; walmart.com), and the signature side markings that allow both jars to double as measuring cups. —Monica Michael Willis

67 – 78. The Dirty Dozen

If you thought it was all Ventresca tuna and chilled asparagus soup around here, the following admissions from Saveur staffers and contributing editors may scare you a little. PS: This is the ­winnowed-down list of our guilty, preservative-laden pleasures…. read more.

79. Evidence that We’ve Seen Times Like This Before

Been helicopter-parenting a sourdough starter or coaxing scallions from pungent nubs? You are not alone. In fact, you’re part of a historically familiar phenomenon. When the going gets tough—due to war, disease, economic crisis, or political ­upheaval—the tough return to basic survival skills: growing, preserving, and preparing the sustenance we need to stay alive. Don Lindgren, owner of Rabelais Books in Biddeford, Maine, points to the following antiquarian culinary texts as proof. “Publications about food and drink are cultural artifacts with all sorts of stories to tell,” Lindgren says. —Mindy Fox

This free, 32-page booklet—an update on the federal government’s 1918 World War I gardening manual—urged Americans to keep growing in peacetime to “solve the problem of feeding people rendered helpless by years of ­ruthless and terrible war.”

Alice Waters, Marion Cunningham, and other chefs contributed to this portfolio of 32 cards, each with its own theme and recipe, which was distributed at Aid & Comfort, a 1987 San Francisco charity dinner benefiting people suffering from AIDS.

The Woman Suffrage Cook Book, published in 1886, was sold to fund the movement. Contributors included Julia Ward Howe and Lucy Stone, both prominent figures in the effort to win the vote for women.

Food Planning For Victory was published in 1943, as World War II raged in Europe, by the director of Chicago’s School of Domestic Arts and Sciences. Filled with techniques for preserving produce, and budgeting advice, the book’s intended audience was “the homemaker feeling the pinch of food ­rationing.”

In the midst of the Great Depression, the Women’s Society of the First Presbyterian Church of Colorado Springs, ­Colorado, used the earnings from this early-1930s community cookbook to help congregants who had fallen on hard times. Among the nearly 500 recipes: a Lima Bean Loaf made from two cups of limas that promises to yield 12 servings, and a meatless version of Boston Roast fashioned out of navy beans and bread.

80. The Kindest Cut

I earn a living developing recipes and writing cookbooks, so I put my kitchen tools through their paces on the regular. Would it surprise you to know that my favorite knife isn’t fancy or pricey? Mac’s 7¼-inch chef’s knife, crafted in Japan, runs around $70 on Amazon and holds its edge forever. (I’ve used mine daily for two years and have yet to sharpen it.) With a relatively thin carbon-steel blade, the Mac isn’t a great match for tough-skinned vegetables, such as winter squash, but this wonder makes short work of everything else—fish, produce, cooked and raw meats—that comes across my busy cutting board. —Mindy Fox

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41. Chinatown Shop That Really Woks

This past February, amid rising COVID-19-related Sinophobia, Nancy Pelosi visited a number of businesses in San Francisco’s Chinatown to show her support. At the city’s famed Wok Shop, the speaker of the house put her money where her mouth was, leaving the store with a wok, a wok lid, a spatula, and a bamboo steamer.

Open since 1972, this local institution boasts the largest selection of woks in the country, plus a staggering range of other Chinese cooking tools, but the real reason to buy here is owner Tane Chan, now 82. Auntie Tane, as she’s known in the neighborhood, won’t just sell you a wok, she’ll tell you how to rid it of that new metallic tang (cook chives in it) or explain the nuances of cast iron versus carbon steel (cast iron is more porous). Chan runs her enterprise with energy and humor, always eager to promote the wok’s incredible versatility. “It’s not just for stir-frying,” she says, “but also pan-frying, deep-fat-frying, braising, steaming, boiling, poaching, smoking, roasting, and baking. It will be your go-to pan.” Consider us sold. —Grace Young

Cookbook author and documentary filmmaker Grace Young is currently compiling a video series, “Coronavirus: Chinatown Stories” chronicling the effects of COVID-19 on Manhattan’s Chinatown. The videos will be shown October 15-17 at the Smithsonian for Food History Weekend. Learn more and register here.

Get the recipe for Grace Young’s Stir-Fried Cabbage with Bacon »

42. Take the Plunge

The first time I encountered an Aeropress ($29.95; aeropress.com) was when a friend came to visit and brought one with her. What coffee maker justifies luggage space? One that takes up very, very little room and turns out a cafe-quality brew in a minute, maybe two, depending on how strong you take the stuff. You simply place a scoop of ground coffee in the chamber, wait that 60 to 120 seconds, then press the plunger down to deliver a smooth cup of coffee that’s better than drip and more drinkable than espresso. Cleanup is easy too. Guess what’s earned a permanent spot on my packing list? —Erin Scottberg

43. A Sweet Pepper with an Even Sweeter Backstory

I first came across Jimmy Nardello’s Pepper while working at Brookwood Community Farm in Canton, Massachusetts, a couple of years back. The other farmhands and I would make up stories about the variety’s namesake while harvesting the bright red peppers. “That Jimmy Nardello’s good people. Anything you need, he’ll be there for you in a jiff!” Or “Jimmy Nardello just opened up a new Italian spot downtown—you know it’s gonna be good!”

In reality, Jimmy was the son of Giuseppe and Angella Nardello, who emigrated to Connecticut from the Basilicata region of Italy in 1887, bringing with them a handful of seeds. Nearly a century later, Jimmy, the fourth of the couple’s 11 kids, donated the seeds of his family’s favorite sweet frying pepper to the Seed Savers Exchange. Jimmy Nardello’s Pepper was inducted to the Slow Food USA’s Ark of Taste in 2005 and is now available through SSE, Victory Seeds, and Burpee, among other sources.

The prolific pepper is easy to grow, even in a pot, and the fruits are delicious raw, pickled, fried, or roasted. But my favorite way to enjoy J-Nards (as Brookwood manager Sara Rostampour calls them): blistered over an open flame, then popped into my mouth. —Erin Scottberg

44. Hotel to Book on an Empty Stomach

The most compelling reason to check in to Saigon’s historic, state-run Rex Hotel (from $70 per night; rexhotelsaigon.com) is the breakfast buffet included in your stay. I spent Christmas here with my family a few years ago, and the extravagant morning spread made me downright giddy. Miso soup, hot pots, ­congee, stir-fries, dim sum, and noodles galore; platters proffering unlimited dragon fruit and lychee; an exceptional pho station—all available starting at 6 a.m. Post plate-loading, nab a table in the 1927 hotel’s rooftop garden, where journalists once ­gathered for the famous “5 o’clock follies” press briefings during the Vietnam War. If you happen to be there on December 25, as I was, peer over the roof garden’s ledge to count the Santas speeding by on mopeds. —­Megan Wetherall

45. Mesquite: Good for So Much More Than Grilling

Wood chips? Whatever. Rocky Barnette is picky about ­mesquite beans. He often stands beneath the three trees in his front yard on the outskirts of Marfa, Texas, contemplating the weather until summer rains draw nigh in the Chihuahuan Desert. Only then will Barnette gather the pods that rattle like snakes when dried.

West Texas ranchers consider mesquite (pronounced “mess-KEET,” not “muh-SKEET”) a thorny nuisance. But long before cattle roamed these plains, Coahuiltecans ate the beans raw. The Pima parched them over hot coals. The Tohono O’odham ground them against bedrock. Prosopis glandulosa and P. velutina—the species commonly called honey and velvet mesquite, itself a word derived from the Nahuatl mizquitl—have survived here for at least 2 million years. Now, that’s a tree capable of weathering tough times.

Barnette, chef and co-owner of Marfa’s Capri Restaurant, and co-­author of Cooking in Marfa: Welcome, We’ve Been Expecting You, sun-dries the pods, processes them in a high-powered blender, and uses the resulting powder to season everything from sourdough waffles to ice cream (right).

His mesquite ice cream tastes like caramel and smoke.

In a part of rural Texas that lacks major infrastructure, making the most of what you have is an essential act of creativity. While the rest of us can order mesquite powder online ($14.95 for 1 pound; matt-­monarch.com), Barnette still waits all year for the beans to drop next to his house, a hyper-­localized expression of flavor we can’t help but admire. —Shane Mitchell

Get the recipe for Rocky Barnette’s Mesquite Ice Cream »

46. Our Kind of Fine Home Cooking

In July 2011, a 20-year-old man crashed his 1996 Cadillac Fleetwood into an unassuming 1950s building before fleeing on foot. The next year, on October 7, a multi-car pileup at the intersection of Homochitto and Martin Luther King Jr. Streets sent a Dodge Durango through the plate-glass front window. The following 12 days were dark ones for the citizens of Natchez, Mississippi—not because anyone was seriously injured, but because few people in this town can go a week without a Malt Shop cheeseburger, corn dog, or catfish platter. How to survive a hangover without this institution’s sublime fountain soda, served over chipped ice in an environmentally unfriendly Styrofoam cup? (Make that Coke a Cherry Coke, and you’ll find actual fruit at the bottom.)

On a recent trip home, when I stopped by for a butterscotch shake, I ran into a neighbor who used to babysit me, and another neighbor whom I used to babysit. The first bee that ever stung me, stung me here, on the bottom of one bare 3-year-old foot. And I was at the Malt Shop on October 20, 2012, when—despite a storefront boarded up in plywood—the place started taking orders again, and order in Natchez was restored. —Sarah Gray Miller

47. The Opinion Section

I’ll cop to a significant level of ­dependence on the NYT Cooking app (what’s the digital equivalent of speed dial?), but the offshoot that’s even more irresistible: those spicy user comments! I’m not alone. There is an entire Instagram account, @­NYTimesCookingComments, devoted to the folks who try out a recipe, then must have their say. The anonymous genius behind this Insta (the person will ­admit only to being Manhattan-based and working in the media biz) posted for the first time in February 2019 and, thank heavens, has kept up a steady rhythm ever since. —Cara Cragan

Below, choice words from Times readers:

“My in-laws loved this! However, my father-in-law wouldn’t stop riding me about the lack of grill lines as seen in the photo (Aw Cassie, you can’t even get the grill lines right!) and all that. This time around, the problem was solved. Enter one Sharpie marker. Like those lines? Enjoy the steak, Richard.”

“Cate suggested using two timers. I like to use four timers: a third one to keep track of the total time elapsed for the first two timers, and then a fourth timer to keep track of the total time it took me to set the first three timers. Oh, and sometimes I set a fifth timer, just to remind me when it’s time to take another Xanax.”

“Delicious! I made it exactly as written, except I used spaghetti instead of rice, maple syrup instead of condensed milk, turmeric and cumin instead of nutmeg and cinnamon, and goat’s milk instead of cow’s milk. Also used sacrificial blood instead of cold brew. Also spiked it with the screams of my enemies.”

48. No Gimmicks, Just the Good Stuff

Pubs eager to bait Instagrammers with over-the-top garnishes have given the loaded bloody mary a bad name. Done correctly, this hearty ­breakfast cocktail is tastefully topped with a selection of vittles representing at least four of the five food groups—no fried chicken, no sliders, no foolishness. And no place does it better than the Old Fashioned Tavern and Restaurant in Madison, Wisconsin.

Here, the horseradish-forward, house-made base is spiked with locally distilled Yahara Bay Vodka, which introduces a hint of sweetness, ­courtesy of state-grown Honeycrisp apples. It’s paired with a skewer holding a pickle spear, a hunk of Wisconsin beef jerky, a spicy pickled egg, Vern’s cheese curds, and nothing else—except, of course, a beer chaser.

Whether you’re looking for a little hair of the dog or easing into a day of day-drinking, this bloody mary will set you right. Good news for us non-Wisconsinites: The Old Fashioned Tavern ships its house mix, $15 for a half-gallon, and garnishes, $10 for all four, nationwide.

49. Jamaica’s Culinary Ambassador

“Are you going to a dance hall in that outfit?” This is how Norma Shirley once greeted a reporter who had the audacity to show up for a cooking lesson at Norma’s on the Terrace, Shirley’s Kingston restaurant, wearing a flowy silk blouse and high heels.

I get it. I’m the product of proud West Indian women who simply will not tolerate nonsense. I don’t consider that bluntness to be rude behavior. It’s confidence.

Shirley, who passed away in 2010 at age 72, oversaw a string of popular restaurants on her native island of Jamaica, all named Norma’s—whether “on the terrace,” where she served a superb crab, shrimp, and conch chowder, or “at the wharfhouse” in Montego Bay, where the poached lobster nuggets in Madras curry were a specialty. Shirley also made numerous television appearances, walking her audience through recipes that highlighted local ingredients such as scotch bonnet peppers, papaya, and callaloo.

A few years before her death, this advocate for island cuisine explained her obsession with Caribbean fare this way: “Our soil is a very rich soil. Our fruits and vegetables have a completely different flavor and taste. And I’m not just biased because I’m from Jamaica.” —Korsha Wilson

50. Ingredients For Puerto Rican Cooking in a Post-Goya World

After the glass jar had been emptied of its green olives, pits ­intact, my grandma would save the remaining brine, sneaking a splash into just about every­thing she cooked. An ingredient she typically omitted from our family recipes, it added a layer of nuanced salinity that salt alone could never achieve. But I caught the move. And now a jar of manzanilla olives sits in my refrigerator, and my mom’s, often sans ­olives, with only the precious brackish brine those minikin orbs left behind.

A few months ago, that jar might have sported a Goya ­label. Now? Some Puerto Ricans like me and other Latinos have been forced to pivot for non-­pandemic reasons. How do we stock our pantries, sans readily available staples? Especially when Amazon is not an option for our gente without credit cards and checking accounts? (Yes, this exists. Check your privilege.)

The corner bodega serves as one oasis in many ­neighborhoods considered food deserts. Ditto, the relatively new phenomenon of super­mercados. But it can be difficult to find intact manzanilla olives in nonurban areas. Same goes for pre-made sazon spice blends and gandules, or pigeon peas. Sofrito? You’re better off making your own version of this cilantro-based paste, no matter where you live. But first, a few products you can feel better about. —Illyanna Maisonet

Badia sazon This family-owned business, founded by Cuban immigrant José Badía in 1967, grants annual scholarships, awarded to students of all backgrounds and ethnicities, in partnership with Miami-Dade College, Florida International University, and historically Black colleges and universities.

Plus, two artisanal, mail-order sazon brands to consider if you can afford them: Puerto Rican chef Eric Rivera makes sazon (below center) and runs a program called “Addo for the People” to feed Seattleites in need, and the Latinx owners of the New York City-based Loisa donate 2 percent of revenue to food-justice causes.

Faraon manzanilla olives Faraon’s parent company, Mercado Latino, was established 57 years ago by Cuban immigrant Graciliano Rodriguez, and is now run by his children in Southern California.

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Kellie Thorn is the beverage ­director for Hugh Acheson’s Atlanta restaurants, Empire State South and By George. She’s also refreshingly down-to-earth. When Thorn does find herself sky-high, she orders the youngest cognac very little money can buy (usually a VS, or “very ­special” blend) and combines it with ­standard-issue apple juice. “I call this my airplane drink, but it’s also among my most irreverent mixes,” Thorn says. “The sweet juice softens the sharp edges of the young brandy.”

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Equipment

• Rocks Glass (or Plastic Cup)

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