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Food52My Grandma Hogan lived for desserts. She was NOT an outstanding cook, but her sweet tooth rendered her incapable of becoming a poor baker. As a child, I remember savoring a slice of apple pie that tasted magical. Every other apple pie I'd tasted was made with a double pastry crust, and the syrupy filling never masked the mushiness of the apples. Knowing the typical textures I'd encountered before, I recall wondering if my Grandma Hogan's version even contained apples. (It did!) Grandma only baked that pie every so often. I don't remember her serving it at holiday meals; she would make it if one of her children requested it, or occasionally when she "just felt like pie." I didn't just enjoy Grandma's pie for its unique crust and its irresistible contents. To me, it embodied Grandma's attitude that not all aspects of life should be serious: sometimes, we should just eat, laugh, and enjoy. When we sang "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling" at my Grandma Hogan's 80th birthday party, I couldn't help but think of the sparkle I'd always seen in her gaze when she served or encountered dessert. I asked Grandma Hogan for her apple pie recipe when I was a sophomore in out-of-state college craving a taste of home, and she gave me her recipe. One of my sisters asked her for the recipe a couple of years later, and Grandma gave it to her. About four years after that, my sister and I discovered that our recipes featured slightly different quantities and different types of apples. Nevertheless, both versions had received rave reviews each time we had baked them. I have to admit that, over the years, I have added a few of my own tweaks to the version of the recipe I received. Even so, I think of Grandma Hogan every time I bake it. Sometimes the baking process ends in tears, but the pie experience always yields smiles and laughter. Grandma Hogan fought a long battle with Altzheimer's that was largely terrifying for her, but she managed to retain the childlike sense of lighthearted mischief that made her who she was until the end. I have to say, my sister and I believe that the differences in recipes were a result of the latter. Whatever the truth might be, Grandma herself sampled slices of what was once her own creation several times before her death last November. Each time, she commented that whoever had baked that pie sure knew what they were doing. I want to be remembered for this recipe because it's proof to me of the reality of love: that love lasts, wrapped tightly in positive memories, even after you don't even remember who you are. I want to see that sparkle that shone in Grandma Hogan's eyes in future generations.Food52I bought a pasta machine as a post breakup gift to myself last summer and that moment really is what started family dinner. Since that first pasta night we have done five or six and without fail, no matter when I make the dough or how early I begin shape the pasta, we will not eat before 11pm. I mostly make traditionally Italian if not more specifically Roman pasta dishes that I picked up while living in Rome in 2012: Bucatini all’Amatriciana, Ragu, Carbonara, occasionally delving into Umbrian Penne alla Norcina. I am fully a snob when it comes to pasta, and this leads us to the true hypocrisy of this post: I made meatballs. Quick recap on the meatball: Italians only serve them by themselves if they’re large, and when they’re small they usually go in soup. When the Italians immigrated to America at the turn of the 20th century they were actually spending less of their income on food then they were in Italy and thus eating more meat and the meatball “snowballed” for lack of a better word. I found a recipe for tiny meatballs last week that had tons of herbs and ricotta AND I could make them the day before dinner, so we put all prior rules and feelings about American meatballs in the bathroom. So these meatballs are a combination of a couple recipes that have all clearly been based off of Marcella Hazan’s recipe from her book Marcella’s Italian Kitchen. The last time I tried to make pasta sauce Ian yelled at me. It was arguably bad pasta sauce. Bad in the sense that it was fully edible and had anyone but me served it we all would have been more than happy, but it was bland, there was much too much sauce in relation to the amount of meat, the flavors didn’t combine right, it didn’t cook long enough, and we all have come to expect more from me. I was not going to let that happen again so I went back to my recipe hunting for making the perfect marinara sauce. Sourcing back to Marcella Hazan she claims that whole peeled tomatoes, a stick of butter, salt, and an onion, and those four things alone make the perfect sauce. Besides the fact that she’s a best-selling James Beard Award-winning food writer, her meatballs came out really good and I figured i’d give it a shot with my own tweaks. Makes 12-14 servings of sauce. Unless you’re feeding a small army or my friends that have apparently never eaten before, halve recipe or plan on freezing some of it.Food52That's a mouthful to say and eat, right? This was one of those recipes that got me good; I had a hunch that it would be great, but not the kind of great that would result in eating all four servings in 36 hours, give or take a few (it's definitely take, btw). It's the kind of great that captivates: you find yourself daydreaming during meetings, distracted by its lure while your kid is trying to tell you about their day, and unable to walk past the fridge without grabbing a spoon, scooping up an egregious amount, crumbling a few pistachios on top of the dainty mountain, and savoring every moment from the creamy tip of your tongue to the lingering toothsome texture when it's gone. Of course, quickly followed by the rationale that it was only a spoonful- until four servings were long gone. Without hyperbole, this is one of my favorite recipes. Wooed by the flavors of rich vanilla bean, warm saffron, sweet cardamom, and earthy pistachio, the dish casts its spell in texture: crunchy nuts, the snap of burnt honey, the viscosity of thick, luscious cream, and the mouthfeel of the pearl couscous that at first may surprise you, but ultimately leaves you thinking, "ah, that makes perfect sense."Food52Have you ever craved a mouthwatering BBQ pulled pork sandwich but hesitated because you didn't want to make a mountain of meat? Worry no more—I've got the perfect solution for you! This recipe is your golden ticket to a single, sublime sandwich, with just enough leftovers for round two. If you're fortunate enough to live near a local butcher, this is a fantastic opportunity to get acquainted. They can provide you with the ideal cut of meat for your pulled pork adventure. And if a butcher isn't in your neighborhood, no problem! Simply buy a large pork shoulder, dice what you need, and freeze the rest for future culinary exploits. What makes this recipe truly special is that it's essentially four recipes in one: you get a succulent pulled pork, a smoky BBQ spice rub, a rich BBQ sauce, and a crisp, refreshing slaw. It's a complete package that promises a feast for your senses. Enjoy!CookingLightWhen my sister Kaki laughed, a few age lines appeared around her mouth and eyes. We were rolling out holiday cookie dough in my kitchen on that last Christmas spent together, and because she was a dead ringer for our grandmother, a prescient thought occurred to me: “I know what she’s going to look like when she’s old.” Didn’t say it aloud. If I had, maybe life would be different, but that’s magical thinking for you. The first gingerbread man is credited to the court of Queen Elizabeth I, who favored important guests with a likeness baked as a cookie. Four centuries later, my sister, an artist and graphic designer, turned her own crisply browned wafers into an X-rated gender statement, her sense of humor always a little darker and definitely a lot dirtier than mine. The androgynous cookies swiftly developed body parts, with cinnamon red hots and sprinkles explicitly applied. She even smashed dough through a garlic press to create a hairy effect. Santa undoubtedly laugh-snorted his milk when he saw our offering next to the chimney later that night. Full-frontal cookies are Kaki’s holiday legacy to our family. Recently, I mailed vintage tin cutters and the recipe to a niece named in my sister’s honor after Kaki left us too soon, never destined to be old, though her naughty spirit lingers when I slide a batch of her mature-audience gingerbread into the oven this time of year.Food and WineMy friend Justin Smillie is one of those larger-than-life New York City restaurant characters who accrues nicknames like a billionaire compounds interest. He’s a big guy with a big personality, a chef whose cooking yields layers of big flavors. So it makes sense that the new hit at his Miami outpost of Upland is a big salad: It’s large-format, composed of pristine ingredients stacked vertically along the interior curve of a giant wooden bowl, and served with a generous crystal carafe of buttermilk ranch dressing. It turns heads in the dining room.At home, the dish is dinner party gold: Assemble it ahead of time in the biggest, prettiest bowl you own, and pass it around the table with tongs, or serve it tableside with a butler’s flair. Balance is key—you want sweet, sour, and salty flavors; crunchy, soft, and chewy textures; and to arrange the ingredients at various heights—but customize it as you like.My version includes shrimp, crab legs, avocado, six-minute eggs, pickled carrots and red onions, and roasted sweet potatoes. But you could go Greek with a garlicky skordalia sauce with roasted potatoes and beets. Or think Spain (sliced skirt steak, romesco, grilled scallions, toast rubbed with tomato). Or Super Bowl (wings, blue cheese, celery, pickled carrot, iceberg wedges, garlic bread).There are but four rules: A big salad requires lettuces, a unifying dressing, a sense of humor, and please, no dipping. This is salad, not crudité. Chances are if you’re a Food & Wine reader, you’re already the best dinner party host (and guest) among your friends. A big salad is a reputation builder, one of dozens of recipes and ideas in this Home Issue that will help you entertain and outfit your kitchen in style. So go ahead, dog-ear these pages. Invite some friends over for Saturday night. Set the table. Go big.
