Hi readers, meet Arnold Myint, a chef and restaurateur (International Market, a tribute to his mom’s original restaurant of the same name). He’s a James Beard semifinalist and self-described “Nashville native, gay and Asian. A single dad, a chef that cooks, and a cook that eats.” Check out his cookbook, Family Thai, and his substack, A Hint of Myint.

In answer to the question “What do Thais really eat at home?” Chef Myint describes the pinnacle of Thai food: Stinky Herb Omelet, Fried Cured Mackerel, and Funky Shrimp Paste Dip: Cha-Om Omelet, Mackerel, and Grapi, the perfect culmination of bitter, herbaceous, and nutty. Read on to hear how he went from hating it as a kid to loving it now. It transports him back through memories of his childhood, his mother, and his culture, especially when he sits down with the aunties to chow down. Then, try his recipe.

At my restaurant, there are a couple of Aunties in the kitchen who have been around since my family opened fifty years ago. These ladies raised me. I grew up in the kitchen, and my palate and food vocabulary evolved because of it. The restaurant’s kitchen was always my playground, but what I loved (and still love) are the daily survival kits of random Tupperware and foil-wrapped delicacies that they would bring from home to snack on throughout the day.

This dish reflects my culture and identity, rather than what I serve my Western clientele, and to me, it answers the question, “What do Thais really eat?” I can’t think of an ensemble that resembles Thai home cooking better than a bitter and aggressively funky cha-om omelet, a fried salt-cured mackerel, and shrimp paste dip to top it all off. This, alongside a steaming hot bowl of rice, is the pinnacle of Thai food. The brininess of the shrimp paste balances the pungent and nutty scent of cha-om (or acacia leaf) and is mellowed out by perfectly fried, flaky mackerel.

In full transparency, I didn’t instantly grow up loving this dish. I actually loathed it, mainly because, quite simply, the dish stinks. On one particular family vacation to Thailand, after a grueling 24-hour travel day topped with jet lag, I recall my mother’s siblings hanging out while I was trying to sleep. With my eyes shut, I tossed and turned in the bedroom next to their celebratory reunion. Whiskey and ice cubes clanked amidst boisterous conversations. Though exhausted, my senses were overcome by the funk and stench of this “very Thai” meal.

This timestamp has stuck with me into my adulthood. And now that my mother has passed, it’s become a pivotal memory. As I continue to navigate my healing, my Aunties still occasionally pull out a foil-wrapped fish and small containers of shrimp paste dip for lunch. And now, instead of tossing and turning, I pull up a stool and join them for a nostalgic taste of comfort, family, and home.

The Recipe:

Cha-Om Omelet, Mackerel, and Grapi

Stinky Herb Omelet, Fried Cured Mackerel, and Funky Shrimp Paste Dip

Makes 1 (8-inch / 20 cm) omelet; serves 4

I’ve had people ask me, “What do Thais really eat at home?” This is the answer. I can’t think of an ensemble that resembles Thai home cooking more than this bitter and aggressively funky cha-om omelet, a fried salt-cured mackerel, and shrimp paste dip to top it all off. This, alongside a steaming hot bowl of rice, is the pinnacle of Thai home cooking. The brininess of the shrimp paste balances the pungent scent of cha-om and is mellowed out by perfectly fried, flaky mackerel. It’s the most classic combination and one of my favorite meals to make and eat. In certain seasons, cha-om is available fresh in the

produce section of Asian markets. However, the vacuum-sealed frozen version still delivers on cha-om’s distinct promise and lingering attributes. Cha-om, or acacia leaves, have a one-of-a-kind smell when raw that many people find off-putting, but it is reduced by cooking. They have a flavor that many of us can’t resist—bitter, herbaceous, and nutty. Go on, give it a try!

Keep in mind that when working with this herb, there are thorns on the stems, so be cautious when removing the fronds.

For the mackerel:

About 1 cup (240 ml) neutral oil, such as sunflower, for frying

1 (9-ounce / 255 g) package steamed, cured mackerel from the Asian market (2 mackerel), defrosted

For the omelet:

4 ounces (115 g) cha-om (acacia leaves) from 1 (8-ounce / 225 g) package from the Asian market, defrosted if frozen, plus more for serving

3 large eggs

1 teaspoon fish sauce

⅛ teaspoon ground white pepper

¼ teaspoon Magic Powder (aka Asian chicken bouillon)

2 tablespoons neutral oil, such as sunflower

For serving:

Nam Prik Grapi (Shrimp Paste Chile Dip, page 74)

Steamed rice (see page 36)

Fresh cilantro sprigs

Pork rinds

Sliced cucumber

Cabbage wedges

Fresh red Thai chiles

Thai eggplants

Turkey berry eggplants

Green beans

MAKE THE MACKEREL:

Pour oil to come ½ inch (12 mm) up the sides of a large, high-sided skillet. Heat over medium-high heat until simmering. Carefully lay the mackerel down in the pan away from you to avoid any oil splashes and cook, flipping once, until the outer skin is golden, about

6 minutes. (Alternatively, you can deep-fry the mackerel.)

MAKE THE OMELET:

Carefully remove the cha-om leaves from the stems using your hands, being cautious of the small thorns. In a large bowl, combine the cha-om leaves with the eggs, fish sauce,

white pepper, and magic powder (the quantity of leaves will seem much greater than the eggs, but that is fine).

Heat the oil in an 8-inch (20 cm) nonstick skillet over medium heat. Gently pour the omelet batter into the skillet. As the eggs begin to set, use a spatula to pull the edges of the omelet toward the center and let the eggs run underneath. Continue pulling until the bottom of the eggs are set but the surface is still runny, about 2 minutes.

Carefully flip the omelet in the pan, using a spatula like you would flip a pancake, and allow the top of the omelet to cook until both sides of the omelet are golden brown and the edges are crispy, another 1 to 2 minutes (or finish in the oven by baking the omelet at 325̊ F (165̊ C) until fully cooked, about 2 minutes).

Carefully slide the omelet from the skillet onto a clean cutting board and cut into small squares.

TO SERVE:

Place the omelet pieces onto a serving platter with the pan-fried mackerel, and serve with cha-om, nam prik grapi, steamed rice, cilantro, plus pork rinds, cucumber, cabbage, Thai chiles, Thai eggplant, turkey berry eggplant, and green beans for dipping.

Nam Prik Grapi

Shrimp Paste Chile Dip

Makes ¾ cup (205g)

12 fresh red Thai chiles

4 cloves garlic, peeled

½ teaspoon neutral oil, such as sunflower

2 tablespoons shrimp paste

2 (2-ounce / 55 g) disks of palm sugar

1 Thai eggplant, thinly sliced (about 2 ounces / 55 g), or ideally 12 fresh turkey berry eggplants from an Asian market, if available (sometimes called pea eggplants)

¼ cup (60 ml) fresh lime juice

Adjust a rack 5 to 6 inches (12 to 15cm) from your oven’s heat source and preheat the broiler.

In a small bowl, lightly toss the Thai chiles and garlic with the oil. Spread out the chiles and garlic on a baking pan and broil until toasted and slightly charred, 3 to 5 minutes.

Place the shrimp paste on a large piece of foil and close the edges around the paste to form a packet.

Broil until darker and pungent, 3 to 5 minutes.

Using a mortar with a pestle, pound the broiled chiles and garlic with the roasted shrimp paste and palm sugar until a coarse paste forms, about 3 minutes. Add the eggplant and lightly pound everything together, 1 to 2 minutes (the eggplant will still be chunky). Stir in the lime juice and transfer to a serving bowl.

Serve immediately or store in an airtight container (like a lidded glass jar) in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.

I’m heading to Florence TODAY with my family and am frantically refreshing my Italian on Duolingo and watching Love is Blind, Italy. I studied abroad molto tempo fa and can’t wait to go back. I apologize in advance to any Italians I may encounter. I will botch your language, but plan to try anyway. I’m super excited that I get to feature an incredible Italian baker today!

Alessandro Giannatempo, self-described recipe shapeshifter-making food queer again, is sharing a very special holiday dessert that celebrates his heritage and special bond with his nonna.

An Italian-born recipe developer, Alessandro now lives in London. His vibrant energy and warm smile drew me to find out more about him and his beautiful work. His Instagram is full of stunning recipes and his sparkling personality.

Alessandro knew he wanted to share a special holiday recipe, Nonna Lucia’s Sa Pabassinus, a raisin biscuit, but with her blessing to make it his own.

You’ll want to make Alessandro’s interpretation of his nonna’s recipe for the holidays. First, he’ll share his story.

After graduating from High school in Italy, where I studied architecture and history of art, I moved to London to study acting. Following a few tumultuous years, I ended up training as a pastry chef in bakeries and restaurants, where I finally found a space where I could play and interact with all the previous disciplines I’ve studied. Spending time away from home gifted me with time to start connecting the dots and building bridges between who I am and my family. I reconnected with my Italian heritage and therefore its cuisine. That’s when I knew I had to learn and explore all my family traditions and food, more deeply and tangibly. Very unconventionally, my family comes from all over the peninsula: covering Sardinia, Piedmont, Emilia Romagna, Lombardy, and Puglia. A true mix of north and south. So the research into my family’s culinary history is long and full of surprises.

The recipe I’m bringing you today is a reinterpretation of my Sardinian Nonna Lucia’s Sa Pabassinus, a raisin biscuit traditionally made during the winter celebrations. This iteration comes from giving in to the idea that recipes can morph and transform: I spoke about it with my Nonna, and she gave me her blessing to “rivisitarli a modo mio”, basically “make them my own”. So here is to embracing our heritage and its ever-changing nature to transmute into something different.

The recipe:

Alessandro and Nonna Lucia’s Sa Pabassinus:

Ingredients:

• 50 g. of raisins

• 50 g of almonds

• 50 g. of walnuts

• 250 g. of plain flour

• 75 g. of white sugar

• 1/2 teaspoon of baking powder

• fine sea salt 3 g. (a big pinch)

• 75 g. of Lard

• 1 egg

• zest of 1 orange and 1 lemon

• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Glaze:

• 1 egg white

• Pinch of saffron

• Pinch of caster sugar

• 120 g. of icing sugar

Instructions:

Start by soaking the raisins in warm water. Meanwhile, coarsely chop the almonds and walnuts.

In a bowl, whisk together the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. Add the lard and rub it in until a sandy texture is achieved. Add the egg, lemon, orange zest, and vanilla extract. Continue mixing until a rough dough forms.

Drain the raisins and add them to the dough together with the chopped nuts. Knead until you obtain a smooth, homogeneous dough. Wrap it in plastic wrap and place it in the refrigerator for at least one hour.

After resting, take the dough out and roll it out with a rolling pin on a lightly floured work surface to a thickness of about 1 cm. Cut diamond shapes using a knife or a cookie cutter. Rework the scraps to make more cookies until all the dough is used.

Place the cookies on a baking tray lined with parchment paper and bake in a preheated static oven at 180°C/356°F for 15–20 minutes.

Once baked, remove the papassini (diamond-shaped cookies) from the oven and let them cool completely.

Meanwhile, prepare the icing: grind the saffron with the caster sugar until you obtain a fine powder, then transfer it to a bowl. Add the egg whites and powdered sugar and mix until well combined.

Glaze the biscuits, add the hundreds and thousands of sprinkles, and place them on a rack to let the icing dry.

If you fancy going a step further, add extra powdered sugar to the remaining glaze until it becomes thick enough to pipe, then decorate using a piping bag — have fun and go wild.

So happy to have you at the table for this one, Pop-Tart nostalgia meets almond cream in an unexpectedly perfect remix.

Abi Balingit is a baker and author based in Brooklyn, New York. Her debut cookbook, Mayumu: Filipino American Desserts Remixed, won the 2024 James Beard Emerging Voice Award in Books. Check out her baking blog, The Dusky Kitchen. Also, peruse her IG. She’s as colorful and bright as her treats.

Abi shares the origin and her memories about developing this “Crazy Good” (Pop-Tarts slogan) recipe, followed by the recipe below.

In Abi’s own words:

I first made these Wild Berry Ube Pop-Tarts for Cake Zine’s Gaza relief bake sale in January 2024, and it’s one of those recipes that I’ve come back to again and again. It feels so nostalgic every time I open a box of Pop-Tarts and tear open those iconic silver wrappers. As a kid, I used to ration one of each pair and save it in a Ziploc bag for the next breakfast, just so that they would last longer. I remember especially savoring the edges where there were only icing and Technicolor sprinkles to nibble on. Even when I first moved to New York as a 22-year-old, I would stock the apartment I shared with my roommates, Milly and Lan, with the occasional box of frosted Pop-Tarts.

When I was developing the recipe for these tarts, my friend Madeline absolutely devoured the test batch I gave her. She still says it’s her favorite dessert that I’ve ever made! I had to surprise her and bake them for her going-away party this past August. No matter how many times I’ve made a dessert that someone said they enjoyed, it’s still a wonderful feeling that you can make someone else happy with something you’ve created. Sure, aspects of baking can be tedious (especially cleaning all the bowls when you don’t have a dishwasher!). But I love how tangible a gift it really is. I hope this recipe makes its way from your screen into your homes.

It’s such a delight to crush up the iconic squiggly-designed Pop-Tarts and see the blue and violet flecks interspersed in a food processor. Not to mention, it’s so much easier to make a tart shell out of Pop-Tart crumbs because the jam particles help to bind them when baked in the oven. The ube frangipane is a Filipino-French-inspired filling with the almonds complementing the nutty notes in the purple yam. The tad of nutmeg gives the filling a warm flavor that doesn’t overpower the delicate notes of ube. The acidity of the fresh raspberries, along with the extra crunch from sliced almonds on top, is perfect. With a sprinkle of powdered sugar, they’re ready to be served to people that you love.

Wild Berry Ube Pop-Tarts Recipe

Ingredients:

• 5 ⅓ cups Wild Berry Pop-Tart crumbs (1 whole Pop-Tart is worth a little over ⅓ cup of crumbs)

• 1 cup unsalted butter, room temperature

• 1 cup, plus 2 tablespoons, granulated sugar

• 2 large eggs, room temperature

• 1 large egg white, room temperature

• 2 ⅓ cups almond flour

• ¾ teaspoon kosher salt

• ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

• 1 tablespoon ube extract

• Fresh raspberries, whole

• Sliced almonds

• Powdered sugar, for dusting

Directions:

1. Position the oven rack in the middle of the oven and preheat it to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.

2. Pour ⅓ cup of Pop-Tart crumbs per 4-inch mini tart mold that has a removable bottom. Use the bottom of a cup to press the crumb mixture into the bottom and sides of each mold evenly.

3. Put 12 prepared molds on one lined baking sheet and the remaining 4 molds on the other one. Set aside.

4. Place the butter and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment. Beat on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, 3 to 4 minutes.

5. Add each whole egg and egg white one at a time. Scrape down the bottom and sides of the bowl with a rubber spatula.

6. Adjust the mixer to the lowest speed and stir in almond flour, kosher salt, ground nutmeg, and ube extract. Mix until well-combined, 2 to 3 minutes.

7. Scoop ¼ cup of the ube frangipane mixture into each prepared tart mold. Spread the frangipane evenly on top of the crumb crust. Top each tart with 3 fresh raspberries and a sprinkle of sliced almonds.

8. Bake one sheet at a time for 25 to 27 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center of one comes out clean and the edges are golden brown. Transfer the baking sheet to a wire rack to cool completely. Repeat the baking process for the remaining tarts.

9. Once the tarts are cooled, remove them from their molds, dust the tops with powdered sugar, and serve. Store any leftovers in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 3 days.

I discovered Victoria James through Cherry Bombe. I love what she stands for and the path she’s macheteing in a male-dominated industry. I just had to ask her some questions here on Art Basil.

Victoria is an international bestselling author, a James Beard nominee, the director of Beverage, and a Partner at Michelin-starred COTE, and the co-founder of WINE EMPOWERED: A non-profit organization that offers free wine classes to women and BIPOC individuals to help diversify the hospitality industry. Victoria has worked in restaurants since she was thir­teen, and at twenty-one became the youngest sommelier in the country.

She’s the author of DRINK PINK, A Celebration of Rosé, and WINE GIRL a memoir. She’s an avid activist in support of pregnant women and nursing mothers working in the restaurant, beverage, and hospitality industries, as well as an outspoken advocate against sexual harassment in these fields. She writes for Forbes, The Daily Beast, Esquire, Cosmopolitan, and Bon Appétit.

What was the spark moment that drew you to wine?

I grew up slinging pancakes at a greasy-spoon diner under the railroad tracks in New Jersey.

When I moved to New York for college, I picked up bartending shifts to pay the bills and found a dusty old copy of Wine for Dummies behind the register. I’d always thought wine was just alcohol. Suddenly, it was history, geography, myth. As a geek and story lover, I fell in love with how wine could alchemize everything I cared about—flavor, memory, and the way it brings people together like almost nothing else.

A bottle that broke your heart open?

When I was 21, we sold a bottle of 1947 Cheval Blanc to a famous guest. The team lost their minds—it was the Mona Lisa of wine, $45,000 for a single bottle, and we got to taste it! But the truth? It fell flat. That night, I trudged home to my six-floor walk-up on St. Mark’s Place and split a $15 Beaujolais with my boyfriend. And that bottle sang. It taught me that hype means nothing without the right context, the right people, the right place.

Best wine to bring to a dinner party that isn’t too show-offy?

Madeira. It’s kind of a baller thing. What kind of psycho brings dessert wine to a party!? This chick! The cool thing, too, is that it is quite thoughtful; it doesn’t go bad once opened, so your host can sip it that night, then again next week, next month, next year. And if you really want to win the room, find a vintage tied to something personal—an anniversary, a birth year.

The wine you’d give someone who says, “I don’t like wine.”

Txakoli. It’s wine in sneakers—sprightly, salty, fizzy. The rosé version is especially fun—we pour it at COTE and COQODAQ, often from magnums, which is basically Basque joy incarnate. And if all else fails, skip the glass and pour it straight into your mouth from a porron.

Death row: One glass and one plate—what’s on the table?

White Burgundy and roast chicken. I want something luxurious but also homey at the same time. When my sister and I first lived in New York, I was becoming a sommelier, and she was a student. We’d roast a chicken on Sundays, open a bottle, and talk late into the night. If I were dying, I’d want to remember those nights.

Do you think I’d have to ask a man in hospitality how he balances career and fatherhood?

Not unless you were writing satire. Men are asked about their “vision,” women are asked about their babysitters.

Have you encountered industry resistance when trying to balance work and motherhood?

Motherhood disrupts the myth of endless, self-sacrificial availability that restaurants worship. I had to teach myself that boundaries weren’t betrayal—they were crucial and made me better at my job and as a mom. When I’m with my girls, I’m with them. When I’m at work, I’m all in. Motherhood gave me laser focus, fire-hose efficiency, and a rock-solid moral compass. My daughters made me sharper at everything—though I do wish they also came with more sleep.

Is the growing acceptance of motherhood in hospitality a fundamental cultural shift, or performative?

It’s both. Real change is stirring, but let’s be honest—it only started because women got loud, candid, and, yes, a little scary. We spoke out in the New York Times. We built Wine Empowered. We spread the word. So we just have to keep doing that. My sister told me before I had my first daughter, “Make a restaurant for our daughters.” That’s the charge—to keep pushing until this industry truly belongs to the next generation.

Wine, baby bottles, restaurant chaos—what keeps you grounded?

The basics. Getting down on the floor with my kids. Rallying our staff before a long service. Remembering that wine isn’t about a tasting note, it’s about the people sharing the table with you.

You’ve accomplished so much. What are you working toward?

To leave this industry in a better state than I found it. To build restaurants where both guests and staff feel cared for, not consumed. And to keep telling stories that remind us: hospitality is about human connection, not just shiny awards—though those are nice too.

What’s on your Amaro mood board?

Well, COTE FERNET’s of course ;)

What does “taste memory” mean to you?

It’s not flavor, it’s feeling. A glass of Sancerre might bring back the first person you kissed and actually loved. Domaine Tempier makes me smile and cry at once—it reminds me of Lulu, its matriarch, who embodied joy until 102. Even outside wine, scent and taste transport us instantly. Leather in a glass can hurl me back to oiling my softball glove as a kid before a game I knew I’d lose but wanted to play anyway. Taste memory is proof that we carry entire lifetimes on our tongues.

Something from Wine Girl people don’t bring up—but you wish they would?

That, beyond the trauma, it’s a love letter. Messy, funny, tragic, yes—but also joyful. People cling to the darkness, but I wish more people would notice the absurdity and resilience, too. Even in chaos, there’s laughter, friendship, and sometimes a little bottle of wine you love so much.

I first discovered Natasha Pickowicz when I illustrated her for my ongoing series with The Cut, Carrying On, about the small ways we find happiness in the everyday. The amazing Emilia Petrarca interviewed her about her passion for dehydrating cherry blossoms, pickling kumquats in chamomile tea syrup, and candying grapefruit and orange peel in sparkly sugar.

Natasha is the author of More Than Cake: 100 Recipes Built for Pleasure and Community, a four-time Beard Foundation finalist, and a strong proponent of the philosophy that dessert spreads delight in a way that no other kind of dish can.

As an artist, I’m smitten with the beauty of her cakes and how they utilize natural elements like flowers. I’m absolutely tickled and impressed at the accuracy of her inside book cover Simpsons doodles, a reason to go to her book signings in addition to meeting her and taking her book home.

I asked Natasha to share a recipe that holds meaning for her, one that transcends the simple taste to evoke an experience, a moment in time, a memory associated with it. She chose one that uses “cool, slippery, fork-tender peaches,” her ideal dessert of the last push of summer, and pairs them with cream. She makes it with dwarf peaches from her parents’ tree, shipped across the country from California to New York to mingle with Natasha’s garden bounty, geranium, lemon verbena, mint…shiso.

I’ll let Natasha take it from here, and then share the recipe. Enjoy!

My parents have a bushy, broad dwarf peach tree growing right in front of the entrance to their home in San Diego. They grow other things too, like lemons, fennel, tomatoes, and rosemary, but the peach tree is definitely my favorite, and I think theirs, too. Every year, this tree generously produces hundreds of small, blushing, ping pong ball-sized fruits; they’re by far the best peaches I’ve ever eaten, and I’ve had a lot of incredible peaches.

When the peaches are about to reach peak ripeness, my parents ship me a big box of them, sometimes still hanging on their leafy, almond-scented branches. It’s always the best mail day of the year; before I even slice open the tape, I can smell their sweet funk pushing through the cardboard. The peaches are tender and sweet, but with a dignified acidity that most peaches, I’m sorry to say, simply don’t possess (I usually prefer nectarines for this reason).

They’re freestone, too, which means that the pit inside easily loosens and pops out with a twist of your fingers. Because the dwarf peaches separate so cleanly and easily into neat halves, I like to poach them, rather than chopping them up for a jam or a pie, which preserves their supple bowl-like shape. I also like to slip herbs from my garden into the poaching liquid, especially ones that pair beautifully with stone fruit, like geranium, lemon verbena, mint, shiso, or sometimes a beguiling mix of them all. In this way, my parents’ bounty joins my garden bounty. It becomes something more, a long-distance conversation between two coasts.

When I was little, I loved helping my parents prune and weed the vegetable garden that ran alongside the house. But it wasn’t until the winter of 2020, when I moved into my current home, that I started to garden myself, for the first time ever really. Even though I live in a small studio, I’m blessed with a backyard bigger than my actual apartment, with rose bushes, a fig tree, a lilac tree—jaw-dropping splendor for a single lady in the city. In the early spring, there are daffodils, tulips, and hyacinths. As soon as it gets warm enough, I direct sow lettuces, kale, herbs, radishes, and pea seeds into the freshly mulched soil.

Best of all, in the spring, summer, and fall (and honestly, sometimes even in the winter), I eat as many meals as possible outside on a long wooden table nestled into my raised beds, feeling the cool breezes and listening to the trilling birdsong and watching the darting shadows dance against the rows of squash and peppers. In this way, my backyard is an extension of my home. Everything tastes more delicious when I’m out there. It’s my living room, my dining room, and my rec room all in one. I would sleep outside if it weren’t for the mosquitoes (or the neighbors).

I entertain a lot. Big backyard ragers, cookouts, smaller dinner parties, brunches, tea with friends, snacks with friends, breakfast with friends. Even though I live in a studio, the yard allows me to have people over all the time, just the way I like it. And when it’s punishingly hot, I don’t stop having people over—I just tweak my menus to feel refreshing or reviving, so the desserts that I serve in my backyard are usually of the chilled or frozen variety.

A bowl of cool, slippery, fork-tender peaches? That’s my ideal dessert any time of the year, but it especially hits in that last push of summer. If you grew up loving canned fruit cocktail, the texture is nostalgic and comforting, but the flavor is altogether something else: so clear and bright they’re singing to you. They’re perfect on their own, but when friends are over I tend to show off: I’ll pour in a bit of eau de vie or mezcal, and top with a just barely thickened whipped cream. You could add crushed amaretti or a handful of granola, but please try it without first and you’ll see you don’t need it, not really—just the smooth, cold pleasures of the fruit and cream, with nothing else getting in the way.

PEACHES & CREAM

(Poached Small Peaches with Rose Geranium Syrup and Cream)

Ingredients

• Small peaches (enough to serve — plan for about 2–3 halves per person)

• 1 cup granulated white sugar

• 1 cup water

• 5–6 large rose geranium leaves, rinsed clean

• ½ cup heavy cream

1. Make the Rose Geranium Syrup

1. In a small pot, combine the sugar, water, and washed rose geranium leaves.

2. Place over very low heat and warm gently until the sugar has fully dissolved — you want the syrup warm, not boiling. Do not let it simmer.

2. Prepare the Peaches

1. Using a sharp knife, cut each peach in half by running the blade around the circumference from the stem to the blossom end.

2. Gently twist the halves in opposite directions to loosen from the stone.

3. Remove the stone.

4. Repeat with all the peaches.

3. Poach the Peaches

1. Carefully lower the peach halves into the hot syrup.

2. Keep the heat low so the syrup only steams gently — you should see a bubble or two breaking the surface, but not a simmer.

3. Poach the peaches for about 15 minutes, turning them occasionally so they cook evenly.

4. Check for doneness by sliding the tip of a small, sharp knife into a peach — it should glide in without resistance.

4. Cool and Peel the Peaches

1. Turn off the heat and let the peaches cool in the syrup until they reach room temperature.

2. Using a slotted spoon, remove a peach half and gently peel away the skin with your fingertips.

   • The skin should slip off easily.

   • If it resists, return the peaches to the syrup and poach for a few more minutes before trying again.

3. Repeat with all the peach halves.

Tip — Save the Skins: Lay the peach skins on a baking sheet and dry them in a cooling (but still warm) oven until translucent and slightly chewy. Use for snacking or as a garnish for cakes or custard.

5. Chill the Peaches

• Return the peeled peach halves to their syrup.

• Cover and refrigerate overnight to allow the flavors to deepen.

6. Prepare the Cream

1. Just before serving, pour the heavy cream into a chilled bowl.

2. Whisk slowly and steadily until the cream has thickened slightly — you want it to be pourable but with a little body (just short of floppy peaks).

3. If you accidentally overwhip, stir in 1 tablespoon of cream to loosen the texture.

7. Serve

1. Arrange the chilled poached peaches in a shallow serving bowl.

2. Spoon plenty of the syrup over them.

3. Drizzle generously with the softly whipped cream.

4. Serve immediately.

Extra Uses for the Syrup:

• Reuse for another batch of poached fruit.

• Stir into sparkling water or cocktails.

• Spoon over yogurt, pancakes, or ice cream.

Italy has a special place in my heart. I studied art for a semester abroad, in Florence. To this day, my host mother’s peas in homemade olive oil stand as one of the most memorable meals of my life, and my visit to the Aeolian Islands in Sicily as my favorite trip, even though especially since my friend and I missed the ferry and spent the night sleeping on a black sand beach beneath Stromboli.

Recently, I had the incredible opportunity to speak Fabrizia Lanza, an art historian who found her way back home to Sicily to join her mother at the Anna Tasca Lanza cooking school she founded. Fabrizia now directs the school as well as Cook the Farm, a program she founded to offer hands-on, place-based experiences rooted in immersion, connection, and regeneration. Check out her cookbooks, The Food of Sicily, and Coming Home to Sicily.

Nestled in the heart of rural Sicily, among wheat fields, olive groves, and vineyards, the school introduces students to Sicily’s deep-rooted food systems and agricultural traditions. Their teaching approach is grounded in regenerative continuity, honoring the past while making space for innovation, inclusivity, and ecological care.

The recipe below our interview is Fabrizia’s mother’s version of cassata siciliana, a traditional Sicilian sponge cake.

Tell us about your recipe.

This isn’t the story of me cooking next to my mother. Growing up, my mother had a cook in the house. I was an only child, and this cook was a little bit my nanny, my babysitter, my grown-up sister. There wasn't this picture of my mother and me cooking together, learning next to her elbow. I was away from Palermo by 18. I earned my PhD in art history. I came back when I was 42. My mother had opened the cooking school.

It was complicated, because working with your mother is not always easy, but also a fantastic journey of feelings, of new rediscovery. When you're 18, you're aware, but at the same time, you don't think like when you are 40 or 50. All the things that I had tasted or seen or ways of doing things came back to me, so I stayed.

My mother taught me Cassata. It's not a complicated recipe; it requires perfect ingredients and some patience. It’s something that I've always thought of her, and I also love to do it. In Sicily, sweets are overly sweet. My mother taught me to slow down on sugar, and this makes the Cassata we make at the school particularly delicious. It's very articulate and engaging in terms of flavor. That was my mother's legacy for me.

Did being with her at the cooking school bring you closer?

I don't know, honestly, in the sense that, for me, it was a rediscovery. And it was huge emotionally. I had the chance to assist during my mother's illness because she, after a few years, started to be not so great. She had dementia and Parkinson’s. It was a blessing that I came back. I would have been very sad if all this had happened without me here. I had a chance to re-establish a relationship between her and me, although we were never apart. But, you know, I left when I was 18, and I had a husband, I had two kids, I had a career. I was distant, let's say. When I came back, we started again.

You spent your childhood in the city, but also spent time in the countryside near vineyards, olive groves, and wheat fields. Did you start Cook the Farm to connect the kitchen with the fields?

We lived in Palermo because the schools were in Palermo. The place is very remote. It's not a place where you grow up unless you are the son of a villager. We used to go there for holidays, for the harvest, with my grandparents. We in Sicily are deeply connected to the land. The produce when I was growing up was absolutely seasonal, grown nearby. You wouldn't buy certain stuff if it wasn’t in season. We received fruits and vegetables from the countryside, from Regalia, where the school is. Every week, somebody would bring us stuff, and then we would go to the market. The markets were very local. It was in the 70s. Italy, and Sicily even more so, was still very agrarian, as it had been for centuries.

Cook the Farm started when I moved to Sicily and started living on the farm. I still had a lot of questions. Unless you grow as a farmer, you don’t know why an onion tastes better in October than in June. Or why we should plant certain things at certain moments of the year, and so on. This was a world governed by men, by farmers, who are the worst communicators on Earth. Every time I had a question, I’d ask, and because I own my little farm, I would say, But is this better? Why is this better? I never got a satisfying response.

So I said, Well, now I'm going to nail this down. And I started ingredient after ingredient to understand what growing that stuff meant, stuff like wheat or almonds or tomatoes, whatever, and what effect the growing process, the farming process, had on the flavor of things. That was very, very, very interesting to me. Cook the Farm started because I had all these questions. I had some answers, and I wanted to share this particular knowledge, which, if you don't live on a farm or are in a city, you have no idea about.

What compelled you to write your cookbook?

A cookbook is something you do because it's like pulling out what you've done, where you are, and showing it to the world. Coming Home was my first cookbook. It was done with two other lovely people who were interning at the school, Kate Winslow and Guy Rosino. It was my rediscovery of Sicilian flavors. My mother had passed away. I was running a school completely alone, and I think it felt like a moment to put a pen in my hands and gather what I had learned so far, all these curiosities, all these questions, and all these emotions that had arisen and committed and shuffled my heart until then.

Cassata Siciliana

“My mother taught me to slow down on sugar, and this makes the Cassata we make at the school particularly delicious. It's very articulate and engaging in terms of flavor. That was my mother's legacy for me.”

Serves: 10–12

Ingredients

Sponge Cake

• 6 eggs, at room temperature

• 150 g (¾ cup) sugar

• 150 g (1 cup minus 1 tablespoon) flour, sifted

• 1 teaspoon orange or lemon zest (optional)

• 45 ml (3 tablespoons) limoncello or Grand Marnier (or bergamotto liquor, as in the lesson)

Ricotta Cream

• 1 kg (2.2 lbs / 35 oz) fresh ricotta, drained in the fridge for 2 days

• 200 g (1 cup) granulated or powdered sugar

Marzipan

• 350 g (about 3 cups) almond flour

• 150 g (1¼ cups) ground pistachios (optional)

• 200 g (1 cup) powdered sugar

• 5 ml (1 teaspoon) honey

• 20 ml (2 tablespoons) water

• Pureed chard (blanched) for coloring — add 1 tablespoon at a time until desired shade is reached

For garnish: Candied fruit

Icing

• 300 g (2½ cups) confectioners’ sugar

• Juice of 1–2 lemons, as needed

Equipment

• 23 cm (9-inch) springform pan

• 23 cm (9-inch) cassata pan or sloped-edge pie pan

• Mixing bowls

• Electric beater

• Plastic wrap

• Rolling pin

• Whisk or rubber spatula

• Serrated knife

Preparation in Advance

• Bake and cool the sponge cake.

• Drain the ricotta for 2 days in the refrigerator.

• Measure and weigh all marzipan ingredients.

• Measure sugar for ricotta cream (you may not need all).

Step-by-Step Method

1. Make the Sponge Cake

1. Preheat oven to 160°C (320°F).

2. Butter and flour a 9-inch springform pan.

3. Beat eggs in an electric mixer for 5 minutes.

4. Add sugar and zest (if using) and continue beating until mixture forms a ribbon when poured — about 20 minutes, until tripled in volume.

5. In 2–3 additions, gently fold in sifted flour with a rubber spatula.

6. Pour into prepared pan and bake 25–30 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

7. Cool completely on a rack.

2. Make the Marzipan

1. Combine almond flour, ground pistachios (if using), and sugar in a bowl.

2. Make a well in the center; add honey, water, and a few drops of food coloring or pureed chard.

3. Mix and knead until smooth and uniform in color.

4. Lightly dust the workspace with powdered sugar.

5. Roll dough into long strips about ½ cm (¼ inch) thick and long enough to wrap around the pan edges.

6. Wrap unused marzipan in plastic and refrigerate.

3. Prepare the Pan

1. Line a 23 cm (9-inch) cassata pan or sloped pie pan with plastic wrap.

2. Place marzipan strips along the inside edge, slightly overlapping ends, pressing to form a smooth layer.

4. Assemble the Base

1. Slice sponge cake vertically into 1¼ cm (½ inch) slices. Trim crusts.

2. Arrange a layer of cake slices in the bottom of the pan.

3. Drizzle with liqueur.

5. Make Ricotta Cream

1. In a bowl, combine the drained ricotta and sugar.

2. Whip with a whisk or spatula until smooth and evenly blended.

6. Layer the Cassata

1. Spread ricotta cream evenly over the sponge base.

2. Add another layer of cake slices on top.

3. Drizzle again with liqueur.

4. Press down firmly to compact.

7. Invert and Unmold

1. Place a large serving plate over the pan.

2. Flip the cake onto the plate, pressing firmly on the bottom to seal.

3. Remove the pan and peel away the plastic wrap.

8. Make the Icing

1. Sift half the confectioners’ sugar into a bowl.

2. Add half the lemon juice; stir until smooth.

3. Sift in remaining sugar and add remaining lemon juice, adjusting until you have a thin, glossy, spreadable icing.

9. Ice and Decorate

1. Spread icing over the top of the cassata, leaving green marzipan sides visible.

   • If marzipan is not colored, ice the entire cake.

2. Decorate with whole or sliced candied fruit.

3. Refrigerate for 1–2 hours to set before serving.

Suggested Timing (Approx. 1 hr 10 min active)

• Intro: 5 min

• Make marzipan: 10–15 min

• Line pan with plastic: 5 min

• Mix ricotta cream: 10 min

• Roll marzipan strips: 5–10 min

• Line the pan: 5 min

• Slice cake: 10 min

• Layer cake/liqueur/ricotta/cake: 10–15 min

• Invert and press: 2 min

• Make glaze: 5–10 min

• Decorate with glaze and fruit: 5–10 min

• Outro: 5 min

This isn’t a daily Substack—it’s more like a dinner party I throw when there’s something special to justify a gathering. I’m so glad you pulled up a chair for this one. Today Rōze Traore, the internationally renowned chef, hotelier, and model shares his incredible story along with a stunning recipe from his homeland.

Originally from Côte d’Ivoire, Traore enrolled at Le Cordon Bleu at 18. From there, he went on to work in some of the world’s most prestigious kitchens, including Eleven Madison Park and The NoMad.

Traore’s hotel, La Fourchette de Roze, is located in Grand-Bassam, Côte d’Ivoire, a historic gem of a town in West Africa. Grand-Bassam, once the country’s capital and a bustling trading post, now boasts beautiful beach resorts.

What moves me most about Traore isn’t his refined culinary vision but his commitment to bringing fresh, beautiful food to communities in need while introducing the world to Ivorian flavors and perspectives through elevated dining experiences. Some of his clients include Veuve Clicquot and the Guggenheim.

I’m honored to share Traore’s story along with a recipe that holds deep personal meaning for him.

What’s significant to you about your Seared Chilean Sea Bass with Celery Root Purée and Golden Mushrooms?

I've always felt a strong connection with the ocean. I have vivid memories of being on the beach with my grandparents in Grand-Bassam. My father was an offshore fisherman who would spend months at sea. He’d come home with stories and cook for us. A lot of my earliest food memories come from those moments.

Living in Côte d'Ivoire during part of my childhood also shaped my relationship with food—it was a way to bring people together. Sometimes, it even sparked a fight when your older cousin ate all the meat from the stew, lol.

So seafood has always been in my DNA, both emotionally and culturally. This dish is special because it’s similar to the way my father would prepare the fish he brought home. It’s fresh and delicate—sophisticated, but still simple enough for a weeknight meal.

I’m always trying to elevate flavors by blending cultures and techniques. This dish does just that, bringing together the essence of Côte d’Ivoire with classic French methods that many readers might be more familiar with.

What drew you to the kitchen?

As a newborn I had a congenital condition. At 12, I underwent open-heart surgery. During long periods of recovery, the kitchen became a place of healing.

After high school, I decided to dive deeper into the culinary arts and enrolled at Le Cordon Bleu. It felt like a natural next step—turning to cooking not just for comfort, but as a creative outlet and career.

You do meaningful work bringing fresh food and the pleasure of eating well to communities in need. What sparked that passion?

A lack of transparency around food.

Food should be a basic right—people shouldn't go hungry. Beyond access, there’s also a need for education about produce, growing food, and understanding how food communicates.

As a chef, I see it as part of my purpose to use what I’ve learned to bring insight, access, and inspiration to others—and to help them experience food as both nourishment and joy.

Seared Chilean Sea Bass with Celery Root Purée, Golden Mushrooms, and Creamy Charred Corn with Mint Blossom & Herbs

Chef’s Notes:

“Taking each ingredient to its furthest extent is what cooking is about. Transforming something like celery root—a hard, knobby vegetable—into something silky and complex is the magic. Same goes for corn. I see so many possibilities just looking at a whole cob. This dish brings together memory, technique, and love for flavor.”
— Rōze Traore

Ingredients

For the Sea Bass

• 3 oz Chilean Sea Bass (per portion)

• 2 sprigs of Thyme

• 1 sprig of Rosemary

• 2 cloves of Garlic, smashed

• 1 Lemon (for zest and juice)

• Grapeseed or Canola Oil

• 1 tbsp Butter

• Salt

For the Celery Root Purée

• 1 Celery Root, trimmed, cleaned, and sliced into ½-inch pieces

• 1 White Onion, peeled and julienned

• 1 Yukon Gold Potato, peeled and cut into 1-inch pieces

• 1 Lemongrass stalk

• 1 Bay Leaf

• 1 sprig Thyme

• ¼ cup White Wine

• 1 quart Milk

• 1 tsp Butter

• Grapeseed Oil

• Salt

For the Golden Mushrooms

• 1 bunch of Beech Mushrooms, separated

• Grapeseed Oil

• Salt & Cracked Pepper

• 1 Lemon (zest and wedge)

• Chiffonade of Parsley and Chives

For the Creamy Charred Corn

• 2 ears of Fresh Corn, husked

• 1 quart of Milk

• 1 tsp Butter

• 4 sprigs Thyme (plus extra picked leaves)

• ¼ cup Parmesan, grated

• Parmesan Rind

• Salt

• Parsley, chiffonade

• Mint Blossoms

• Lemon Zest

• Lemon Verbena

• 4 Whole Black Peppercorns

• Grapeseed Oil

Equipment Needed

• Blender

• 2 sauté pans

• Medium saucepot

Instructions

Step 1: Make the Celery Root Purée

1. In a large pan over low-medium heat, drizzle oil to coat the bottom.

2. Add julienned onions and a pinch of salt. Let them sweat (no browning) for ~3 minutes.

3. Add the white wine and cook off the alcohol (~2 minutes).

4. Add celery root, potato, and milk to the pan. Season lightly with salt.

5. Add lemongrass, bay leaf, and thyme sprig.

6. Simmer on low-medium heat for 25–30 minutes, or until vegetables are fork-tender and translucent.

7. Remove solids (discard bay leaf, lemongrass, and thyme). Transfer celery root, potato, and onions to a blender.

8. Add ¼ cup of the cooking liquid. Blend on high until smooth.

9. With the blender running, add 1 tsp butter. Season to taste with salt. Set aside and keep warm.

Step 2: Prepare the Golden Mushrooms

1. Separate mushrooms into individual stems.

2. Preheat a pan over medium heat.

3. Drizzle oil to coat the bottom of the pan. Add mushrooms, season with salt and cracked pepper.

4. Sauté for about 5 minutes until golden brown.

5. Turn off the heat. Zest a lemon over the mushrooms and squeeze in a wedge of juice.

6. Finish with a chiffonade of parsley and chives. Set aside and keep warm.

Step 3: Sear the Sea Bass

1. Season the fish with salt on both sides.

2. Preheat a pan over low heat. Drizzle with oil to coat the bottom.

3. Place the fish skin-side down in the pan.

4. Cook for 4–5 minutes until the skin is golden and crisp.

5. Flip the fish. Add 1 tbsp butter, thyme, rosemary, and smashed garlic.

6. Once the butter foams, baste the fish continuously for 2 minutes.

7. Remove from pan. Set aside for plating.

Step 4: Make the Creamy Charred Corn

1. Cut one corn cob into quarters. In a saucepot, combine:

   • 1 quart of milk

   • 2 thyme sprigs

   • Parmesan rind

   • 4 whole black peppercorns

   • Corn cob pieces

2. Simmer over low heat for 15 minutes to reduce the stock by half.

3. Turn off the heat and steep lemon verbena in the warm liquid.

4. Meanwhile, cut the kernels off both ears of corn.

5. Heat a separate pan over medium heat. Drizzle in oil and add corn kernels.

6. Add a pinch of salt and picked thyme. Let the corn char lightly for ~5 minutes.

7. Slowly ladle in the corn stock to deglaze the pan.

8. Add ¼ cup grated Parmesan and 1 tsp butter. Stir to combine.

9. Finish with a chiffonade of parsley and a few mint blossoms. Add lemon zest just before serving.

To Plate

1. Spoon celery root purée into the center of the plate.

2. Place the seared sea bass on top or just beside the purée.

3. Scatter golden mushrooms around or atop the fish.

4. Add a generous spoonful of creamy charred corn on the side.

5. Garnish with additional herbs or mint blossoms if desired.

I invited Casey Elsass to kick off my new feature—a rapid-fire (pun intended) Q&A revealing his food life and soul secrets. His latest book is everywhere right now. A Brooklyn-based food writer and recipe developer, Casey’s known as the “cookbook doula,” having helped birth over twenty titles as co-author, ghostwriter, and unlicensed therapist. His work appears regularly in Bon Appétit, Food Network Kitchen, Delish, and Food52. What Can I Bring? Recipes to Help You Live Your Guest Life is getting rave reviews. Casey shares 75 recipes— your road map for crowd-pleasing party fare. “The only thing you’ll be taking home is the title of MVP—Most Valuable Partygoer.”

Here are Casey’s complete answers to my questions.

Kitchen Fire: Heat-of-the-Moment Snack-cidents, and Secrets Left on the Burner Too Long.

A time you ruined a meal and pretended it was intentional

In my 20s I invited friends over for a special dinner, carefully made a vegetable galette, slid it in the oven, and that was the night I learned that parchment paper and wax paper are not interchangeable. So after fanning away the smoke and realizing the galette wasn't going to unstick, I made it a dinner of snacky apps, salad, and dessert.

The item you hoard in your pantry for the apocalypse

I always have a backup jar of Lao Gan Ma in the cupboard to immediately replace the one in the fridge.

A risky culinary move

I love showing up to a party with Jell-O shots. (Page 57 in my book!) It's a big swing, but it always makes the night more fun.

Go-to food for emotional damage control

There is nothing more joyful than buying a box of Cinnamon Life or Honey Bunches of Oats, grabbing a jug of milk and a big mixing bowl, and eating the entire box in one sitting.

A “weird combo,” you swear by

A handful of roasted peanuts and Swedish Fish. Sweet, salty, crunchy, chewy, no notes.

Follow Casey on Ig to see what he’s up to.

I have a treat for you today, literally. I’ll be sharing a story and sweet recipe from Camilla Wynne.

Camilla, a Toronto-based award-winning cookbook author, recipe developer, pastry chef, teacher, and Master Food Preserver, shares her grandmother’s once-thought-lost recipe for Buchty (also known as Czech buns) with Pur Cassis (black currant jam).

Growing up, Camilla adored her paternal grandmother’s Buchty. Her grandmother was an exceptional baker who could “whip up a layered dacquoise that looked like it came from a Viennese bakery with just a fork.”

Her grandmother’s dough was rich, often filled with her beloved black currant jam, and had a nearly donut-like texture due to the butter she lavished on the raised buns before they went into the oven.

After her grandmother passed, Camilla felt a deep sense of loss, thinking she would never have the cherished recipe. For years, she believed it was gone. Then, one day, while going through a pile of inherited clippings, she was overjoyed to find her grandmother’s handwritten recipe. Camilla shares this special dish with us today.

Share Art Basil: Memories and Meals, Illustrated

Check out Camilla’s books: Nature’s Candy, the definitive cookbook for candying fruit and baking with it, and Jam, a preserving and baking book packed full of delicious jams and indulgent desserts.

Buchty (Czech Buns with Black Currant Jam)
Makes 16 buns

Ingredients
250 mL (1 cup) whole milk, divided
1 envelope active dry yeast
50 g (¼ cup) + 1½ tsp sugar, divided, plus more for serving
115 g (½ cup) unsalted butter
¼ tsp kosher salt
1 egg, lightly beaten
Zest of ½ a lemon
350 g (2½ cups) all-purpose flour
½ cup black currant jam
115 g (½ cup) unsalted butter, melted (for topping)

Instructions

1. Warm 60 mL (¼ cup) of milk in a small saucepan or the microwave until just warm.

2. In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook, combine the warmed milk, yeast, and 1 1/2 teaspoons of sugar. Let stand until foamy, about 10 minutes.

3. Meanwhile, in a medium saucepan over medium heat, combine the remaining milk, sugar, butter, and salt. Stir until butter is melted. Remove from heat and let cool to lukewarm.

4. Add the yeast mixture and mix on low to combine. Add egg, lemon zest, and flour. Mix on medium-low until dough is shiny and pliable, 10–15 minutes. If it's sticky, gradually add up to 70g (½ cup) more flour.

5. Transfer the dough to a greased bowl, cover it with plastic wrap and a tea towel, and let it rise in a warm, draft-free place until doubled in size, about 1 hour. (Or refrigerate overnight and bring to room temp before proceeding.)

6. Grease an 8-inch square baking pan with butter.

7. Punch down dough and turn onto a floured surface. Pat into a 12-inch square and cut into 16 squares.

8. Place ½ tbsp jam in the center of each. Fold dough over filling to form a ball. Arrange the seams side up in the pan in four rows of four. Cover with buttered plastic and a tea towel. Let rise for 30 minutes.

9. Preheat oven to 375°F. Set a wire rack over a rimmed baking sheet.

10. Pour melted butter evenly over risen dough. Bake for 25–30 minutes, until golden brown.

11. Let it cool briefly in the pan, then turn it out onto a rack and sprinkle with sugar.

Serve warm or at room temperature. Best the day they’re made. To reheat the next day, wrap it in foil and warm in a 300°F oven for 10– 15 minutes.

Pur Cassis (Black Currant Jam)
From Preservation Society Home Preserves by Camilla Wynne
Makes five 250 mL (half-pint) jars

Ingredients
1.2 kg (2.7 lbs) black currants (fresh or frozen)
600 g (3 cups) sugar
60 g (¼ cup) lemon juice

Instructions

1. In a large preserving pot, combine currants, sugar, and lemon juice. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat, stirring often.

2. As soon as it boils, transfer to a heatproof bowl. Press a round of parchment onto the surface and refrigerate overnight.

3. The next day, preheat the oven to 250°F and sterilize jars by heating for at least 20 minutes. Have new lids ready.

4. Return the mixture to the pot and boil vigorously, stirring frequently, until it has set.

   
   Tip: When bubbles sputter violently and froth subsides, test for doneness by placing a spoonful on a frozen plate. After 2 minutes, it should form a skin that wrinkles when prodded.

5. Remove from the heat and ladle into a heatproof jug. Pour into prepared jars, leaving headspace. Wipe the rims, apply the lids, and seal them tightly. Invert jars for 1–2 minutes.

6. Cool 24 hours. Check seals before storing in a cool, dark place for up to a year.

Subscribe for free, recommend it to a friend, and share tasty posts to support my work.

This feature is especially close to my heart because I got to chat with my dear friend Erin Gleeson. We’ve been friends since 2003, when we met on the rooftop of our building in New York City. We were both in grad school—Erin at SVA, me at Columbia—trying to figure out our artistic sh*t.

Back then, we’d collaborate on art projects just for fun. We danced to Outkast’s “Hey Ya” with our crew, picnicked at The Met Opera in Central Park, and hosted parties in our apartments (Erin once hosted a ‘ball party’ with all circular foods. I used to host fondue parties with some crazy skewers of stuff. See below). We went to each other’s friends’ parties, including my oldest friend Jonathan’s rooftop screening of The Big Lebowski. Eventually, they got married and moved to California, where she started a little photo project called The Forest Feast, which turned into five best-selling cookbooks, products, and a Substack Forest Feast Supper Club (where she’s posting an interview with me today). Oh, and they had three kids and now live in Wisconsin.

Read the full interview with Erin below. These photos are from my archive!

The Watercolor Feast is Erin’s new book. Pre-order it now.

It’s about making time for creativity through watercolor painting, even if you’ve never painted before. PRE-ORDER here!

While Erin has flourished in her passions, she’s always been the magical person you see with that big smile, creative ideas, and delicious food to share.

1. Favorite meal of the day?

Breakfast! I look forward to my morning coffee, buttered sourdough toast, and fruit!

2. The most versatile vegetable?

If there’s one vegetable we almost always have in the fridge, it’s broccoli. I’ll put it in scrambled eggs, marinara, a Beyond burger brumble for tacos, roast it, steam it, etc. It can fit into many different types of weeknight dinners, and my kids usually eat it!

3. What is your favorite thing to cook or prep?

If I am making dinner for myself, I'll make a sort of antipasto platter. Snacks for dinner are my jam! I'll include roasted slices of eggplant, a good cheese like goat gouda or triple cream brie, cherry tomatoes, quickly sautéed broccoli rabe, baguette and olives.

4. Your kid’s favorite snack?

My kids are always starving when they get home from school at 3 pm, so we look for something substantial. We often do avocado toast, veggie burger sliders on Hawaiian rolls, or a big tray of nachos with cheddar cheese and guacamole.

5. Your parent’s go-to recipe from the orchard?

Growing up on an apple orchard, we made everything imaginable with apples! Dried apple rings, apple butter, apple cinnamon coffee cake... But my favorite was always a simple apple pie with ice cream.

6. The first dish made and posted for Forest Feast?

Love this question! It was Figs and Peppered Honey posted in November 2011.

Do you remember the Short and Sweet (is that what it was called?) personal project we worked on together for a minute in Brooklyn? It reminds me of that. And the watercolor lettering title in this post was very much inspired by you, Sam!! A version of this "recipe" ended up in my first book. Recipes that are not really recipes and more like "ideas" are always my favorite. In my new book, The Watercolor Feast, for each watercolor tutorial, there is an accompanying "recipe idea". So, after you paint that tomato, you can make a pomegranate salsa with it.

7. Hot watercolor tip?

Sprinkle coarse salt on wet paint for a fun effect when it dries! Food + Art = more fun! For the lemon painting tutorial in the book, I used this technique to evoke the dimpled lemon peel texture.

8. Favorite family trip location?

We spent about a month in Portugal a couple of years ago when working on The Forest Feast Mediterranean, and I loved our time there. We were in the city, on farms, and at the beach—everything I needed! I dream of someday living in a house with a colorful tile exterior like the ones we saw there.

9. Midnight Snack?

Dates with peanut butter.

10. What is the best meal to have at a restaurant (brunch, lunch, dinner)?

Well, I'd probably choose dinner these days, but growing up, my family always went out for brunch (and rarely dinner). We had a standing Sunday morning date with whatever relatives were in town (I have a huge family) to go to Hank's Creekside Cafe in Santa Rosa, CA. It was my grandma's favorite spot. We'd often have so many cousins that we'd have to wait an hour for a big table! But they'd give us a cup of coffee, and we'd chat and sit outside with the paper while we waited- it was all part of the experience. Over the years, the restaurant owners became family friends, and it's still a spot I love going back to when I'm home in Sonoma County.

Peter Som, a CFDA/Vogue Fashion Fund finalist and two-time CFDA Emerging Designer Award nominee (you may wear his designs or have seen them on Michelle Obama, Beyoncé, and Scarlett Johansson, to name a few) frequently posts on his culinary-focused vertical, The Extra Taste, which occupies a unique space at the intersection of fashion, food, and design.

Peter’s new cookbook FAMILY STYLE: Elegant Everyday Recipes Inspired by Home and Heritage was ignited by his California upbringing, his Chinese heritage, and cooking with his mother and grandmother.

For me, cooking is a reminder of who you are, its comfort and memory—and I want each bite of one of my recipes to not only be full of flavor and delicious—but to tell a story. My Grandmother has been gone 20 years, but through food I’ll always feel connected to her.

When Peter was an up-and-coming fashion designer, he attended the Met Gala—the premier fête of the fashion scene. The spectacle of glittering gowns and flashing cameras was both dazzling and daunting. Alone in his tux, sweating nervously, he skipped the after-parties, opting instead for a quiet cab ride home.

Hungry, he found a lonely bag of week-old carrots in his fridge, tossed them with olive oil, and mistakenly roasted them at 450°F instead of 400°F. The result? Perfectly tender, caramelized, and charred in all the right places—carrots. A drizzle of honey and gochujang sealed the deal. At 11 p.m., Peter had his after-party—Gala carrots were born. A Cindarella transformation.

During Peter’s high-octane fashion years, and still today, Peter uses cooking as a way to align, focus, and decompress.

Charred Carrots with Gochujang Honey Butter (aka Met Gala Carrots)

This recipe doesn’t require duress or fancy dress. Hot Tip: Use multicolored carrots if they’re available!

Ingredients:

1. 11⁄2 pounds carrots (about 15 carrots), trimmed

2. 1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil

3. Kosher salt

4. Freshly ground black pepper

5. 2 tablespoons honey

6. 2 tablespoons unsalted butter

7. 2 tablespoons gochujang

8. 1⁄2 cup roughly chopped toasted hazelnuts (optional)

9. 1 teaspoon grated orange zest

10. Flaky sea salt, for finishing

11. Flat-leaf parsley leaves for garnish (optional)

Instructions:

Preheat the oven to 450°F with a rack in the top third of the oven. Line

a rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.

Cut any larger carrots in half lengthwise and put them all on the prepared baking sheet. Drizzle with the olive oil, season with 1 teaspoon

kosher salt and 1⁄2 teaspoon pepper, and use your hands to mix so that the carrots are evenly coated. Spread out in a single layer. Roast

for 20 to 25 minutes, tossing the carrots and rotating the pan halfway through or until the carrots are tender and just charred in spots. While the carrots are roasting, combine the honey, butter, and gochujang in a small microwave-safe bowl and microwave for 1 minute or until the butter is melted. Whisk to combine.

When the carrots are done, remove them from the oven and immediately pour the gochujang mixture atop them. Use tongs to toss so the carrots are thoroughly coated. Transfer to a serving platter, sprinkle the hazelnuts atop, if using, finish with the orange zest and flaky sea salt, and garnish with fresh parsley, if you like. Serve warm or at room temperature.

I’m excited to finally meet Jessie in NYC at her book launch in a couple of weeks. Thinking in Watercolor: A Daily Practice to Unlock Your Creativity & Discover Your Inner Artist, comes out from Artisan on March 4th. Jessie also has a Substack: La Vie en Watercolor, A creative deep-dive into illustration, watercolor, and seeing like an artist. She’s authored multiple books and worked with a roster of world-class clients. I’m amazed that she does all that and is also a bilingual comedian. I’m excited to share her bite-sized Q&A!

Jessie mentions her favorite restaurant, L'ÉBAUCHOIR. Their roasted butternut with spinach pesto sounds like an absolute dream and makes me want to book a trip to Paris right now!

She also mentions that her must-have kitchen tool is the Oxo Good Grips Citrus Zester. So I figured I’d share the link in case you’re feeling zesty.

Please meet Jeff Gordinier, California native and author of X Saves the World and Hungry: Eating, Road-tripping, and Risking It All with the Greatest Chef in the World. Jeff is Esquire’s Food and Drinks editor and a frequent contributor to The New York Times, among other publications. While he rubs elbows with some of the world’s greatest chefs and stands in the center of food culture, his passion for food started right in his parents’ kitchen, where he still returns to create the egg dishes his family relishes, especially non-fussy Sunshine Eggs, with “deliciousness and hue that will lift your spirits.”

I grew up in an egg family. For whatever reasons, having to do with metabolism, tradition, or long-forgotten French ancestry, my fellow Gordiniers and I do not wake each morning craving bran muffins or granola. (I had a brief fling with millet, but it didn’t stick.) We eat eggs. Daily. Religiously. We felt vindicated when the U.S. Food and Drug Administration recently capitulated to common sense and declared eggs a “healthy” thing to eat. However, we are less thrilled about how much we’re paying for a dozen.

My mother and father live in Laguna Beach, California. They are 82- and 83-years-old, respectively. When my wife and I drive south from Los Angeles to visit them with our 6-year-old twins — and perhaps with one or both of my older children, who are 19 and 22 — we anticipate morning gridlock around the kitchen stove. Eggs will be cooked in a variety of ways, and we’ve learned to wait our turn. My father might fry up a couple, over easy, or make an omelet; either way, he’ll go ham with the hot sauce. My mother might scramble some eggs for herself and crank out homemade Egg McMuffins for the kids. (Double-toast the English muffins, and lavishly butter both halves. Prosciutto is way better than Canadian bacon, but there’s no shame in American cheese.) I wait and watch. Everything I know about cooking eggs I learned from thousands of hours of observing my parents — as well as one Jedi-level training session with Jacques Pépin at his home kitchen in Connecticut in 2011.

I like to go last. I wait for everyone else in the family to fix breakfast, and then I gingerly step up to the stove. Lately, I’ve been going back to something I call Sunshine Eggs. It’s a sloppy mess, but I’m still obsessively precise about how I cook it, so it’s best if I do so alone. I call it Sunshine Eggs because the yellow of the egg yolks merges with the yellow of the Peruvian aji amarillo sauce, giving the dish a kind of summertime brightness. (Peru has a vast universe of salsas, as I have learned from my friend JuanMa Calderón, the chef behind the great Peruvian restaurants Celeste and La Royal in the Boston area.)

My family also believes in the divine romantic chemistry between eggs and potatoes; I inherited this article of faith. With Sunshine Eggs, the potatoes and the eggs are not forced to occupy separate areas of the plate. Go ahead and scramble them together. They consummate their love for each other, and everybody wins. There’s plenty of flavor from the garlic and the chives, and a bountiful spattering of the Peruvian hot sauce gives the dish an undercurrent of spiciness that we Californians can’t seem to live without. Just as potatoes and eggs are meant to be partners, I find that my morning coffee tastes a little bit better if my breakfast manages to incorporate the zing of salsa.

The other day, in Laguna Beach, I watched my father blanketing an omelet with salsa verde. He grew up on the Jersey Shore, but we moved to Southern California in 1978, and it didn’t take long for him to adopt the local customs. “Now,” he told me, “I can’t imagine having breakfast without salsa.” Meanwhile, my father watched me peeling a leftover baked russet for Sunshine Eggs; he asked me what I was doing. “I always save an extra baked potato for breakfast the next day,” I told him. “I do the same thing,” he said.

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Ingredients:

• A baked russet potato

• Olive oil

• Kosher salt

• Two eggs

• A clove of minced garlic

• A fistful of chives, chopped

• Aji Amarillo sauce

• Sour cream

Directions:

During the preceding evening, if you happen to be baking russet potatoes for dinner, bake an extra one. (One hour at 400 degrees works for me if the potatoes are medium-sized.) Leave the extra one in the refrigerator overnight. (Doing this seems to loosen the skin surrounding the potato.)

The next morning, peel the skin off the potato. (Yes, I love potato skins. But for some reason, I find that the leftover spud crisps up better in a pan without the skin — the jagged exposed rockfaces of the tuber soak up a little olive oil and turn golden brown.) Slice the potato into rough chunks, or just use your fingers. Symmetry is not the objective. You want both small and large chunks. (You can also use half a russet potato if a whole one seems too much.)

Heat a non-stick pan with a generous amount of olive oil — a bit of a pool, even. Leave the heat on medium-low. Drop the potato chunks into the hot oil. Turn them occasionally with a wooden spoon. Watch for their surfaces to get golden. Be careful not to let them burn.

Meanwhile, your mise en place is standing by: You have (1) one ramekin with a minced garlic clove, (2) another ramekin with chopped chives, (3) a bowl with two whisked eggs, seasoned with a pinch of salt and ready for scrambling, (4) a spoon and a jar of aji amarillo sauce.

Now this part needs to go fast so that you don’t burn the garlic.

Dump the minced garlic into the pan with the potatoes and spin it around very fast with a wooden spoon. Then pour in the whisked eggs. Then the chives. Then splash in two or three or even four generous spoonfuls of the Peruvian sauce. Boom, boom, boom, boom. (The sauce is a bit spicy, yes, but the other ingredients in this mess tend to counteract the heat, so don’t hold back. That Peruvian chili pepper is the star attraction here.)

Scramble everything together quickly, folding and flipping so that the ingredients mix.

Slide that into a bowl. Add a spoonful of sour cream on the side as a condiment.

It will not necessarily look pretty — this is not a classic French omelet, after all — but its deliciousness and its hue will lift your spirits.

Happy almost New Year. I just wanted to tell you a little bit about why I started Art Basil. I am fascinated with the significant events and memories that food sparks. What we cherish about a recipe goes beyond its taste—it’s about the experiences it evokes and the people who share it with us.

Through illustration, I aim to distill the memories and meaning food holds, removing it from its original context and reimagining it as something lasting. Each post is a labor of love, more like a special meal than something served daily or even weekly. I hope that every piece resonates deeply, like a dish prepared with care and intention.

With Art Basil, I celebrate these connections, using art to explore how food shapes our stories, relationships, and sense of self.

Thank you so much for joining me at my table. Art Basil is free so tell a friend, and recommend. The more the merrier.

Marti Buckley is an award-winning author, culinary expert, TV host, and journalist in San Sebastián, Spain. She writes for outlets, including Condé Nast, National Geographic Traveller, Food & Wine, and Travel & Leisure. She teaches, photographs, and translates Spanish-English (books and articles, specializing in food and wine).

Check out her books about Basque cuisine— The Book of Pintxos and Basque Country, and her blog, Travel, Cook, Eat.

Marti Buckley’s bite-sized Q + A: SNACK!

1. Midnight Snack: My homemade refried beans (cumin, oregano, paprika) with melted cheese, spicy sauce, and scallions.

2. Best Food City: Besides where I live (San Sebastian), where I’m from (New Orleans).

3. Favorite Meal of the Day: Dinner! It’s when I’m hungriest.

4. Favorite Restaurant: Asador Etxebarri in Basque Country.

5. Must-Have Kitchen Tool: A sharp santoku and a KUHN RIKON peeler.

6. Fridge Must-Have: Dill pickles.

7. Pantry Must-Have: Freshly ground dark roast coffee beans.

8. Cooking Mishap: Burning cookies in the oven when I overestimate my ability to not forget about them.

9. Overrated: Ramen. Sorry, not sorry!

10. Item One on the Shopping List: Cheese, always (hard, grated, fancy, meaty, cheap, like five different kinds at a time).

Here’s a fun 4-item gift guide with items that serve two purposes:

1. Being delicious and useful

2. Being aesthetically special (ie. cool packaging)

Your host can tuck your gift away for themselves to enjoy later or can pop it onto the table that night.

I made you, some downloadable handlettered Thank You Cards to go with these! They’re 5X7. Print them in color, or just let the color illustration print in grayscale.

1. Edisto Gold Honey

2. west~bourne: The Starter Pack

   I found these beautiful bottles in Camilla Marcus’s shop. Remember her Maitake Mushroom Semolina Milanese with Shallot-Herb Labneh? I love this set of Extra Virgin Organic Avocado Oil and Refined Avocado Oil for finishing and cooking. The host could keep it for themselves or put it right on the table that night.

3. Brindisa Perello Gordal Pitted Olives

   I had to include these Gordal olives (green, crisp, and fleshy with a touch of heat from the guindilla chilies in the marinade). The tin design is timeless. They’d be pretty on a shelf or great for the hors-d'oeuvres table. I found the Amazon link and links to International shops that sell them but there’s a note about tins getting dented so maybe try a local gourmet market.

4. Sardine Chocolate in Blue Net

   Oh my goodness, I just love these. It’s the cutest gift ever. They’re in this adorable shop Vestige that you could explore for other gifts while you’re there. Cluizel, a family-owned French Chocolate brand is worth checking out for more gifts.

   

   

My usual posts are like feasts—labor-intensive, and time-consuming, but always a joy to prepare and serve to you. This new series is a “snack.”

I’m thrilled to bring back Aran Goyoaga, who previously shared her Amama Miran's Flan.

Here are the links the Seattle-based restaurants Aran mentions:

• Homer

• Phở Bắc

Here’s Aran’s amazing Flan recipe + feature:

My usual posts are like feasts—labor-intensive, and time-consuming, but always a joy to prepare and serve to you. This new series is a “snack.”

I’m thrilled to bring back Grace Farris, who previously shared her Roasted Butternut Squash Quesadillas—a simple, comforting vegetarian recipe that helped her through medical school.

And here are links to the Texas restaurants Grace mentions:

• Fonda San Miguel (Austin)

• Mi Tierra (San Antonio)

Links for Grace’s pantry must-have: San Marzano whole peeled tomatoes to use in Marcella Hazan’s tomato sauce recipe.

Lastly, Grace’s favorite pandemic purchase: the Moccamaster Coffee Maker.

Julia Turshen is a chef and New York Times bestselling cookbook author living with her spouse, Grace, and their many pets in the Hudson Valley. Julia teaches, volunteers, and runs a newsletter and podcast. Her latest cookbook is What Goes with What. I love Julia’s essays, interviews with her mom, childhood memories, and accessible recipes and techniques.

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This quote sums up the new book:

Everyone who cooks has a certain intuition about what works and tastes good, and the only way to learn to trust your instincts is to keep cooking and eating what you like to cook.

Warmth and generosity shine through every page. Leafing through it, you feel like Julia is standing beside you in the kitchen, patiently encouraging you to learn to trust in your own abilities.

Julia’s passion for cooking is inextricably linked to love, both for making food and for sharing it with those she holds dear. She encourages us to love those things, too. I asked Julia to share a personally significant recipe. She chose her Roasted Squash Agrodolce:

When I think of squash, I think of working at a vegetable farm. I love harvesting squash—the vines become almost a jungle and it's like a scavenger hunt to find the squash." Delicata is so sweet and so easy to prepare—no peeling needed. And the flavor is rich and wonderful. I like sharing the easiest possible root to flavor whenever I can.

In 2021, Julia took off her author hat and stepped onto the farm. She relished being outside, working with her hands, and being part of a team. The experience reminded her that there are people behind every ingredient we use in our meals. For a time, she was one of them.

I asked Julia about her favorite context for cooking:

…an average weeknight quick dinner for me and Grace—I love cooking that’s just part of day-to-day life.  Julia tells me that this recipe is for any time but especially as a holiday side dish since it goes well with everything and can be made ahead and served at room temperature which creates a lot of ease for us home cooks.

ROASTED SQUASH AGRODOLCE

Delicata squash is my favorite winter squash because it doesn’t have to be peeled, its thin skin is easy to cut through, and it tastes great (win, win, win). Roasting it for a little while to start and then tossing it with a mixture of vinegar, honey, and garlic and cooking it for a bit longer yields a slightly sour-and-sweet (“agrodolce”) dish. It’s just as wonderful served warm as at room temperature, making it a great make-ahead option. Feel free to top the squash with roasted nuts, herbs, something creamy (crème fraîche, labneh . . . whatever!), or dried fruit (golden raisins would be great) . . . or serve as is!

Serves: 4 as a side dish.

• Preheat your oven to 425° F.

• Thinly slice off and discard the ends of the squash. Cut each squash lengthwise in half. Use a spoon to scrape out and discard the seeds, then cut each squash crosswise into half-moon pieces that are about 1⁄4 inch thick.

• Place the squash on a sheet pan, drizzle with the olive oil, sprinkle with a large pinch of salt, toss everything together, and spread the squash out in an even layer.

• Roast, stirring occasionally, until the squash is just tender and beginning to brown about 20 minutes.

• While the squash is roasting, whisk together: vinegar, honey, and garlic in a small bowl.

• Drizzle the vinegar mixture over the almost-done squash and toss well to combine.

• Continue to roast until the squash is a little bit glazed and a bit more browned, about 5 minutes.

• Transfer to a serving platter and serve hot or at room temperature.

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