Marcus Samuelsson

A restaurant kitchen can be a virtual United Nations, with a staff made up of people from around the world. A dishwasher at Aquavit who comes from Mali told me about the typical midday meal he had growing up: peanut stew made with onion, tomatoes, and spinach served over rice. His description was the starting point for this peanutty stew, an elegant interpretation of a dish eaten throughout West Africa every day.

The area in Harlem where I live is known as Little West Africa because of the huge concentration of immigrants from Senegal, Mali, and Nigeria who keep their heritage alive in the neighborhood's shops and restaurants. At the heart of this vibrant community is Les Embassades, our local bakery and café, where my neighbors gather to eat, visit, and hang out. The café is owned by my friend Abe and his wife, who came to America from Senegal in the 1980s. Abe is truly living the American dream: Not only does he own his own successful business, he helps newcomers find a place where they can feel at home in a strange new country.

This Senegalese-style stew is inspired by the many meals I've had at Les Embassades and features the typical flavors of West Africa—yams, peanuts, coconut milk, and morning glory, a green vegetable also known as water spinach or swamp cabbage.

The mixture known as nit'ir qibe, which begins with clarified butter, is kept handy in most Ethiopian kitchens to add flavor to meat and vegetable stews. In fact, virtually no meal in Ethiopia is made without nit'ir qibe, which gives the cooking its beautifully layered signature flavors. It also has a much longer shelf life than regular butter—an important consideration in poor man's cooking, where waste is not an option. The butter will solidify when chilled, but it will become liquid again when left at room temperature.

In Ethiopia, the preparation of berbere takes days—chilies are dried in the sun for three days, then ground in a mortar and pestle, mixed with ground spices, and set in the sun to dry again—and it is usually made in huge amounts.

Each Ethiopian family has its own recipe for this universal seasoning, with varying degrees of heat and spiciness. Traditionally, berbere is used to flavor Ethiopian stews, but I also like to use it as a rub for beef and lamb.

When I take people out for Ethiopian food for the first time, this chicken stew, called doro wett (also spelled doro we't, doro wat, and doro wet), is a great introduction. It's the first Ethiopian dish I ever had, and I immediately liked the tender meat, the spicy eggs, and the flavorful sauce laced with berbere and ginger. It's a great dish to make for people who haven't eaten African food before, because it's easy to understand and like.

Don't be alarmed when the sauce doesn't bind together and thicken like a traditional European-style sauce—it should in fact be liquidy and broken to soak into the injera it is served on.

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are from Marcus Samuelsson's book, Aquavit : And the New Scandinavian Cuisine Salads like this one are part of the Swedish smorgasbord enjoyed on special occasions such as New Year's.

Called skagen in Swedish, this salad is named for a Danish fishing village across the river from Sweden. It's a very traditional dish that appears on every smorgasbord table in the country. Here is our version, which includes smoked salmon, shrimp, and crabmeat. It makes a great lunch served with crusty French bread or whole-grain crispbread.

After lingonberry preserves, these pickled cucumbers are the most popular condiment in Scandinavia. They are a traditional accompaniment to Swedish Meatballs, simple salmon dishes, and roasts and other meats. They are even served with frankfurters sold at street kiosks, much like the sauerkraut that often tops the hot dogs sold here.