California Cuisine

I love crunchy fennel and peppery arugula dressed with a slightly sweet dressing made from Meyer lemons—a fresh-tasting pick-me-up. Meyer lemons are only available in the wintertime, so if you can’t find them, use regular lemon juice and replace a third of it with fresh orange juice.

"Oven-fried" fish fingers, coated in panko and pumpkin seeds, are the perfect taco filling.

This California-style burger was tested numerous times to perfect and ensure that the patties are crisp, firm, tasty, and delicious. The combination of rolled oats, raw walnuts, chia seeds, and flaxseed meal will keep you totally full on protein and fiber. Top with delicious avocado slices, and you've got a veggie burger unlike any you've ever tasted! The patties will last up to a week, refrigerated.

Toss the first juicy, sweet cherries of the season into this salad, along with rotisserie chicken and a vibrant creamy horseradish dressing.

The Zuni roast chicken depends on three things, beginning with the small size of the bird. Don't substitute a jumbo roaster—it will be too lean and won't tolerate high heat, which is the second requirement of the method. Small chickens, 2-3/4 to 3-1/2 pounds, flourish at high heat, roasting quickly and evenly, and, with lots of skin per ounce of meat, they are virtually designed to stay succulent. Your store may not promote this size for roasting, but let them know you'd like it. I used to ask for a whole fryer, but since many people don't want to cut up their own chickens for frying (or anything else), those smaller birds rarely make it to the display case intact; most are sacrificed to the "parts" market. But it is no secret that a whole fryer makes a great roaster—it's the size of bird favored for popular spit-roasted chickens to-go. It ought to return to retail cases. The third requirement is salting the bird at least 24 hours in advance. This improves flavor, keeps it moist, and makes it tender. We don't bother trussing the chicken—I want as much skin as possible to blister and color. And we don't rub the chicken with extra fat, trusting its own skin to provide enough. But if the chicken is about method, the bread salad is more about recipe. Sort of a scrappy extramural stuffing, it is a warm mix of crispy, tender, and chewy chunks of bread, a little slivered garlic and scallion, a scatter of currants and pine nuts, and a handful of greens, all moistened with vinaigrette and chicken drippings.

This all-green salad is studded with creamy avocado, crunchy cucumbers, and asparagus, and punctuated by tons of fresh dill and basil. The varied shades of green look like spring in a bowl.

This is a true weekend-long project—and that's a good thing. Seasoning, cooking, and crisping the meat over the course of three days mean you don't have to spend hours in the kitchen the day you're hosting a big meal. In fact, the extra time your pork spends in the refrigerator only improves the taste. This is the perfect-for-a-party pork that gives you plenty of time to drink a beer and watch (or play) a game or two before grilling up crispy, tender slabs of pork shoulder for a crowd.

Cabeza—or beef cheek—tacos are some of the best things this planet has to offer as food. I ate so many of these and other tacos growing up in both L.A. and Orange County that it became part of me and, in a way, prepared me to cook my own tacos. Splash some salsa verde on there, and that's it: SoCal, and especially L.A., on a plate.

Green Goddess Dressing is a perfect example of the magic of anchovies—they amplify and deepen the herbal flavors in this sauce without ever announcing their presence. For more recipes and tips, see our Homemade Salad Dressing Primer.

This dressing is flavored with the fresh taste of herbs. It would be lovely as a sauce for poached fish and chicken or boiled shrimp.

The popular version of fish tacos—as opposed to those made with grilled fish, native to Mexico—is believed to have originated in Southern California, where there is a strong Mexican influence on cooking and plenty of coastline for reeling in fish. They are garnished with a variety of piquant salsas and relishes and usually crema, the Mexican equivalent of sour cream; these are topped with a sour cream–based sauce, spiked with smoky chipotle chiles.

The best way to serve this northern California specialty is on a table lined with newspapers. Here, boiled Dungeness crab is roasted in the shell in a cast-iron pan over a wood fire. It is equally wonderful roasted in a wood-fired oven. The deep, rich flavor of the roasted crab is extraordinary, especially when served with Wood Roasted Artichokes (page 105).

Savory is possibly the most underappreciated herb in this country. I fell in love with it many years back when I was cooking in France. There, it’s used in the traditional seasoning mix herbes de Provence and added to all types of stews, ragoûts, and sauces. Its aroma—earthy, slightly sweet, and a little bit peppery—reminds me of the brush-covered hillsides where we played growing up. Winter savory, summer savory’s seasonal opposite, is more robust in flavor but would be a fine substitute in this recipe. If you can’t find either of the savories, substitute a combination of equal amounts of thyme, rosemary, and mint. This isn’t a difficult dish to make, but it does require some last-minute multitasking. Have your prepared ingredients—or, as we say in the kitchen, your mise en place—ready to go. Be sure that your herbs are chopped, the vinaigrette is made, the crème fraîche is mixed, and your seasonings are in reach. This dish is a great way to initiate the unconverted to the Church of the Fava Bean. The potatoes and favas are mashed together with butter and finished with pea shoots and a vibrant Meyer lemon salsa. The seared halibut goes on top with a dollop of savory crème fraîche.

Trying to come up with a new sugar cookie recipe is like trying to reinvent the wheel. Over the years I’ve tried, but, inevitably, I always come back to this one from Chez Panisse Desserts by Lindsay Shere. Sometimes I like to top the sugar cookies with a little black pepper, fennel seeds, candied ginger, or lavender sugar, but here they’re embellished with candied tangelo zest to complement the “Creamsicle.”

This cake was a collaboration of sorts between my husband and my pastry chef Roxana Jullapat (don’t ask!). I love this cake so much that, when it came time to think about my wedding cake, I wasn’t concerned with the flowers on top or the color of the icing; all I knew was that I wanted to serve this incredible hazelnut–brown butter cake. A simple recipe of ground hazelnuts, egg whites, and sugar combined with brown butter results in a moist, rich cake with a delicate, slightly chewy crust. Little did I know, it would take 25 pounds of hazelnuts, 25 pounds of brown butter, and 150 eggs to make a cake big enough to feed our 140 friends and family.

Brian Wolff is the chef de cuisine and resident pickler at Lucques. Every time I turn around, he’s got something in the vinegar, like shell beans, cherries, or tiny onions. His pickled raisins are delicious and make a great last-minute condiment. Keep a jar in the refrigerator; if you have a terrine or leftover roast chicken or pork, these raisins make a wonderful sweet-and-sour topping.

I associate chestnuts with winter scenes that while I live in Southern California exist only in my imagination: snuggling up by the fireplace while the snow falls lightly and chestnuts roast on that proverbial open fire. One Christmas Eve, after a few hot toddies and with visions of chestnuts dancing in my head, I revisited my family’s traditional stuffing, determined to make my winter chestnut obsession a reality. For me, the stuffing, not the turkey or roast beef, has always been the highlight of holiday feasts. In fact, when I was a kid, one of my big culinary promotions was when I finally got to take charge of the stuffing. For the first time, my mom gave me carte blanche with the spice cabinet. I pillaged her Spice Island jars and doctored up the Pepperidge Farm box mix, experimenting with how to make things taste better. Now, as a chef, I’ve learned that seasoning is one of the keys to making all things, stuffing included, taste their best. Good stuffing starts with a great loaf of bread, torn into croutons, tossed with a generous amount of olive oil, and baked until crispy on the outside and soft in the center. Then I add lots of onion, pancetta, rosemary, fennel, chile, thyme, lemon zest—and chestnuts, of course. The biggest mistake people make at home is underseasoning their stuffing. Don’t be afraid to spice it up with plenty of vegetables, herbs, and seasonings. And remember to taste as you go.

During my college years, I’d return home to Los Angeles every summer and promptly—you guessed it—look for a restaurant job. One summer, I did a stage at L.A.’s premier French restaurant, L’Orangerie. I started my stage in the pastry kitchen with Chef Yves. He taught me the classic techniques of crème brûlée, chocolate puff pastry, and soufflés made to order. But my favorite of his desserts was sautéed apples with caramel sauce and crème anglaise. A little less formal and traditional than the rest of his repertoire, that dish was simple, straightforward, and all about the apples. To make our own version of Chef Yves’s apples at Lucques, we cut the apples in half, toss them with lots of butter, cinnamon, brown sugar, and Calvados, and roast them, basting all the time, until they are a deep golden brown and glistening with spicy juices. With a scoop of cinnamon ice cream melting over the apples, this easy-to-make dessert is an elegant way to finish a winter feast.

I’m not sure which parent I’m indebted to for this recipe. Probably both. When my mother met my father, she was neither a practiced diner nor an experienced cook. To rectify the situation and satisfy his own culinary demands, my father gave my mother a copy of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking as soon as they were married. When I was growing up, this was one of my favorite recipes from that book. I served my own interpretation of the dish at one of our first Sunday suppers at Lucques. First I browned the chicken thighs and slathered them in a quick-to-make mustard-and-breadcrumb combo and then roasted them on a bed of braised leeks. The chicken emerges from the oven crisp and brown, while the leeks become tender, and permeated with the flavors of the chicken.

When I was chef de cuisine at Campanile, I had to make brisket every Friday for the weekend brunch menu. Pounds and pounds of it passed through the hot ovens and sat resting on the counter before it was put away in the refrigerator. Sometimes I’d hear someone whisper, “Hide the brisket, she’s coming.” Nancy Silverton, the owner, would suddenly appear from around the corner, fingers poised to pilfer the fatty top layer from the roast. It was so rich and addictive, we couldn’t blame her. When you buy your brisket, don’t let your butcher cut away that top fatty layer; it adds essential flavor and keeps the brisket from drying out. Look for a brisket sold “point-on”—that triangular end is the most tender and flavorful part of the meat. You don’t have to serve both sauces with the brisket, but I think it’s super delicious that way. One bite gets an herby, acidic note of salsa verde and the next one rewards you with a fiesty horseradish cream. When I made this dish at home, my husband, brother-in-law, and best friend managed to polish off the entire 6-pound brisket by themselves while watching a single basketball game. I was shocked. It’s always better to make more brisket rather than less. And even if your friends don’t have as big appetites as mine do, you’ll be happy to have the leftovers for sandwiches or hash the next day.

This is one of those salads that I can’t stop eating once I start. It’s thirst quenching, crunchy, and downright addictive. The juice from the pomegranate binds with the olive and hazelnut oils to make a bright, acidic dressing for the peppery arugula and sweet persimmons. Juicing your own pomegranates is easy, but if you’re not careful, it can result in some embarrassing mishaps. One night at Lucques, a customer asked for a pomegranate martini. Bartender Soren Banks, having seen a bowl of pomegranates in the kitchen, happily agreed to make her one. He rushed back to the kitchen for a quick juicing lesson, and then back to the bar. Following what he interpreted to be my instructions, he proceeded to spray himself and all the customers at the bar with the bright-red juice. Fortunately, everyone was more amused than angry, especially after a free round of pomegranate martinis (juiced this time in the kitchen). See Fall Market Report (page 205) for the best way to juice a pomegranate.

During my last year in high school, we were given 2 weeks off from classes for “senior projects.” While my peers pursued scuba diving, rock climbing, sailing, and photography, I headed to Ma Maison, the culinary pinnacle of Los Angeles, circa 1984. Being a girl in a French restaurant in 1984, I was led straight to the pastry kitchen. When I arrived, my fear of being in the way was quickly put to rest; the pastry chef had just been fired, and the sous-chef, Aisha, was running the show all alone. In no time at all, she had me making doughs, whipping mousses, and filling tart shells. Thrilled with my newfound pastry skills, I rushed home every day after work to re-create those desserts for my family. One of the first things I learned to make that spring was a classic lemon tart with a pâte sucrée crust. The first time I tried it at home, my chocoholic sister begged me to add some chocolate. I refused and stuck to the classic French recipe. But one day, when her birthday rolled around, I gave in to her suggestion. I melted some bittersweet chocolate, spread it over the baked crust, and waited for it to solidify. Nervously, I poured the warm lemon curd over and waited to see if it would work. It was the first time I’d ever deviated from a pastry recipe, and I was terrified I might ruin it. To Jessica’s delight (and mine, too), it was even better than the original. To this day, whenever this tart is on the Lucques menu, Jessica gloats, proud of our lemon-chocolate collaboration.