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We like this steak served with sauteed mushrooms and polenta, but it would also be great with a green salad or Parmesan Steak Fries (page 83). And since it’s made with commonly available ingredients, you can enjoy it year-round.

You can mix and match the listed ingredients to create your own version of this main-course salad. We used store-bought roasted turkey, but chicken also works well.

Here’s another recipe Jill and I discovered in France (you know how they love their cute little finger foods). These rolls are light and refreshing, making them great for parties, barbecues, or picnics—anywhere you need something that’s easy to transport and fun to eat.

Here is the Vietnamese version of the familiar Chinese egg drop soup. At its heart is a base of onion and tomato, which is cooked down to concentrate flavors and impart a lovely color. The pork adds richness, and so do the eggs, which also contribute a creamy finish to round out the tangy notes. This soup was a weekly standard at our family dinner table, and my mom would sometimes substitute tofu cubes for the pork to vary the flavor. When I have extra time, I mince the pork by hand for an authentic touch. For instructions on how to do it, see page 69.

One of the distinctive aspects of eating Vietnamese food is the large plate of lettuce and herbs that accompanies many grilled and fried dishes. For example, Sizzling Crepes (page 274) would be incomplete without the texture, flavor, and color of the lettuce, herbs, and cucumber that arrive with them. It is this final layering of cooked and raw ingredients that contributes to the uniqueness of Vietnamese food. Select lettuces with pliable leaves. Butter, red or green leaf, or soft varieties of romaine are ideal. Baby lettuces make a beautiful presentation and usually don’t need to be torn into smaller pieces. Always avoid crisp lettuces and those without broad leaves, such as oak leaf. They don’t wrap well. This plate can accompany any Vietnamese dish that is typically eaten with vegetable and herb garnishes. In the case of the herbs, a minimum of cilantro and mint must be included. Some foods taste particularly good with certain herbs, however, so specific recipes may suggest including red perilla, Vietnamese balm, fish mint, or sorrel. For details on these herbs, see page 17.

It is hard to imagine the Viet table without water spinach (a.k.a. morning glory in English, rau muông in Vietnamese, and ong choy in Cantonese; illustrated on page 174), a long, tubular leafy green that is part of the lifeblood of the country and appears in many guises. The tender tops with their pointy leaves are often boiled or stir-fried. The hollow stems are sometimes laboriously split into slender pieces, dropped in water to curl, and then the crunchy raw spirals are used as a garnish for certain noodle dishes, such as Crab and Shrimp Rice Noodle Soup (page 215); as a bed for a beef stir-fry; or as a lightly dressed salad. Water spinach is also pickled. Even today my parents become wistful at the mention of a rustic meal of boiled rau muông, soup prepared from the left over cooking liquid, a heady fish kho, and rice. So, it was a sad moment when we arrived in the United States to discover that we could not afford water spinach, which cost nearly two dollars a pound and was not widely available. What had once been an everyday vegetable was suddenly a splurge. When my parents did buy it, my mother would stir-fry the greens with garlic and fermented shrimp sauce (mâm tôm) and finish the dish with lots of lime. Aromatic, earthy, and tangy, the traditional combination was a comforting reminder of our culinary roots. Nowadays, rau muông is thankfully much less expensive and is easily found at Chinese and Southeast Asian markets. During the peak summer season, prices are downright cheap. Here are two options for stir-frying the bounty: first, the soulful dish of my youth, followed by a more modern preparation flavored with garlic and oyster sauce, which pairs well with Eastern and Western dishes (try it with a steak). If you can’t find water spinach, Western spinach can be used for either of the two stir-fries that follow.

We use this stock for Pumpkin Soup (page 29) but you can use it for any vegetable-based soup of your liking. The addition of canela in the stock works well with the pumpkin and adds a slightly warm, spicy note to the base.

The best cocktail conversations are light, easy, and entertaining—and cocktail party food ought to follow suit. Inspired by an appetizer I enjoyed at New York City’s BLT Steak, I tossed cubes of raw tuna with avocado, citrus juice, wasabi paste, and a touch of sesame oil and served the mix in ceramic spoons instead of on a plate. As simple to prepare as it is to eat, each Tuna Spoon contains just a mouthful—custom-made to enjoy with cocktails.

Flank steak has to be pretty much the best thing this side of getting a foot rub while drinking a root beer float. But it’s tough. It’s ornery. There is a common strategy to making flank steak supple enough to eat without popping your jaw out of joint: marinating. I’ve made coffee and ginger marinades, lime and tequila marinades, smoked salt and chile pepper marinades, vinegar and sugar marinades, you name it. Every time, great steak. But think of the poor steak: a wonderful, flavor-packed piece of meat subjugated to intense acids and sugars and salts. What if you’re a purist, racked with guilt? The flank steak puts you in a quandary. How do we get the elemental flavor out of a meat that resists the teeth? As usual, the solution to every quandary is to think outside the box, or in this case, outside the pan. The two simple tricks to this dish (if you can call steak seared on a giant block of salt a dish) are cutting the meat thin, against the grain, and cooking it fast at a high temperature. Oh, and don’t cook it on indifferent steel, but on a block of glowing, flavor-packing, tenderizing Himalayan pink salt.

One of the great diversions of life in France is an intimate evening at the local bistro, where mainstays of French food are reduced to their basic elements for quick, casual dining. Côte de boeuf en croûte de sel is among the great bistro dishes: beef rib steak, cut tremendously thick, perfectly cooked, and served piping hot with a little herbed butter. Roasted potatoes can accompany the dish, but it is perhaps best to leave the steak to itself; the dish is so simple, so satisfying, that you will likely find yourself thinking of little more than another sip of good red wine and a nice green salad to round things off. This preparation calls for a lot of salt, but fear not, the resulting steak will be seasoned to perfection. Whatever you do, use moist sel gris, never desiccating kosher salt, for your salt crust.

If the restaurants that produce them are any indication, the superlative steaks of the world cannot be reduced to a simple formula. Consider Le Relais de Venise L’Entrecôte in Paris, where the brisk waiter actually serves you half a steak, then gives the other half to another person, and then, just as you are finishing the last bite of your first half, he brings you another half-steak right off the grill—a miraculous second coming. Consider Raoul’s in New York, where the experience of eating is suffused by an equally savory experience of sitting, drinking, observing, and conversing. The only way to rival these folks is to take matters into your own hands: an excellent steak, the best pepper, the perfect salt, and thou. Tomes have been written on how to cook a steak. Precious little has been said on how to salt one. To cook: start with a lot of heat, finish with a little. Do the opposite with the salt: cook with no salt at all, or very little, if you really must have some. When the steak is served, choose the most beautiful sel gris you can find and let fly.

We embrace the urge to grill as a rogue moment of atavism in modern life. Our primitive faculties at play, we become dissatisfied with our indoor culinary selves. Flattening a split chicken under a brick of 500-million-year-old salt and cooking it quickly over an open fire makes good on all that grilling has to offer: simplicity and dramatic impact. The salt block compresses the poultry, making it cook more quickly and seasoning it at the same time. The result is a novel flash-fired flavor, crackling crisp skin, and firmer textured meat that reinvigorates the experience of eating chicken as an authentic form of self-expression. See page 267 for more on using salt blocks.

John and his mother serve this wonderful sauce over roasted chicken breasts to make a delicious lemon chicken.

This is great over salad greens and excellent with fish; you can also use it as a light veggie dip. I recommend roasting fresh red bell peppers, but if time doesn’t allow, substitute a 14-ounce jar of roasted red peppers, drained, adding 1 teaspoon of sugar to ensure sweetness.