Fritter

An old-fashioned cast-iron skillet with shallow round indentations is ideal for making uniform corn cakes. Since these pans can be rather hard to find, you can use a regular cast-iron skillet and achieve equally lovely results. Pepper jelly adds a bit of sweetness and subtle heat. Look for it at farmer’s markets and in gourmet shops.

As these patties cook, the mozzarella cheese browns and creates a deliciously crisp crust. Prepare the sauce while the patties chill and let it stand at room temperature so the flavors blend.

So unlike the exquisitely wrought sweetmeats of other southern pasticcerie, pastry in Basilicata is often in the form of some rustic fried fritter, its batter honey-sweetened and studded with raisins or nuts. The most luscious version, though, is the one that asks for ricotta and dark rum. We found them being made in a small shop with an even smaller selling counter on a little street off the Via Pretoria, just before one reaches Piazza Mario Pagano in Potenza. On more than one iced winter’s morning have we stood outside its doors and waited for the sugar-dusted, crisp-crusted warmth of them.

Before the era of widespread refrigeration, most of the commercial salmon catch was smoked or canned so it could be stored until the next season. And there was plenty to can in those days, because the salmon population was not threatened by overfishing or pollution of their habitat. As a result, canned salmon became a fixture on grocery store shelves and in home pantries across the United States, and the salmon croquette became a specialty of American cooking. I recall my mother opening a can of salmon for a quick dinner, mixing it with egg, bread crumbs, and some seasonings, patting the mixture into cakes, and sautéing them until golden on both sides. These days, it is not difficult to procure fresh salmon, and that is what I prefer for my croquettes, though always shopping with sustainability of the fish in mind. The price difference between canned and fresh is unexpectedly small, and it takes but a few minutes to cook salmon steaks or fillets—in the oven or in the microwave—for the croquettes. The payoff is, as is generally true, the taste difference: fresh is the best. The croquettes make a pretty focus for a brunch or light dinner menu, as here, or serve them as an unusual side dish for breakfast with eggs cooked any style.

Cooking fish is not one of my specialties, but I do love this recipe because it doesn’t taste fishy. I think it was probably my mom’s attempt to get us girls to eat some fish by disguising it in fried bread crumbs. What can I say? It worked. The creamed peas give the croquettes a slightly sweet accent. This topping tastes good on other meats too, like baked chicken and ham.

To keep these pancakes from browning too much, cook them over medium (not high) heat, and lower the temperature if they start to darken too quickly. Sour cream is a classic accompaniment to grated-potato pancakes of all sorts (including latkes).

Between your favorite crab cake and a box of frozen fish sticks lies a world of crisp, easily produced fish cakes that make for great weeknight eating. In addition to fish, they all have two elements in common: something to “bind” the cake as it cooks and a fair amount of seasoning. My favorite way to hold fish cakes together is to mix the flaked meat with mashed potatoes, about three parts fish to one part potato. If you begin with a mild fish, like cod, the flavorings can be as adventuresome as you like. My preferred combination is a hefty dose of ginger and cilantro, spiked with a bit of hot red chile. The result is a zingy cake that needs nothing more than a squeeze of lime.

Crab has the best texture and among the best flavor of all of the crustaceans, and the best crab cakes are those that showcase the crab most fully. So getting the most out of crab cakes often means putting the least into them. When you start loading crab cakes up with white bread, corn, curry, and complicated sauces, you might be making them different, but you’re not making them better. I usually serve my crab cakes with nothing more than lemon wedges, but tartar sauce and aïoli (recipes for both are on page 306) are both excellent choices if you choose to make a condiment.

These are chicken croquettes with North African flavors. Leftover mashed potatoes and chicken are absolutely acceptable and you can use cooked cod (or other white-fleshed fish) in place of chicken. Any vegetable or salad will round this out nicely.

I had been making meatless potato croquettes for years when I found that my favorite condiment (for these and many other fried foods) was soy sauce mixed with lemon—so imagine my self-satisfaction when I was served these at a Tokyo lunch counter with exactly that dipping sauce. I like to add curry powder, for both flavor and color, but it’s not essential. Substitute canned salmon or tuna for the meat if you like, but don’t cook it; simply toss it with the onion and seasonings after cooking the onion. The Japanese bread crumbs called panko are available at Japanese markets and many supermarkets. In Japan, these are almost always deep-fried; I find panfrying suffices, though of course you can deep-fry if you prefer. They’re usually served on a bed of plain shredded cabbage, sometimes as an appetizer, sometimes as a main course. You can make both mashed potatoes and the meat mixture in advance; you can also make the patties in advance and cover and refrigerate them for up to a day before cooking.

The ingredients are similar to those of Spinach Gratin (page 489), but these are faster and crunchier, lightly thickened spinach patties that are cooked until crisp. Other vegetables you can prepare this way: none will be as quick as spinach, but you can make these with other greens—chard is especially good, but also kale and collards and even arugula and watercress.

Loukoumades are served across Greece and Cyprus, with a wide range of garnishes. I’ve suggested honey and cinnamon because they’re a simple, delicious, and authentic combination. But you could add a sprinkling of chopped pistachios or a dusting of confectioners’ sugar or even substitute the syrup used in making Baklava (page 628) for the honey.

Like Tempura (page 91), the Fritto Misto batter and technique can be used with almost any morsel of food. An old-fashioned Fritto Misto might have bits of veal or other meat, frog’s legs, cock’s combs, artichoke hearts, chanterelles or other mushrooms, zucchini or other vegetables, pieces of cheese, and, of course, fish. These days, it seems most people—including me—like a fish-based Fritto Misto, with perhaps a few pieces of vegetable thrown in. I have some suggestions here, but please use whatever you like. Because you’ll have to fry in batches, and because it’s good only when very hot, it’s best to serve Fritto Misto as an appetizer and usually only to those guests who are willing to stand around in the kitchen. I don’t think Fritto Misto needs more than fresh lemon as a “sauce,” but you can use aïoli or even a light tomato sauce if you like.

The Spanish version of Tempura (page 91), this produces a much thicker crust. It is most often made with shrimp, but you can use any seafood or vegetable or even bits of meat. It’s a simple but super flavorful frying technique. In much of Spain, olive oil is used for deep-frying, and it’s good; furthermore, it has become so inexpensive that it’s no longer impractical. But you can use a neutral oil, like corn or vegetable oil, if you prefer.

Tempura is not the only batter-fried appetizer in the world; in fact, many cuisines have a similar dish, and some of these recipes follow. But tempura is very light, easy to make, and pretty much foolproof; chances are you’ll get it right even on your first try. Shrimp is the most common seafood, and probably the best, for use in tempura, but there’s no reason you couldn’t use other shellfish or even finfish. As for vegetables, it’s a matter of whatever is on hand. Harder vegetables, like winter squash and carrots, should be cut into thin slices so they become tender at about the same time they are browned. More tender vegetables—zucchini, eggplant, mushrooms, and the like—can be made larger or even, in the case of mushrooms or green beans, kept whole. Tempura, like most fried foods, must be served immediately. It will hold in a low oven for a few minutes, but as we all know it’s at its best the second it’s done. As long as you’re comfortable with your guests, serve each piece as you make it, in your kitchen. For frying, use a light, clean oil; grapeseed is probably best, but the more common (and cheaper) corn and safflower are good too. A frying or instant-read thermometer is a good idea, and temperatures of 330–350°F will work well for both vegetables and fish. If you don’t have a thermometer, put a drop of batter into the oil when you think it’s ready; it should neither sink to the bottom (too cold) nor immediately dance on the surface (too hot), but sink slightly beneath the surface and then rise to the top and skitter a bit.

Similar to Tempura (recipe follows), these are usually made only with vegetables—but a very wide assortment—and the batter is best when prepared with chickpea flour (also called besan or gram flour and available at Indian and many Asian markets and most health food stores). Traditionally, the batter also often contains anardana, a powder made from ground pomegranate seeds—if you can find some (try the same stores that have besan), add a teaspoon to the batter, along with the garam masala. Pakora batter can also be fried on its own, as a fritter; mix a medium onion, chopped, into it, and drop it by the tablespoon into the hot oil.

These traditional bite-sized treats are served as a starter or a snack throughout the Caribbean (and, for that matter, in parts of Europe). They must be served hot: I recommend that you serve them to your guests while they’re standing around the stove and let them eat them with their fingers (or on toothpicks). If you want to serve them at the table, consider Aïoli (page 603) as a dipping sauce. Or you can follow Moorish traditions and serve them with honey or molasses.

If you’re accustomed to sweet corn fritters—even served with maple syrup—these are going to come as either a joyous revelation or a rude awakening. They’re just as crunchy, but spicy and mildly hot.

You can make eggplant into fritters, seasoned with almost anything you like, but my taste here runs to Parmesan; the combination is magical. Fritters are usually deep-fried, but it isn’t necessary in this case. Here they are made into flat, pancake like forms and cooked in far less oil. Like most fried foods, these are best hot; but, as with most fritters, they’re acceptable up to a half hour after they’ve been made (and, though I wouldn’t serve them to company this way, they’re pretty good cold).

These fritters, which you’ll also find in Texas and Florida, have their origins in the Caribbean—and, if you want to trace them further back, India; see the variation.

The Korean coast is known for its variety of delicious clams, which inspired this local specialty. More like super flavorful pancakes than the highly breaded clam cakes sometimes served in the States, they are a good use for our sea clams, which are sold fresh, chopped, in their own liquid (canned clams, which are acceptable, will not be as flavorful). These are best eaten with your fingers, by the way.

Another good pancake starter or side dish. At their best hot, but still good warm. You can use frozen spinach for this if that’s all you have.

Okonomiyaki, a savory pancake, is a Japanese bar snack, something that you eat (or make) while you’re drinking. There are restaurants in Japan that make nothing but okonomiyaki, where you sit at a bar or table with a griddle set into it and pick what you want in your “pancake.” Everything is fair game, from sliced roasted pork to enoki mushrooms—even to the loose bits of fried batter that are a by-product of tempura called tenkasu. This batter, which includes shredded cabbage, is made in the style linked with Osaka; in Hiroshima, the other part of Japan where the pancake is popular, they add soba noodles to the batter. Obviously it’s a very flexible recipe. Here I use bean sprouts and peas, but vary it as you like. For example, omit the sprouts and peas and use 1/2 cup sliced squid and 1/2 cup asparagus tips; in the summer, substitute 1 cup fresh corn kernels scraped off the cob. You might look for Japanese Kewpie brand mayonnaise to finish the okonomiyaki; the container makes it easy to do the very 1980s squeeze bottle garnish of mayo and okonomiyaki sauce (which is like ketchup and also comes in a squeeze bottle, available at Japanese markets) that is part of the dish’s charm. Personally, what I like is the eerie way the bonito shimmy when they’re scattered across the pancake.