Anchovy

Bagna cauda means “warm bath” in an Italian dialect. Don’t let the anchovies steer you away. The strong flavors of garlic and anchovy are suspended in perfect balance in warm butter and olive oil. It is a delightful dipping sauce for raw vegetables, and it makes a tasty sauce for grilled vegetables and grilled or baked fish.

This is a light, healthful Mediterranean-inspired dish that is super-easy to make and can be on the table in 20 minutes—great for a weeknight dinner for two. If you have a crowd (or a big family like mine), go ahead and adjust the recipe accordingly. A note about anchovies, which I think get a bad rap: They are actually a wonderful way to add salt to a dish or sauce and are very popular in some Baja dishes (like the world-renowned Caesar Salad). Fresh anchovies have a gentler flavor than those packaged in a tin, but either will work here.

Few things are simpler than a quick tomato sauce over pasta, but as an unending diet it can become somewhat tiresome. Here it’s completely jazzed by the addition of a hefty amount of garlic and a few anchovies. The transformation is as easy as it is remarkable. Canned anchovies—packed in olive oil—are the easiest to use here. Salted anchovies, if you have them, are fine also, but you must mince them first (after cleaning them, of course, which you do under running water, stripping the meat from the skeleton).

A quick way to add great flavor to many simple dinner dishes is already sitting in your pantry or cupboard: anchovies. Anchovies are among the original convenience foods and contribute an intense shot of complex brininess that is more like Parmigiano-Reggiano than like canned tuna. Use them, along with garlic, as the base for a bold tomato sauce or combine them, as I do here, with greens, garlic, oil, and chiles for a white sauce that packs a punch.

Piquillo peppers are wood-roasted peppers from Spain, sold in cans or jars. If you cannot find them, substitute homemade roasted peppers or canned “pimientos.”

Buy snow-white cauliflower with no brown spots; use broccoli or one of the hybrids (broccoflower, romanesco broccoli, and so on) if the cauliflower does not look good. And though it is a full-flavored dish, remember that cooking will mellow the assertive flavors of the anchovies and garlic, so don’t skimp on either. This dish is just as good warm as it is hot.

Another great, simple sauce based on anchovies (there are two in the pasta chapter; see pages 263 and 271). You get acidity, astringency, and fruitiness from the wine, piquancy from the garlic and anchovy, complexity from the thyme, and a smooth finish from the butter—all in about the time it takes to preheat a grill for the steaks. You don’t need great red wine for this sauce, but it should be one with a fair amount of fruit and at least a little structure.

Properly grilled chicken is a pleasure, even when you dress it with nothing but lemon juice—or even salt. But if you make this Ligurian-inspired full-flavored dipping sauce based on anchovies, you can turn the simple grilled chicken into something really special. And the sauce can be used for whatever else you’re serving at the same time. When you’re grilling the chicken, don’t build too hot a fire and keep part of the grill cool—don’t put any fuel under it at all—so you can move the pieces over to it in the (likely) event of flare-ups. And you can broil it if you prefer: adjust the broiling rack so that it is about four to six inches from the heat source and turn the meat as it browns.

Do not skimp on the olive oil here; its flavor is integral. Really, this is escarole braised in olive oil, an extremely useful and wide-ranging technique. You can omit the anchovies if you like or add pine nuts (about 1/4 cup), raisins (1/4 cup), pitted black or green olives (about 1/2 cup), or about 1/2 cup chopped tomato. You can also use wine or stock in place of the water, for a richer taste. Other vegetables you can prepare this way: this is a classic and basic recipe that can be used for almost any green or in fact for “harder” vegetables like cauliflower or broccoli, following exactly the same procedure. Cooking time will vary.

You find this dish, or one like it, everywhere there is salt cod—which is to say, almost everywhere in the North Atlantic and parts of the Mediterranean. I like the Spanish version, which is reminiscent of a strong pasta sauce. In fact, thinned just a bit, this would make an excellent sauce for pasta, though I still prefer it with crusty bread. You can poach almost any fish in this sauce—any white-fleshed fish will work, though cod is the most obvious and logical choice—but it will never have the character brought to the table by salt cod, especially if you take the time to fry it first, as in the variation.

About as far from the classic “American” mashed potatoes as you can get, these are equally rich (especially with the butter), but far more flavorful. They’re great with simple roasted meat or poultry but are not for the faint of heart.

The presence of artichokes in Liguria (the “Italian Riviera”) is enough to make you envious; they’re everywhere, they’re good, and everyone seems to know what to do with them. Here’s a simple dish, assuming you can get your hands on some good artichoke hearts. This is wonderful with either crusty bread or a simple rice dish, like Rice with Onions, Garlic, and Herbs (page 518). See page 98 for squid cleaning instructions if you need them.

The definition of a classic Niçoise salad is often contested, especially now that it is so popular at cafés and restaurants. It is, however, essentially a country salad, so the ingredients depend on what is in season. The basics of this rough country salad are lettuce, hard cooked eggs, anchovy fillets, black olives, tomatoes, and garlic in the dressing. Most people add tuna, too, but you can consider it optional. Among the myriad other possible additions are cooked green beans, potatoes, and artichoke hearts, raw or roasted bell pepper, capers, and basil.

A well-known standard, this marinated salad combines the sweetness of peppers with the saltiness of anchovies and capers, using a good olive oil to tie all the flavors together. You can use jarred roasted peppers (“pimientos”) for this if you like. Canned or jarred piquillo peppers (page 47) are better, but still not as good as peppers you roast yourself. The best anchovies commonly available are sold in jars, packed in olive oil. It’s best to make this salad ahead of time so the flavors marry. Eat this at lunch, as a starter, or as a side dish with something flavorful, like Beef Stew with Dried Mushrooms (page 380).

You might think Caesar Salad is American, but legend has it that it was invented in Tijuana in the 1920s by an Italian named Caesar Cardini, who originally called it “aviator’s salad” because so many of the U.S. Air Force pilots based in San Diego loved it. In any case, the secret to a great Caesar salad is making sure everything is as fresh as you can get it—this includes the eggs and lettuce—and the best quality possible: freshly grated (and real) Parmesan and good anchovies, packed in either salt or olive oil.

A Ligurian specialty, usually made with “stamped” pasta—pasta that is rolled out and then cut with dies in special designs. You can use any cut pasta for this, though perhaps it’s best with fresh pasta like malfatti (page 542). If you have Tapenade (page 604), simply stir it into any tomato sauce to get the same effect.

The key to good tapenade, not surprisingly, is good olives. I like the oil-cured kind for this, but they must not be too dried out or they become unpleasantly acrid, and no amount of olive oil can save them. So taste one before buying. (Regular canned black olives are fine too if you can’t find olives in bulk.) In Provence, considered its home, tapenade is used mostly as a spread for plain toasted bread or Crostini (page 41). But it’s also great as a dip for raw vegetables, on sandwiches of any type, or as a quick spread to put on meat or fish before roasting or after grilling or broiling. It will keep, refrigerated, for about a month; always bring back to room temperature before serving.

Sardines are not sold fresh as often as they might—or should—be. But when they are, and they’re in good shape (make sure they don’t look tired and old), they’re worth grabbing. Fresh anchovies or smelts make a good substitute, again as long as they’re gleaming. All of these little fish may be sold gutted, but if yours are whole, simply make a slit along the belly of each and, under running water, run your finger along the inside cavity to remove the innards. (You can eat them with their guts too, as many Europeans do; they’re delicious that way.) Though I usually “grill” these in the broiler, they can also be cooked over a fire, using a fish basket, just until browned on each side. You can also fry sardines; treat them as you would Fritto Misto (page 94), and serve them with any light tomato sauce, like Fast, Fresh Tomato Sauce (page 606).

This combination of crusty potatoes and salty anchovies will either appeal to you enormously or make no sense. One of the best-known dishes in Sweden, it’s served at almost every holiday party—logically, if you ask me, because it’s great snack food. It makes a good side dish for a hearty roast as well.

In Sweden these little fish “sandwiches” are made with Baltic herring, but you can make them with any small fish from which you can remove the backbone, such as smelts, anchovies, and sardines (the names of all of these fish are confused anyway—many true herring and anchovies are called sardines and vice versa). To bone these fish, grasp the head and pull straight down; most of the innards will come out along with it; use your thumb to open the fish up from the front, then grasp the backbone and remove. You’ll be left with two tiny fillets joined by the skin. Plan to make eight of these—four sandwiches—for each serving if you make them as a main course.

A classic Niçoise appetizer that is like fondue—a “warm bath”—of anchovies, garlic, and olive oil (you can use butter in place of some of the olive oil if you’re feeling indulgent), served with fresh raw vegetables. It’s an unusual dish by today’s standards but remains a wonderful combination. A fondue pot is the ideal serving vessel, because it’s important to keep the sauce hot at the table; an earthenware dish that retains heat well will work if you preheat it and serve the Bagna Cauda immediately.

Like the nut and bean preparations on pages 27–28, these savory crisp snacks from Southeast Asia (closely related to the similar recipe from Korea that follows) can be eaten out of hand. Also like them, they’re great with beer. Though unfamiliar to some people, they’re instantly liked by most. (You can buy dried baby anchovies—described on page 25—at most Asian, and some Latin, markets.) In Thailand, they’re sometimes tossed with Fried Peanuts (page 27), a lovely little combo.

Along with Spanish food in general, these have become increasingly popular in the States, and they’re fun, rewarding, and easy to make at home. Of course, the key is to begin with superfresh anchovies, and we are finally seeing more of these. (You can use the same method with fresh thin fillets of mackerel, a more common fish, or with smelts, which can be handled the same way as the anchovies.) These are good served on buttered toast or crackers and passed as a snack. You might wonder why your boquerones are not as white as those sold in restaurants; it’s because you’re not using a bleaching agent.