Who knew that cabbage soup could be this good?! This bright and light recipe is a lovely spin on classic vegetable soup. If you’re trying to get back to healthy eating after the holidays, this warming cabbage soup is an inexpensive wintertime alternative to leafy green salads.
Cabbage soup may have originated in Eastern Europe, but this recipe offers simple Italian flavors. It starts with carrots, onion and celery cooked in a generous drizzle of olive oil. Once those are tender, we’ll add fresh garlic and dried oregano, followed by chopped green cabbage.
You can use an entire small head of cabbage in this soup; it shrinks as it sweats excess moisture and becomes silky soft as it simmers. Crushed tomatoes and lemon juice add welcome acidity, bringing this simple soup to life!
Moving to a foreign country has been in the news a lot lately. But it isn’t always what people expect it to be and it’s not always easy, which I can attest to. (Although it may have been a little easier for me if my name was George Clooney.)
When I see the phrase “Live like a local!” I wonder if people really want to go to city hall to renew visa paperwork or change their internet provider in a foreign language, which in America requires you to just drop off your modem at your provider’s nearest storefront, while in France, it’s a six-month affair. And, you have to pay to quit.
When I sent my old cable box back, they had to verify that every single cable was included, even though it was 15 years old and I have no idea what they do with them. But a friend didn’t have one and got charged €200 ($240), so I made sure I had everything…and I documented it all with photos and a certified mail receipt. (Even then, after 6 months when I didn’t get my deposit back, I had to hound them for it, providing - yup - photos and a copy of the certified mailing; only then did they finally refund it. Lesson learned after many years here!)
I’ve learned a lot living here after nearly twenty-five years and while moving from one country to another poses challenges wherever you are, France has a lot of unspoken rules of conduct and etiquette, and it’s not known for its “ease of use”…shall we say. Although I was stunned when a very nice woman from the citizenship office called me to say that I made a mistake on one of my forms and wanted to confirm that it wasn’t right so that she could change it for me. France has a way of surprising you.
Not being able to easily return things (and indifferent, at best, customer service) is one of the hardest things for Americans to adapt to. When I was in French class, shortly after arriving in France, the teacher went around the room and asked people what they didn’t like about France. Most Americans in the room replied, “Lack of customer service,” which the teacher confirmed was what Americans usually said, when asked.
Some people who come here have a hard time adjusting. So much so that an organization, the Franco-American Community Center in Paris, used to have a program called Bloom Where You’re Planted, a one-day event with speakers to help newcomers learn about, and integrate into, life in Paris.
Topics covered were health care questions, cultural issues, mental health, accounting and taxes, and immigration issues. For some reason they asked me to speak, perhaps to lighten the mood?…which I did by talking about some of the goofy things that happened to me, or that I did, so people would feel more at ease in their new home and realize that they weren’t the only ones going through a challenging transition.
At Home in Paris explains the complexities of life in Paris, including on the métro.
After I spoke, I took questions from attendees and found out that some people didn’t want to be in Paris. (In spite of what you see on social media, moving abroad can be very lonely, no matter how many pictures people post of croissants.) In some instances their spouses were transferred here, so they had to move their whole family (and lives) abroad. Many were baffled at cultural differences. Others, like me, were at transition points in their lives and looking for a new beginning or somewhere else to settle. Somehow, we all ended up here.
Some had had bad interactions, such as a curt shopkeeper, or they’d been shoved out of the way on the métro. It was especially hard on them because they couldn’t talk to their friends about their emotional difficulties since people would invariably say, “But you’re in Paris!” This was before Emily in Paris arrived, but if anyone expects Paris to be like that, please let the rest of us know where all those hot French guys, who somehow speak perfect English — are.
Aloha from the island of Kauai! The dramatic weather (rain, breeze, and sunshine can be experienced within 15 minutes) here hasn’t deterred us from going out and enjoying nature. We’ve harvested most of the produce we’ve eaten at our friend’s home. Today, I used a meat cleaver to chop a banana tree to get at a bunch of fruit! It’s what you have to do to encourage the plant to regrow, my friend Chan said. Who knew??? Aside from the food, Kauai has plenty of laid back charm as well as humor.
I’m still in vacation mode but still wanted to wish a very happy 2026. Before moving forward, let’s take a look back at some of the best PTFS dispatches of the year. I learned a lot from your engagement with the articles and recipes.
When I started out with this newsletter, I didn’t know how much enthusiasm there would be for lite food history. This year, I leaned in a little more to provide extra tidbits of knowledge so that you can piece together how flavors, techniques, and culture evolved over time. There were three noodle stories, because who doesn’t enjoy noodles? And untangling their history is both fun and interesting!
I had no idea how the longish geeky articles would sit with you but you liked them! Modern life unfolds so fast nowadays that it’s easy to overlook the textures and nuances that make food extra tasty. One of the most fascinating dishes I researched last year was Japanese carrot-ginger salad dressing. I wanted something easy, healthy and delicious to add to your salad repertoire and in the process, reported on its fascinating background.
I wrote a mini series about the Vietnamese diaspora and the article that captivated people most was a story about my family’s departure. When we got to America, one of the foods that was on rotation in my mother’s kitchen was char siu (Chinese barbecue pork). She relied on a marinade mix but I’ve long mixed up the marinade from scratch, which overtime, enabled me to push the envelope a bit to char siu many things.
In 2025, my goal was to help you char siu on a weeknight so that you may quickly get at the salty-sweet-rich flavors of iconic Cantonese barbecue. In the process, I came up with a new vegan take plus two meaty options. Go forth to char siu in 2026. It’s evergreen and year-round favorite.
Long ago, I wrote a proposal for a Vietnamese American museum that included an exhibit of the items that refugees escaped with, after the fall of Saigon in 1975. That proposal went unrealized but I do hope that my story inspires other people to record their journeys.
Curious cooks, readers, and eaters fuel Pass the Fish Sauce. Pitch in to keep it running strong this year! Become a paid subscriber to access all content, seed ideas, and enjoy class discounts. I welcome your support on all levels. Your support makes a big impact.
Vegetables drive my food and dining choices now more than ever. I’m thrilled that you’re on board for this, too. It doesn’t mean an all-or-nothing approach. I love my meat but less often and in smallish quantities nowadays. The trick is to slide in veggies without wiping out the true flavors that define the soul of a dish. At the same time, I wanted to craft versatile recipes that you can easily tweak to satisfy your tastes and needs. The tamarind deep dive included one of my favorite southern Vietnamese dishes, done with seafood and veggies or tofu and veggies.
And, there’s a time and place for project cooking but weeknights is not one of them. In 2025, I offered you two of my favorite hacks.
Finally, you PTFS subscribers seed many ideas for content. For instance, John asked about prop 65 warnings, and that led to this article about the California legislation that impacts so many ingredients we reach for on a regular basis.
My resolutions for 2026 are to cook up more fun and engaging things for you. After Cooking Thai goes to print, I’m hoping to do more online classes too!
I always welcome your suggestions so please don’t hesitate to email or DM me with an idea (or two!). Thank you.
For a country with a reputation for being slow to change, France has certainly been changing in several ways. The restaurants have gotten a lot better, and more diverse, since the days of gloom and doom, when French cuisine was in decline, coffee was referred to, in French, as jus de chausette (sock juice), and chain bakeries (yuck) were being pitted against artisan boulangeries.
People who don’t live in France often don’t like to hear that France is changing, but change isn’t bad, especially when things change for the better. Sure, no one has figured out how to keep the electronic kiosks at customs at Charles de Gaulle airport in working order, which makes you miss the few humans who worked at the kiosks before. (Even though that never seemed enough, either.) Nor has the repairman come to fix our heat; only two of the eight radiators in our apartment are working right now. (This week the temperatures dropped below freezing.) And rather than a Joyeux Noël message from my accountant, she sent me a request for loads of paperwork…on Christmas Eve. Bah humbug, or however you say that in French. (They do have Père Fouettard, who punishes children who are bad with a whip. But no word if they have someone like that for heating repairmen who don’t show up.)
On the other hand, we do have over 1000 kilometers (620 miles) of bike lanes in Paris, which is credited for cutting pollution in half. There’s a new wave of chocolate boutiques in Paris, and we’re in the middle of a bread renaissance, with more and more boulangeries baking great-quality bread, often with heritage grains and slow fermentation methods.
Almost a decade ago, in “Challenging the way the French think about bread,” baker Alice Quillet of Ten Belles bread remarked that when they opened, French people were outraged they didn’t make baguettes. But with the marge (profit margin) on a baguette averaging 8 to 10 centimes, it’s no wonder that some bakeries aren’t keen on making or selling them.
The breakdown of the cost (and profit, 10%) of a baguette in France.
While I love a good baguette, I’m really excited about what bread bakers are baking up in Paris right now. As bakery owner Benoît Castel recently said, “We’ve never eaten such good bread as we are right now”…and I agree.
Pumpkin seed bread from Brigat’ and corn-turmeric bread from Polka
Bakeries in France are considered a vital part of life in France and during the Covid lockdowns, bakeries were exempt, as they were considered “essential” businesses. (As were tobacco stores.) Bread is considered a right in France, hence the low prices for baguettes, which range from about €1 - €1,60 ($1.20 - $1.90), although the owner of Du Pain et des Idées shocked people by charging €4 for a croissant and €4,30 for a chocolatine (pain au chocolat), around three times what other bakeries charge, arguing that the price of the ingredients and the labor justified the price.
I feel spoiled and it’s easy to get blasé about having access to good bread. Some favorite bakeries I frequent: Landemaine, Poilâne, Terroirs d’Avenir, Brigat’, Sain, Ten Belles, Archibald, and Mamiche, which is the only place in Paris that I’ll wait in a line that long. And no, I don’t have any clout or get any special favors — like getting to jump the queue — around here.
As another example, I put my name on the waiting list in early December for a panettone from Christophe Louie. I’ve been a fan since he started making them and visited his private workshop, which he kindly gave me a tour of, before he opened his own bakery in the Marais. I put my name on the waiting list to be notified when more would be available but didn’t get any notifications. I was in the neighborhood and stopped by to see if my charms could move me up a few notches.
No dice. (Although I don’t wish a visit from Père Fouettard on him.) So I got a panettone fromBrigat’, which was excellent, even though a Debbie Downer online tried to dampen my excitement, saying there shouldn’t be any almonds on a panettone. I couldn’t bring myself to pick them off and throw them away.
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In spite of it being a little chilly around here, we’re also doing our best to make it through winter and Romain keeps reminding me that, as of last month, the days are now (supposedly) getting longer.
I’m not packing up my gloves, scarves, and down comforter quite yet, but am enjoying winter cooking. One of my favorite things to make when it’s cold out is braised duck. A lot of French cooking involves braising, cooking foods at a gentle simmer until they’re tender and succulent, like this one.
There’s nothing more foolproof than braised duck legs, which are actually thighs…as Debbie D. might point out. But if someone wants to take on the English language, and all the quirky translations, be my guest. Like, why is an entrée in French a starter, whereas in American English, it’s the main course? I also once tried explaining to Romain that in English, green beans cut on the diagonal are called “French-cut.” I got a perplexed look, similar to when I offered him a pretzel filled with peanut butter from a bag a friend brought me over from the States.
The most challenging part may be finding the duck thighs. But if you can’t find them, you could use chicken and swap out white wine for the red, which would probably work better with the milder-flavored chicken. You’d also want to reduce the amount of time since chicken cooks faster than duck.
I have a braised duck with prunes recipe here that I braise in the oven…
…but this time around, I cooked them on the stovetop. I seasoned the duck thighs with salt and pepper, and browned them in a bit of oil, skin side down. If you’re thinking ahead, salting the duck a day or two in advance improves its flavor.
Once browned, remove the thighs from the pot, add a splash of decent red wine from a bottle, scrape the delicious bits off the bottom of the pan, then add the duck back, along with the rest of the bottle of wine. I like to add thyme, bay leaves, garlic, and orange peel, but you can use whatever you’d like.
Add enough water to cover the duck thighs (if cooking chicken, add enough water to cover them halfway). Bring the liquid to a boil, then reduce it to a very low simmer and cook gently, covered, until the thigh meat is very tender. Figure about three hours. I did add some peeled pearl onions and cubes of rutabaga an hour before the duck was done.
The duck can be cooked the day before, then cooled and refrigerated, which allows you to skim off excess fat before rewarming it. But it can be enjoyed right away, or kept in the braising liquid for an hour or so, until you’re ready for dinner. It’s good with mashed potatoes, if you’re not adding root vegetables to the pot, or wide noodles.
January is the most challenging month in Paris, with the cold weather keeping most of us inside, and everyone is missing the days when we could sit on a café terrace and have a glass of wine. Smoking must make people hardier than I thought since les fumeurs remain steadfastly outside in sub-zero temperatures, puffing away.
Yes, there are smoker’s mittens…
We did get to warm ourselves by a fire for my birthday, which came at the end of December. A lot of businesses close in Paris that week so people can take a break, which is nice, although our favorite places are also closed, which makes going out for dinner a little challenging. So we headed out of town. You can read a bit more about where we went, below…
To end the year, we celebrated my birthday at Le Doyenné, the beautiful restaurant and guesthouse owned and run by chef James Henry and chef Shaun Kelly, who’s in charge of the potager (garden), located about 45 minutes from Paris. I’ve been meaning to go since they opened, but somehow never found the right time or date to have dinner there. But when I noticed a room available on my birthday, I booked it, along with a table for dinner.
We arrived by car in the late afternoon, just as night was getting ready to fall, and took a walk through the gardens before dinner. Most of the garden was in repose, with hardy vegetables like mâche, kale, cabbage, and Brussels sprouts holding their own in the cold. Shaun gave me a tour of the various rooms and cold chambers in the kitchens where winter squash were stored; berries, seaweeds, and other fermentations were doing their things in glass jars; charcuterie was drying; and bread was rising for the restaurant. (James worked at Tartine in San Francisco and Ten Belles in Paris, and is known for his breads.)
After our walk we curled up on the sofa with glasses of wine by the fireplace, until the sommelier stopped by with the wine list to ask us what we wanted to drink with dinner. We mostly drink white wines these days, but for a change, she helped us pick a nice red wine that was from a favorite producer in the Jura. It was great to see a wine list with good wines at a range of prices, from €39 to several hundred, and the list leans heavily into low-intervention (or natural) wines.
Visiting the vegetable cellar with Shaun.
Then we moved to the cathedral-like, glassed-in dining room, which was a bit chilly when the sun went down (I would have taken my dinner by the fire!). Dinner began with a parade of hors d’œuvres, which included two thin slices of incredibly good charcuterie; fresh scallops sitting on a dab of raw cream, with pickled wild mushroom juice and bits of Meyer lemon on top; as well as an array of crudités, raw vegetables that had been picked that day from their garden. We loved everything.
I wish I could tell you (and show you) how good this butter was, which was shot in low light, but we were too busy eating it to think about adjectives to describe it. But wow, was that good…
The next course was an onion tart made with pink onions fromRoscoff, in Brittany, and wild mushrooms, held in place by a little ricotta, with a sauce spiked with the lightly oxidized wine from the Jura, vin jaune. Following that were a few slices of barely cooked dorade with seaweed, spinach, and pomelo. (Their citrus comes from a producer in the south of France.)
Then we had a flavorful plate of duck (yes, duck is popular in France in the winter…), which came with radicchio and squash from the garden, and a gratin dish of pommes boulangère, slow-cooked, well-bronzed potato slices. We skipped the optional cheese course since it was a lot of food and went right to dessert, which was a chestnut tart - and included a candle - as well as Jerusalem artichoke ice cream, made with topinambours from the garden, and ruby grapefruit sorbet.
After herbal tisane by the fire, we headed to bed, and woke up to a spectacular breakfast buffet that featured everything from housemade croissants and ham and cheese pastries,minicanelés, apple-quince sauce, yogurt and granola, to thin sliced ham from their cellar, smoky grilled bread with some of the best butter I’ve ever tasted, along with homemade bitter orange marmalade, fresh carrot juice, and lots of dark coffee.
It was quite an experience and I was sorry that I had waited so long to go. Le Doyenné is quite a special place and while so many places are boasting about their farm-to-table fare, it was reassuring to be somewhere where the connection and commitment were direct and immediate, and real.
More of that amazing butter (in better light) at breakfast.
After hitting the boutique, where they wrapped up a loaf of bread for us to take home — the butter, unfortunately, wasn’t for sale — we headed back to Paris.
If you want to go, you can get to Le Doyenné from Paris by taking the RER C, then a taxi or Uber for the short trip (about 5 minutes, they said) to the restaurant. Or you can get a taxi or Uber for making the trip from Paris if you don’t have a car. (I checked the Uber app while we were there to see the price, which was €45 one-way on a Sunday afternoon, but prices fluctuate.) They have detailed instructions for getting there here.
If you go for dinner, which lasts around 2 1/2 to 3 hours, it’s probably best to either stay the night or get a ride back to Paris. It’s possible to do lunch as a day trip. Rooms run between €265 and €340 per night, which includes a fantastic breakfast. It’s a bit of a splurge, but if it’s your birthday, maybe you can justify it? ☺️
Maybe I’ve saved the best for last? (Or buried the lede…) But I’ve got a new book coming out this spring, a completely revised version of The Great Book of Chocolate. When I first wrote TGBOC in 2004, there were maybe three bean-to-bar chocolate makers in the United States, and now there are over two hundred. So much has changed!
You can now get high-quality chocolate chips and cocoa powders at supermarkets, and there’s a huge variety of chocolates available at every price point. And some companies are even experimenting with non-cacao chocolate substitutes, which I tested and wrote about in the book, along with my results baking with them. As an added bonus, I include a beautifully photographed chapter and guide on where to find the best chocolates in Paris.
The information about chocolate has been completely brought up-to-date, and I added lots of new recipes to the book. They include a rich dark Chocolate olive oil spread with flaky sea salt, Individual warm chocolate cakes with runny, salted butter caramel centers, Triple (or quadruple) chocolate cookies, Vegan chocolate marshmallows (don’t turn your nose up - they were approved, and loved, by a French policeman!), Turkey mole, and a sophisticated Chocolate Negroni from the world’s best cocktail bar.
I recast and revised the other recipes, such as the Chocolate-cherry buttermilk scones and a decidedly French Gâteau au chocolate, as well as the Homemade rocky road and the ultra-dark Mocha pudding cake.
What was once a slender volume on chocolate has grown into a full-size book with beautiful new photographs from award-winning photographer Ed Anderson with food styling by George Dolese and Elisabet der Nederlanden.
Happy Holidays and then some. I hope you’ve not had to spend too much time returning gifts to the store. I’m skipping the upcoming Midweek Gems because we’ll be traveling. Happy early 2026!
But folks, we’re still in 2025, which marks the 50th anniversary of when my family left Vietnam. For that reason, certain foods are top of mind. I’ve been thinking a lot about pâté chaud, a puff pastry snack that has a long history in Vietnam and with my family.
In Vietnamese, we call these treats bánh patê sô — not too far off from the French pâté chaud. I’d like to close out the year with the iconic favorite because it’s a great lens for viewing the modern Vietnamese experience.
Pâté chaud — just imagine the rich, crispiness!
I’ve been researching their history and working on new recipes for them. However, I am not yet satisfied with what I’ve got, despite having baked through three boxes of pastry dough! And the history of the pastries themselves turns out to be more interesting than I had initially thought.
So, I’m going to share what I’ve found out about pâté chaud in this dispatch plus where to buy them. In a couple weeks, when we’re back from vacation and I’ve had a chance to do another round of testing, I’ll share the recipes so you can make your own versions.
January 11, 2026 UPDATE » My Pate Chaud recipe is now available!
My family fled Saigon in April 1975 with few material possessions, but we did bring many food memories with us. One of them was of patê chaud, savory puff pastry hand pies filled with a country-style pâté or meatloaflike mixture. Involving culinary skill plus butter and wheat flour, bánh patê sô were considered a luxe breakfast item in Vietnam, to be enjoyed hot to showcase their crispy pastry shell. The literal meaning of pâté chaud is “hot pastry pie”.
1930s Saigon
Typical Saigon residents went out for them at fancy French-style bakeries, like Givral, which made all-butter puff pastry. Lesser versions relied upon margarine, my mom recalls. Founded by Frenchman Alain Portier, the bakery called Givral opened in 1950 across the way from the Continental Hotel made famous in the Graham Greene novel, The Quiet American. However, bánh patê sôhad been in Saigon since around 1930, prepared by clever cooks and entrepreneurs such as Mrs. Pham Thi Truoc, who had a shop specializing in the pastries.
Near the Opera House in Saigon, this postcard image shows the Continental Hotel on the right. Givral bakery is across the street in the curved corner building on the left.
By the time my mother migrated to Saigon from northern Vietnam in 1954, a result of the Geneva Accords that split the country into two, Givral was the place to purchase French pastries and baked goods like patê chaud, cream puffs, eclairs and yule logs. Vietnamese people who opted to go southward felt that North Vietnam was conservative and limiting. South Vietnam was freewheeling, liberal and full of new ideas and foods.
Pâté chaud is mostly a Saigon specialty. I’ve never spotted it in the northern city of Hanoi or central city of Hue when I visited there. In the early 1960s, Mom, her girlfriends and even my cousin, Bich Tu (who was a teenager then), were rolling out puff pastry dough at home. Butter was expensive and you had to source good wheat flour with enough gluten, my mom said.
Puff pastry needs a relatively cold environment for the dough to behave and develop the hundreds of layers of laminated dough. I have no idea how cooks in tropical Saigon, where the weather is either hot or hotter with humidity, could patiently make pate feuilletée (puff pastry in French). But they were able to do so because they were curious, determined cooks.
Our family arrived at Camp Pendelton Marine Base in Southern California in May 1975 and the temperature was likely in the low 70s. Mom said that the dry, moderate climate was dreamy; she missed her father and sisters but didn’t miss the weather. She had her notebook of recipes, one of her prized possessions that came with us when we left Vietnam. But it didn’t contain a recipe for bánh patê sô.
Soon after we settled into our new home in San Clemente, my mom began to make puff pastry from scratch and baking up dome-shaped bánh patê sô. She knew the recipe by heart and relied upon Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking for technical guidance.
As a result, as an elementary school kid, I ate pa tê sô for breakfast, reheated in a toaster oven until the exterior was crisp and the interior was blazing hot! There was liquor in her beef and pork filling so the first bite often gave me a whiff of alcohol. I’d gobble it up and go off to school, oblivious to how different that breakfast was to what my peers had eaten. I also didn’t realize how unusual it was for a home cook like my mom to make puff pastry over and over again.
But that’s what Vietnamese people are like – obsessively working to polish a skill, to mimic and master a foreign notion, and to make it their own.
Curious cooks, readers, and eaters fuel Pass the Fish Sauce. For the full low-down on pâté chaud history, where to buy them, and soon, how to make them, become a paid subscriber! You’ll gain all that information, 100+ recipes, and sponsor my work. This content takes days to develop and I appreciate your support at any level. Your generosity matters. A LOT.
I hope you are enjoying a wonderful day wherever you are, however you are celebrating life and all its blessings. Thank you for being here.
My 2025 e-card contains snapshots of scenes from this week, including my mom’s welcome home dinner for Rory and me. She served us stuffed whelk (ốc nhồi) with lemongrass and ginger sauce and fried imperial rolls (chả giò). It was wonderful to enjoy such a relaxing feast after a day of driving and negotiating holiday traffic.
I took over from there to give Mom a rest, though she’s always willing to be my sous chef. Cooking together is very special for my mother and me.
What was on our Christmas Eve menu? Roast chicken with porcini butter, sticky rice and chestnut dressing, buttery chestnuts, roasted Okinawa sweet potato, stir-fried blooming cauliflower, chanterelle gravy, and of course, my homemade fruitcake (which has been marinating in liquor for over a month now!).
Things kicked off with my mini pâté chaud which is featured in the last photo on the bottom right. It’s my modern take on an iconic Viet-Franco snack. I’ve been playing around with it for years and my family and friends have been taste testing the latest vegetarian and meaty versions. Someone has to do it, or else I’d be as big as a house. Details coming on Sunday!
It’s almost the end of 2025 and I can probably guess that you’re feeling a bit like me right now. Somewhat overwhelmed as the year draws to a close. A little tired, but with enough enthusiasm for the current and upcoming holidays and parties. It was nice to get away to Japan before the sprint to the finish. And I am hoping Santa puts a Japanese WC under our tree. Okay, we don’t have a tree…but maybe I’ll get one for my birthday, which is a few days later.
We’re staying put this year. A friend offered his house on a sunny French island, where the temperature is currently 80ºF (27ºC), but Air France wanted €3000 ($3500) for each of us to get there, squished into an airline seat for the 13 1/2-hour flight, so we took a pass. Home is pretty nice around the holidays so I’m not too upset. Even better, lots of people leave Paris to visit family in their maisons sécondaires, so it’s rather quiet. We are going to do an overnight out in the countryside, which is my birthday treat to myself. (Although Romain is coming along too!)
One of the best things that happened this year was I released a new book. Writing a book is a two-year project, from getting all the recipes tested and written, to taking the photos and designing the final book. I was really fortunate to have an excellent group of people working on the project: my main editor, the copy and production editors, proofreaders, and book designer, as well as the two remarkable food stylists and food photographer who came to Paris for three weeks to shoot the book. Thanks team!
I’m planning on making either the Marjolaine or the Lemon semifreddo from the book for Christmas dessert. My little Meyer lemon tree in our backyard only has one lone, ripe lemon on it — except I just noticed bird had attacked it 😟 — but I spotted Meyer lemons at a new, produce-oriented grocery store near me (you can also get them in France here), and scooped them all up.
I guess the birds wanted a taste of Meyer lemons, too…
So need to decide which one to make…or should I make them both?
It’s been really nice to see such enthusiasm for my book, Ready for Dessert, and I thought I’d share a roundup on where it’s been.
And….I just want to also take a moment as this year draws to a close to thank everyone who is a paid subscriber to the newsletter. Making the switch from an ad-supported platform to a reader-supported one has been the right decision, and I like how this has become a comfortable community, rather than just a website of people clicking by.
So thanks to everyone of you who subscribes to the newsletter — free and paid — and looking forward to keeping in touch in 2026!
If you’re not a subscriber, subscribe here…
(If you’d like to upgrade to a paid subscription, you can do so here.)
Also…thanks for everyone who featured Ready for Dessert in their newsletter and in print. A few newsletters are partially paywalled but you can read the interviews and Q & As on most of them without (or before) subscribing:
A reader recently wrote to me about the recipe for Croquants (page 251) in Ready for Dessert, wondering if the one teaspoon of batter per cookie was correct. I assured her that was the right amount; the cookies are meant to be small, about the size of a silver dollar. In France, cookies of this size might fall under the moniker of croques-télés, which refers to snackable candies or sweets that you might eat while watching television.
Before I moved to France, I bought these little French cookies by the bagful when I’d find them in the U.S. They were expensive but were everything I wanted in a cookie: crispy, crunchy, nutty, and a touch salty. While I can now buy them in France, they’re easy to make. You just stir the ingredients together, plunk little dabs on a baking sheet, and bake them.
It’s important to chop the nuts in large pieces, roughly the size of small peas. Even though the nuts will take up seemingly precious space in the little teaspoon you’re measuring the batter with, the batter will spread quite a bit and it’s nice to bite into big pieces of nuts when eating these cookies.
Oh, and yes, you can bake them a little larger. Feel free to do so, if you wish. They’ll probably need an extra minute or so in the oven, until they’re golden brown across the top. But I’d never say no to more of anything, when it comes to cookies.
1 cup (200g) sugar
5 1/2 tablespoons (50g) all-purpose flour
1/4 cup (60ml) egg whites (from about 2 large eggs), at room temperature
Pinch of salt
3/4 cup (90g) almonds or hazelnuts, toasted and very coarsely chopped
Preheat the oven to 400ºF (200ºC). Line two baking sheets with parchment paper. (Silicone mats tend to steam cookies a bit, so I prefer to use parchment paper for these.)
In a medium bowl, mix the sugar, flour, egg whites, and salt until well combined. Stir in the chopped nuts.
Drop level teaspoons of the lumpy batter, evenly spaced apart (about 2 inches, 5cm), on the baking sheets.
Bake the cookies, rotating the baking sheets in the oven midway during baking so they bake evenly, until the cookies are light golden brown all the way across the top, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove from the oven and let the cookies cool on the baking sheets.
Storage: The batter can be stored in the refrigerator for up to one week before baking. The baked cookies are best, and crispiest, the day they are made, but can be stored in an airtight container for up to 3 days.
I don’t think I’ve ever had a Thanksgiving dinner in Paris that was the same from year to year. One year a friend hired a chef and dinner was served all plated up, in the kitchen. Another year I volunteered to make Thanksgiving dinner and ended up cutting the turkey into small pieces and braising it. Since I was cooking for twenty+ people, that was the only way a turkey would fit in my French oven, which at the time was so small that I could barely squeeze a chicken into it.
Another year I was staying with friends in Provence and we were shocked when the bird that we pre-ordered from the local butcher came already stuffed, by the butcher. I was tempted to scoop his out and cook the bird with the stuffing mix we’d already prepared, but he’d done such a beautiful job of sewing it up with butcher’s twine that we cooked the turkey as is, and it was incredible.
Thanksgiving is a holiday that’s traditional, of course, for Americans (Canadians have their own Thanksgiving), but French people don’t really “get” it. And to make the meal, you have to go on a scavenger hunt, tracking down all the fixings, like cranberries (nope, the airelles at Picard aren’t the same thing…let’s not pretend that they are), sweet potatoes (hold the marshmallows, at least for European guests), Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix, and whole turkeys, which you often have to pre-order, and if you live in an upscale neighborhood, they can cost a small fortune.
Oddly, when I went to look up the price of a turkey, for some reason, Pierre Hermé was listed as the 2nd best place in Paris to buy a turkey. That’s news to me! (And probably to pastry chef Pierre Hermé…)
It’s a holiday about gathering around the table with familiar foods and turkey is not high on most French people’s list of things they prefer to eat. That said, the dinde fermière, heritage free-range turkeys, in France are delicious. But once Romain discovered stuffing (la farce), he was hooked.
This year I was invited to a dinner and was tasked with making an American dessert by my French-American hosts. Since the theme was américain, I decided I should use American ingredients and dug into my stash of King Arthur flour, Guittard cocoa powder, aluminum-free Whole Foods baking powder, and Arm & Hammer baking soda to make my dessert.
At the top of the stack of books that came out this fall is ’s new one, Dorie’s Anytime Cakes. I had bookmarked her recipe for portokalopita, a Greek orange cake that I fell in love with in Tinos, but a cake made with filo dough didn’t seem like a T-Day dessert. So I’m saving that for when someone invites me over for a Greek dinner. Hint hint…
I have a few devil’s food cakes in my repertoire but was intrigued by Dorie’s because it’s baked in a bundt pan, which is also très américain (although there are kugelhopfpans in France). I have a few bundt pans I brought back from the States and decided to use the one with the deep and intricate design.
Devil’s food cake is historically made with natural cocoa powder, which hasn’t been Dutch-processed with an alkaline ingredient, so is generally used along with baking soda as a leavening agent. The reaction of the two can give the cake a reddish hue,* hence the name of the cake. Dorie recommends using Dutch-process cocoa powder in her recipe, so I stuck with that. To stay in the rouge vein, I used Guittard cocoa rouge cocoa powder, which has a reddish hue, but feel free to use your favorite cocoa powder here, Dutch-process or natural.
While Romain watched me gather the ingredients for making the cake, he wondered why I was putting the dry ingredients in a sieve. I told him it was to disperse them, especially the lumpy cocoa powder.
When I lived in San Francisco, I was a member of the Bakers Dozen group, an informal association of bakers and people who like to bake at home.
At one of our get-togethers (which were heaven, being in the company of a hundred other bakers who loved to talk about things like sifting for an hour), the late baker Marion Cunningham, who was never shy about offering her opinion, chimed in with: “Well, do you have to sift is like asking: ‘Do you have to wear shoes?’”
Which is a good question.
A few years ago I ran into an acquaintance at a local bakery. When we took out our phones to exchange contact info, I looked down and noticed that he wasn’t wearing shoes. Kinda perplexed, I asked him about it and he said that he stopped wearing shoes a few years ago. I wondered aloud if he was concerned about all the grit and glass, not to mention the 💩 on the sidewalks, and he said it didn’t bother him.
And as for shoes, I’m going to continue wearing mine in Paris. And here, I did sift.
I baked the cake in my stylish bundt pan, which, woe was me, didn’t want to let go of the cake. (I can’t say I blame it…) That’s the trouble with some of the more intricate bundt pans; they look cool but don’t work for every cake.
So I remade the cake in a less-complicated bundt pan and it released just fine. I happened to be texting my friend George that day, who was one of the food stylists for my book Ready for Dessert, and he told me that he uses Bak-Klene on intricate bundt pans and nothing ever sticks. He graciously had left me a can of it, but I forgot about it in my cupboard. Next time.
(Some bakers make a baker’s goo, mixing together flour, vegetable shortening, and vegetable oil, and use that to grease cake pans. I haven’t tried it but apparently it’s a game-changer.)
Dorie’s book lives up to its name and is filled with recipes that you’ll want to make anytime. The cake was a hit, and you don’t need to wait until Thanksgiving to enjoy it. You can be an angel and make it for your friends or family whenever the mood for an all-American chocolate cake hits.
When you assemble the cake, you might think that the cake pan doesn’t seem filled with enough batter when you put it in the oven. But it will rise considerably while it bakes. Like most chocolate desserts, err on the side of underbaking rather than overbaking. Check the cake before the recommended baking time.
If you don’t have a bundt pan, a tube pan with smooth sides and a hollow tube in the middle will work. As mentioned in the post (thanks George!), the best pan coating is baker’s nonstick spray, the kind that has flour in it, such as Baker’s Joy or Bak-Klene, which is available at Webstaurant, Amazon, and Williams-Sonoma.Nordic Ware recommends not using regular nonstick spray on their bundt pans, which causes buildup and degrades the coating.
Dorie recommends topping the cake, after it’s glazed, with rosettes of whipped cream and either maraschino or amarena cherries, or chocolate sprinkles or shaved chocolate. I kept it squarely in the chocolate direction but if I wasn’t bringing the cake to a party, I’d serve it with ice cream.
For the cake
1 1/3 cups (180g) all-purpose flour
1/2 cup (45g) unsweetened cocoa powder, preferably Dutch-process
To make the cake, spray the inside of a 10-cup bundt pan with baker’s spray (see the headnote), or grease it with butter or shortening, making sure to get it into all the crevasses, then dust the pan with flour, tapping out the excess.
Preheat the oven to 350ºF (175ºC).
Sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and salt into a medium bowl.
In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, or by hand, beat the butter and sugars on medium-high speed until light and fluffy, about 4 minutes. Stop the mixer midway and scrape down the sides to make sure the ingredients are mixing evenly.
Turn the mixer down to medium speed and add the eggs one at a time, stopping the mixer to scrape down the sides. Once the eggs are incorporated, mix in the vanilla and melted chocolate.
With the mixer on its lowest speed, add one-third of the dry ingredients, then half of the milk. Add half of the remaining dry ingredients, mix in the rest of the milk, then mix in the last of the dry ingredients. With the mixer still on low speed, mix in the very hot coffee. Remove the bowl from the mixer and stir in the chopped chocolate by hand with a flexible spatula.
Scrape the batter into the prepared cake pan. Rap the pan gently on the counter a few times and smooth the top. Bake the cake until a toothpick inserted into the center comes out almost clean, with moist crumbs attached, about 35 minutes, but check it at the 30-minute mark, or before.
Let the cake cool on a wire rack for 10 minutes. Unmold the cake on the wire rack and let cool completely before glazing.
To make the glaze, place the butter, chocolate, and corn syrup in a medium bowl. Place the bowl over a small saucepan of barely simmering water, stirring it occasionally until the butter and chocolate are melted and the mixture is smooth. Remove from the heat and let cool for a minute or two to thicken slightly, enough so that it can be spooned over the top of the cake, but not too runny that it will all run down the sides and off the cake.
Pour or spoon the glaze over the top of the cake, using a butter knife or offset metal spatula to encourage it to flow down the sides.
Storage: The cake can be stored for up to two days at room temperature, if well-wrapped.
*When I was in pastry school here in France, one of the chef-instructors said to add a little red food coloring to chocolate batters to enhance the color of the chocolate. Just an FYI.
Addendum
Just a footnote here on bundt pans. These are the two that I own:
The one on the left is an oldie, but goodie that I bought at a stall at the market in Paris. The one on the right is a newer on from Nordic Ware. I had trouble getting it out of the one on the right, and used the one on the left for the cake in this post.
As mentioned above, my esteemed food stylist friend says that he always uses a baking spray with flour in it on bundt pans, and they pop out easily. That was echoed a few days ago when I was talking to baking expert Brian Hart Hoffman, founder and editor-in-chief of Bake from Scratch magazine, who shared that sentiment and said to always use baking spray with flour in bundt and fluted pans, not regular non-stick spray.
Confession: I may have used non-stick spray on the pan on the above right a few times, as well as run it through the dishwasher - another no no, which may be why cakes stick in it sometimes. Nordic Ware has a video about how to wash a bundt pan.
As a treat, Brian brought me two of the cake pans he designed for Williams-Sonoma, below, so I can start afresh with my shiny new fluted tube pans. And this time, I’ll treat them right!
Now introducing… the wintery side dish or vegetarian main dish that you didn’t know you needed! You’ll love how it comes together with one pot on the stove and one pan in the oven.
This festive green and red dish features roasted Brussels sprouts cooked to crisp-tender perfection with fresh cranberries, which become so lovely as they bake on the same pan alongside the sprouts. Add chopped pecans to the pan toward the end of baking to toast them.
Once your components are done cooking, combine them in a bowl over cooked wild rice blend. Finish it off with crumbled goat cheese, plus a drizzle of balsamic vinegar and maple syrup. The flavors remind me of my popular Balsamic Roasted Brussels Sprouts with Cranberries & Pecans, but you can eat this one as a standalone meal. It’s a winner.
I’m down under for a very special reason. I’m spending time with family and celebrating my cousin’s wedding, all in the middle of summer. Which means, yes, there has been a lot of ice cream. I don’t get to see my family nearly as often as I’d like since we live so far apart, so anytime there’s even the slightest excuse to gather, I’m on a plane without hesitation.
Before I left, I set a small kitchen experiment into motion. My very young Buddha’s hand tree surprised me with two large fruits this year, and I found myself unsure of what to do with them. They’re often candied, turned into marmalade, or used for extracts, but I wanted something simple and a little playful. So I chopped both fruits and tucked one into a jar of tequila and the other into tequila with sugar, planning to leave them for a month. Just 24 hours later, the tequila had already begun to take on the natural pigments from the citrus. I’ve hidden both jars away in a cool, dark corner of the kitchen and can’t wait to see what greets me when I return. It could be a disaster. It could be magic. We’ll find out.
This is my final newsletter of the year, and I’ll see you on the other side in the new one. As this year comes to a close, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for being part of this community. It is such a privilege to see you cook from my recipes and share them in your own kitchens. I hope you’re able to take a little break, spend time with people you love, and also steal a quiet moment just for yourself.
Special Holiday Offer From America’s Test Kitchen
My friends at America’s Test Kitchen created a special holiday to share with my readers. Access over 30 years of ATK recipes (including mine) and reviews with a free one-month subscription and then 37% off your first year with my exclusive link.
Rocky road has always felt like a dessert built from joy and improvisation. Its origins stretch from 19th-century Australia, where chocolate, nuts, and marshmallows were mixed to make use of imperfect ingredients, to its rise as a beloved ice cream flavor in the United States during the Great Depression, when texture and generosity turned restraint into indulgence. However it traveled, the rocky road became shorthand for comfort, abundance, and that playful feeling that anything delicious could happen in one bite.
These bars keep that spirit alive while quietly sharpening the flavors through science. Dark chocolate forms the backbone, bringing bitterness that makes every sweet note feel brighter. Marshmallows soften the snap and create those familiar pockets of chew, while dried apricots and pineapple add concentrated fruit acids that lift the richness. Walnuts and pepitas deliver crunch and fat for balance, and a touch of coconut reinforces the fruit with gentle, toasty aromatics. Chilling the slab sets the chocolate to a clean snap and lets the flavors release in layers rather than all at once.
There is no baking required, no need for precision, and no wrong way to cut them. These bars are meant to be shared, stacked high on a platter, and broken into with your hands, just like rocky road always has been.
The Flavor Files: Why These Rocky Road Bars Work
Rocky road is one of those desserts that feels nostalgic and indulgent at the same time, but what makes these bars really special is how many different flavor and texture mechanisms are happening in one bite. This is a dessert built on contrast, and contrast is one of the most potent drivers of deliciousness.
Let’s break down what is happening under the hood.
I just spent a few days in Boston on my most recent trip to ATK, where I learned the most incredible news: Flavor Forward has been renewed for a second season! I truly could not contain my joy when they told me. Hosting my own cooking show has already been such a gift, and I have made peace with whatever the future holds. But to hear it has been greenlit for another season feels like one of the best holiday surprises I could have imagined. I am so profoundly grateful to every one of you who watched, shared, liked, and left comments. I am heading into 2026 with a huge smile on my face. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
This week, I am also sharing my holiday gift guides, filled with cookbooks, food and culture books, and thoughtful ideas for home cooks. There are so many fun picks in here, whether you are shopping for someone else or treating yourself. I hope you find something that makes you just as happy to give as it is to receive.
And since it is officially Christmas baking season, I also have a brand-new cookie addition to my holiday lineup for this year, something warm, spiced, and perfect for sharing. I cannot wait for you to bake it.
I’m always chasing a holiday cookie that hits all the right notes at once: warm, comforting spice, deep caramel sweetness, a fabulous chewy texture, and a recipe that doesn’t ask too much of me when the season already feels full. These masala chai brown sugar cookies check every one of those boxes. They’re quick to mix, easy to bake, and somehow still feel special enough for a cookie tin or a last-minute get-together.
What I love most is how they bake up with those beautiful crackled tops and a soft, chewy center. The chai masala brings warmth without overpowering, making each bite feel cozy rather than cloying.
It’s been 17 months since I first questioned whether anyone even needed another recipe for a basque cheesecake — the burnished, custardy and uncluttered kind that hails from San Sebastián, Spain — and concluded that in fact, I did.
Hello from Washington, D.C.! It’s been eight years since I was last here, and it feels good to be back, even if just for a quick stop before I head to Virginia to spend the holiday with Michael’s family. I’ve been catching up with friends, soaking in the city, and squeezing in a bit of downtime — which for me means getting lost in a good book.
Right now, I’m reading Strange Pictures by Uketsu. It’s a wonderfully bizarre and clever form of horror. Every story hides clues inside the illustrations, so you find yourself flipping back and forth trying to solve a mystery while also getting spooked. It’s basically a puzzle book disguised as a ghost story, and I’m having a lot of fun with it.
This week
It’s time for my Big Annual Thanksgiving Menu.
For my paid subscribers this holiday, I have a new side dish: the classic candied sweet potatoes, reinterpreted my way with the warm, comforting scent of chai spices and earthy jaggery, so the sweetness doesn’t mask the natural sweetness of the roasted sweet potatoes.
If you’ve been considering becoming a paid subscriber, now’s the time! I’ve jumped on the Black Friday train and am offering 40% OFF annual subscriptions for ONE WEEK ONLY. Redeem here.
ICYMI: Another extra side for my paid subscribers, My Indian Style Cornbread Stuffing
The 2025 Thanksgiving Menu
Thanksgiving is one of those days where food does more than feed us — it brings everyone a little closer. It’s the laughter in the kitchen, the rush to grab the last roll, the stories we only remember when we’re all finally sitting down together. As I get ready for my own celebration this year, I wanted to share the dishes that make me excited to cook for the people I love.
So I’ve gathered three curated collections to help you build a table that feels special — whether you’re hosting a crowd or cooking for just a few. Think golden, juicy mains… sides packed with color and crunch… and desserts that feel like a warm hug at the end of the night.
I’d love for you to dive in, pick a few favorites, and make them your own. If you end up cooking something from these lists, please send me a photo or tag me. Nothing makes me happier than seeing my recipes become part of your holiday memories.
Here’s to warmth, good food, and a table full of small moments that matter.
I’m giving myself a tiny break next weekend to enjoy the holiday, so there won’t be a newsletter next Sunday — but I’ll be back the following week with more delicious things.
My strongest opinion on Thanksgiving sides is that whenever possible, they should come in a casserole dish (or its chic French cousin, a gratin). I don’t mean that your sides should be limited to things that swim in cream, cheese, butter, or a happy combination of all three — although one dish in this category is highly welcome on my table — I simply mean that sides like this, that is baked in dishes with walls, tend to excel at holding up to resting times, reheat well, and stay warm longer.
I kicked things off with dinner at Workshop Kitchen & Bar, where the non-alcoholic drinks were so good I briefly forgot they were non-alcoholic. And because my ongoing quest for the world’s best potato pizza never takes a day off, I ordered their wood-fired sourdough topped with potato confit, braised leeks, truffled crème fraîche, and an unapologetic amount of cheese. It was creamy, indulgent, and genuinely made me consider starting a potato-pizza appreciation society.
The Palm Springs Food and Wine Festival has been a delight, even with the dramatic atmospheric storm currently soaking Southern California. Rain is a rare guest here, and when it shows up, the whole desert goes full glamour-shot mode — the mountains turn moody and cinematic, like nature is doing its own editorial spread.
So in the spirit of that bold, dramatic energy, I’m flipping the script this week. Instead of easing into Thanksgiving with savory dishes, we’re starting with dessert. Because honestly, when the sweets are this good, why pretend we don’t all want them first?
Hop in — it’s going to be a fun ride.
Cranberries and Cream Parfaits
If you’re not in the mood for pie this year or you’re looking for something different and more refreshing to end a rich celebration, these Cranberry and Cream Parfaits are for you. It’s the dessert I made for our Friendsgiving episode at America’s Test Kitchen, and it has quickly become one of my favorite Thanksgiving finales. Parfaits are easy to prepare ahead and assemble beautifully in individual glasses, which makes them perfect for entertaining. In this version, tart cranberries meet the gentle warmth of cinnamon and star anise, layered with a silky pastry cream for balance. The result is bright, festive, and light, everything you want after a hearty meal. You can watch how I made it and grab the recipe in the Friendsgiving episode.
Thanksgiving desserts are where I like to loosen things up a little — to keep the comfort but add surprise and brightness. This year’s collection leans into that balance. You’ll find desserts that cut through the richness of the meal, like cranberry-forward sweets and chilled puddings, alongside cozier bakes built on pumpkin, sweet potato, warm spices, and caramelized edges. A few are playful twists on tradition, while others borrow inspiration from my travels or the flavors I grew up with; together, they make a lineup that feels both familiar and new. These are the recipes I keep coming back to because they work for almost every table: small gatherings, big Friendsgivings, potlucks, or for that weekend when you want something festive. Since dessert is the theme this week, I’ve pulled together a curated list of the treats I think deserve a moment on your Thanksgiving menu this year.
I hope you are enjoying my recent show on America’s Test Kitchen (ATK), Flavor Forward. As an extra bonus for my newsletter subscribers, I’ve secured an exclusive discount on ATK subscriptions for the holidays. Through the end of November, in addition to a one-month free trial, you can get 37% off the first year of a membership. Just click HERE.
I just wrapped up the final edits for my new cookbook! After hours spent squinting at the galleys, scrolling, tweaking, and finessing every last word and photo, my eyes deserve their own vacation (or at least an eye exam). The cover will be locked in soon—and I can’t wait to share it with you.
It’s also the final episode of FLAVOR FORWARD, and fittingly, it ends on a sweet note: a cool, tropical granita made with coconut, lime, and lychee. It’s light, bright, and the perfect way to end a heavy meal—or to cleanse the palate between bites. As the series comes to a close, I’ve been reflecting on how close I once came to giving up on the idea of hosting a show that combines my two great passions: flavor and science. I’m so glad I didn’t. If you’ve been following along, thank you—and if not, this is a great time to jump in and show the finale some love. You’ve been with me through every high and low, cheering me on and reminding me why I do what I do. I couldn’t have done any of this without you—thank you for lifting me up always.
One Last Burst of Flavor
If you missed an episode of Flavor Forward, now’s the time to catch up. From broiled tandoori salmon and lemony couscous to this week’s tropical creamy coconut lime lychee granita, each episode dives into the science of flavor in a whole new way. 🎥 Watch all the episodes on America’s Test Kitchen’s YouTube channel → [Watch Now]
Next weekend, I’ll be cooking at the Palm Springs Food and Wine Festival—my first visit to the desert! If you’re local or have been before, I’d love your recommendations (food, vintage finds, or anything in between).
More soon, Nik
In this week’s newsletter:
New Recipe (Paid Subscribers): Indian-style stuffing with dates, nuts, and warm spices — a golden, flavor-packed twist on the classic holiday side.
Kitchen Science Deep Dive:The Science of Boiling Water — what really happens when water hits its boiling point, why pasta cooks slower at higher altitudes, and how understanding heat and pressure can make you a smarter cook.
Science Spotlight:The Truth About Washing Produce with Baking Soda — what the research actually says about using baking soda to remove pesticides (plus the correct ratio and soak time if you want to try it).
We’re down to the second-to-last episode of Flavor Forward with Nik Sharma, and this one packs more than just heat. I’m making Chicken 65, the South Indian fried chicken that’s crispy, fiery, and bright with lemon—the kind of dish that wakes up every sense. It’s marinated in spiced yogurt, fried to a perfect crunch, and tossed in a glossy chile-lemon glaze that hits all the right notes: tangy, savory, and addictive. But that’s not all. There’s a special guest in this episode who completely threw me for a surprise at the end—you’ll have to watch to find out who. Catch it now on America’s Test Kitchen’s YouTube channel and let me know what you think!
🔥 Don’t Miss the Heat
If you missed an episode of Flavor Forward, now’s the time to catch up. From broiled tandoori salmon and lemony couscous to this week’s spicy, crispy Chicken 65, each episode dives into the science of flavor in a whole new way. 🎥 Watch all the episodes on America’s Test Kitchen’s YouTube channel → [Watch Now]
“Cooking is chemistry—and Chicken 65 proves it.”
What I’m Reading: What to Eat Now by Marion Nestle
I’ve been reading Marion Nestle’s updated edition of What to Eat Now (Amazon/Bookshop), and it offers a smart and refreshing look at how we navigate food today. Marion has a gift for cutting through the noise of food trends and marketing hype with warmth, wit, and science. It’s a big book, one to spend time with and read slowly, page by page, because every section makes you think a little differently about how food really works in our lives. It is a masterclass in cutting through food industry noise with clarity, humor, and science. Marion unpacks the language of labels, marketing claims, and supermarket psychology to help us make better choices for both our bodies and the food system. I was lucky to read an advance copy and write a few words of praise for it, and I think you’ll enjoy it too.
Recipe
Roasted Squash and Shallots with Pineapple and Honey-Lime Dressing
My Roasted Squash and Shallots with Pineapple and Honey-Lime Dressing, walks the perfect line between sweet and savory. Butternut squash and shallots roast until caramelized and nutty, while pineapple adds juicy bursts of acidity. A honey-lime dressing ties everything together, its balance built on chemistry: sugars caramelize for depth, acids from lime and pineapple keep things bright, and a touch of fish sauce adds subtle umami.
Once roasted, the vegetables are layered with pineapple rings and topped with Thai basil, mint, cilantro, scallions, and sliced Thai chiles for heat. It’s colorful, fragrant, and bold—an easy side that feels special enough for a dinner party or holiday table. (Pro tip: skip the Italian basil; Thai basil’s spicy, anise-like flavor is what makes this dish sing.) 👉 Get the full recipe on America’s Test Kitchen
Unless you’re living your life better than me (probably!), I bet it’s been way too long since you last had a baked potato for dinner — or, as they’re more charmingly called across the pond, “jacket potato.” And it’s a crime because they’re so cozy and uncomplicated to make, we could fix this right now.
I can’t remember where I saw it or who wrote it, but they aptly described the weather in LA right now. It’s autumn in the morning, summer in the afternoon, spring in the evening, and at night winter sets in—all four seasons in one day. I never know what to wear, so I end up taking a jacket everywhere I go, just in case. And I learned my lesson well when I went out to dinner at the new Malaysian restaurant Rasarumah when stopped in LA on her book tour. Vegetarians, this place has a separate menu just for you. I highly recommend the gado gado salad and mushroom clay pot, which we ended up ordering twice that evening. The cendol sundae with coconut ice cream and pandan jelly noodles was phenomenal.
This week…
See what I’m cooking up in the latest episode of Flavor Forwardwith America’s Test Kitchen!
Learn about the science of salt in my salt deep dive (and get a handy chart to help with measurements for different types of salt)
Exclusively for my Paid subscribers, my recipe for Gunpowder Butternut Squash and New Potatoes
Tandoori Salmon: Turning the Heat Up
Tandoori food delivers some of the boldest, smokiest flavors in Indian cooking, and that is precisely why I love it. Growing up in Bombay, I would sneak out with my friends at night to eat tandoori chicken fresh off the grill, wrapped in buttery naan. The meat’s charred crust, its crimson hue, and the aroma of spices that reached you before the plate did were unforgettable. For this episode of Flavor Forward, I wanted to bring that same intensity to salmon. The broiler may not hit the 900 degrees of a tandoor, but its radiant heat can still mimic that smoky, high-heat magic.
Instead of the traditional yogurt marinade, I take a different route. A brief soak in a baking soda solution raises the salmon’s pH, keeping it tender and moist while allowing time for a dark crust to form. I then brush the fillets with lemon juice, which resets the acidity, just enough for the beet juice in my spice paste to hold its deep red color. The paste combines garam masala, Kashmiri chili powder, garlic, ginger, and kasoori methi, creating a rich, earthy heat. The result is buttery, smoky salmon with layers of spice and color that rival anything from a tandoor. Watch the full episode of Flavor Forwardto see how it all comes together and learn the science behind this vibrant dish.
Missed an episode? Catch them all here at Flavor Forward.
Let’s Talk About Salt — and Why It Changes Everything You Cook
If you’ve ever wondered why salt makes food taste better, you’ll want to read this one. I just published a deep dive on the science of salt, how it sharpens aromas, balances bitterness, and even changes texture at a molecular level. It’s a quick, practical guide to understanding salt beyond “season to taste,” and it’ll change how you cook everything from pasta to pastries. You can read it here: The Science of Salt.
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