This week, I’m back at America’s Test Kitchen, where some exciting new projects are quietly coming together. There’s a small hint hidden in this newsletter—see if you catch it. September has a way of sneaking in those seasonal shifts, and landing in Boston straight from L.A., the change feels even sharper. The air is already cooler than I imagined… I really should have packed a sweater or two. LA on the other hand is still wrapped in a hot summer blanket.
On my weekend break in Boston, I stopped by Sofra Bakery to see my friend Chef Maura Kilpatrick. Chef Andy, who runs their pastry, shared the secrets to their beloved ma’amoul cookies (their cookbook is every bit as spectacular). I miss being in the bakery; moments like these always make me happy.
It’s time for the Best New Restaurant Lists - [Bon Appetit] [New York Times]. Have you been to any of these?
How to Get A Cookbook Deal - Hint - Having huge audiences on TikTok and Instagram are no longer helpful (they never were) - [Best Food Blog]
I already do this with mango peels and the pit, which is why I loved reading this Before You Throw Away Those Fruit Scraps [Punch]
EVENT ALERT: I’ll be interviewing author and fellow ATK Editor-in-Residence, Aran Goyoaga, at Now Serving LA on September 25 [Tickets Here]
This week, I’m here to equip you with all the science-backed tricks to turn those ordinary salads into flavor-forward masterpieces. Whether you still crave summer salad vibes or are itching to be inspired by fall, I have you covered. In this paid subscriber newsletter, you will…
Get my tips for storing salads to last and why the leaf cell wall structure matters.
The science behind maximizing flavor in different leafy greens-- including how heat transforms arugula and why spinach loves a calcium-rich partner
Get my recipe for Butter Lettuce Salad with Crispy Caper Breadcrumbs
How I Store Salads (and Keep Them from Going Sad and Soggy)
If you are tired of opening the fridge to find yesterday’s salad limp and watery, you are not alone. I have ruined more than a few good salads this way. Over time, I have picked up tricks that keep them fresher for longer, and there is a little history and science behind why they work.
The word “salad” originates from the Latin “sal,” meaning salt. The ancient Romans often ate raw vegetables dressed with salty brine, oil, or vinegar — one of the earliest forms of vinaigrette. In contrast, in India and many Asian countries, oil doesn’t even enter the equation of the dressing; it’s simpler.
In Renaissance Europe, raw greens were sometimes viewed with suspicion, and many people blanched them before eating. Fast forward a few centuries, and we now take for granted the joy of a crisp, raw salad. Iceberg lettuce, for example, was bred in the US in the late 19th century specifically for transport. It was shipped packed in ice, which is how it got its name.
The challenge with salads has always been freshness. Leaves are more than 90 percent water, and once picked, they lose moisture through evaporation and respiration. This is why they go limp so quickly. Storing them in a cool, humid environment slows the process, which is why refrigeration helps. But the real trick is how you store them.
First, congrats to the winners of the Jeni’s Ice Cream giveaway! (Katelyn from Seattle, Wendy from McLean, Molly from Palm Desert, Dan from Raleigh, Lisa Marie from Huntley). Be on the lookout for a shipment of Jeni’s Fall Collection!
Garden Update
I almost have an edible garden. It has been a long project in the making, and while there are still a few things left to finish, most of the big tasks are finally done. Within hours of planting, the space began to come alive again. Bees, butterflies, and dragonflies appeared, and soon after, hummingbirds and other birds followed.
I have not yet planted all the fruits and vegetables I want to grow. For now, I am giving the soil and young plants a few months to settle in and recover from the shock of transplanting, and I am waiting for the weather to cool down. I did add two new trees that I am especially excited about: a sanshoo (Sichuan peppercorn) and a finger lime.
It is also the first month of fall, even though summer seems determined to hang on tightly. The days are still hot here, but I am already thinking about the cooler months ahead, the flavors they bring, and what I want to grow in the garden next.
Alongside all this, I have been busy with the artwork and photography for my next book. It is exciting to watch the manuscript shift from black-and-white Word pages into something colorful and alive in design.
September’s Flavor Forecast
Because it is September, I have pulled together a digest of recipes to share with you this month. They reflect the season as it changes, that in-between moment when summer produce is still here but fall is on the horizon. There’s my No-Bake Mango-Lime Cheese Cake from the NYT, among others, that is a worthy endeavor in this heat!
One of the new projects I’ve taken on as Editor-in-Residence at America’s Test Kitchen is co-hosting a few episodes of the In the Test Kitchen show with Dan Souza. My first episode was with one of my favorite people, , and it was such a fun way to kick things off. Check it out and learn more about her cookbook, Dorie’s Anytime Cakes.
What I’m Reading
This week, I’m honored to share recipes from one of the world’s most respected culinary voices: Tony Tan. Born in Malaysia and based in Australia, Tony has spent his life exploring and teaching the flavors of Asia, becoming a bridge between cultures through food.
I met Tony in Los Angeles a little over a year ago, and right away I was struck by his charm, humor, and warmth. Over steaming baskets of dim sum, we compared notes on cookbooks and restaurants, how different and yet how similar America and Australia can be when it comes to food. What stood out most was Tony’s incredible depth of knowledge about Asian cooking. He has this effortless way of weaving history, technique, and personal experience into conversation, and it was an absolute breath of fresh air.
I’ve always had a soft spot for Australia (and New Zealand, too). My mom’s family lives there, and with every visit, I find myself falling more in love, not just with the landscapes, but with the people, the food, and the vibrant culture that surrounds the table. So anytime I get the chance to feature an Australian chef or cookbook here, I get a little extra excited. And Tony is the perfect example of why
His influence is remarkable. Tony has appeared on MasterChef Australia and SBS Food, introducing countless viewers to the depth and beauty of Chinese, Malaysian, and Southeast Asian cuisines. His Melbourne cooking school became a legendary institution, shaping Australia’s food culture and nurturing generations of chefs and passionate home cooks.
Tony’s books—including the award-winning Hong Kong Food City and his latest, Asian Cooking Class—have cemented his reputation as both a teacher and storyteller. His work has earned critical acclaim and industry awards, and he is widely regarded as one of Australia’s most important culinary educators and a global authority on Asian cuisine.
Recipes
Beef Rendang and Pineapple Fried Rice from the legendary Tony Tan.
To celebrate the release of Asian Cooking Class (Amazon/Bookshop), I’m giving you free access to two of its standout recipes: his Beef Rendang, a slow-cooked masterpiece from West Sumatra, and his Pineapple Fried Rice (Khao Pad Sapparot), a vibrant Thai classic that’s equal parts festive and delicious.
Both dishes reflect Tony’s rare gift: weaving history, tradition, and technique into food that feels timeless and approachable. Cooking them at home is not only a chance to enjoy two extraordinary recipes, but also to connect with the culinary vision of a chef whose work continues to shape how we cook, eat, and understand Asian food in Australia and around the world.
Bring Tony Tan’s Kitchen to Yours If you loved these recipes, you’ll find so much more in Tony’s brilliant new book, Asian Cooking Class. It’s packed with the flavors, stories, and techniques that have made him one of Australia’s most important culinary voices.
Get your copy of Asian Cooking Class(Amazon/Bookshop) and support Tony’s incredible work. It’s a book you’ll cook from again and again.
It starts the way so many things in summer do, with a flash of sweetness that is gone almost before you have tasted it. Sweet corn does this to us every year: one moment, the ears are stacked high at the market, their silks fraying like a hundred careless ponytails; the next, the season is over, the sugars turned to starch, and we are left wishing we had bought more, eaten more, grilled more.
Learn why temperature matters when cooking corn, and how I cook corn in hot but not boiling water
Get my recipe for Roasted Paneer Sweet Corn Salad
Discover a mistake that’s easy to make with cornflour!
A Little History in Every Bite
Corn, or maize, has been with us for at least 9,000 years, originating in southern Mexico, where early farmers domesticated it from a wild grass called teosinte. That grass had just a handful of kernels hidden in a tough shell. Over centuries of cultivation and selection, the kernels grew fat and tender, the plants taller, the cobs larger. By the time corn traveled north into the Americas and east across the oceans, it had become a staple grain that could feed villages and empires.
Sweet corn, the kind we heap with butter today, is a much younger arrival. Mutations in the corn plant reduced the production of starch in the kernels, resulting in more sugars being left behind. Farmers noticed the sweeter taste and began selecting for it. In the nineteenth century, sweet corn started to appear in seed catalogs in the United States. With the advent of refrigeration and faster transportation, it made its way to markets and kitchens around the world.
The Genetics of Sweetness
Today, the sweetness of your corn comes down to genes with names like sugary1 (su1), sugar-enhanced (se), and shrunken2 (sh2). The su1 mutation was the first known genetic change that created sweet corn by slowing starch production. Later, the sh2 mutation produced what we now call supersweet corn, with three to four times the sugar content of standard sweet corn and a slower rate of sugar loss after harvest. It is the reason modern sweet corn can travel from farm to market without losing all its sweetness on the way.
However, even with these genes, enzymes continue to function. As soon as corn is picked, the sugars begin to turn into starch. Chilling slows the reaction, so the advice remains the same: eat it as soon as you can, and if you cannot, keep it cold.
When corn meets heat, chemistry takes over. High heat triggers caramelization, breaking sugars into toasty, bittersweet compounds. It also fuels the Maillard reaction, the meeting of amino acids and sugars that gives roasted corn its nutty, savory notes. This is why charred corn tastes so different from corn boiled in water. Both are delicious. One is bright and sugary, the other smoky and complex. But too much heat could spell trouble!
Friends, In honor of my ice cream newsletter, I’ve got something sweet for you this week, and not just a recipe. Jeni’s Ice Cream has partnered with me to bring a special giveaway to The Flavor Files community. Five lucky readers will each win a shipment of Jeni’s five fall flavors, handpicked for their bold, layered flavors (you know that’s my thing!).
Here’s what’s on the menu:
Caramel Apple Crumble – Crisp apple ice cream swirled with dark caramel sauce and brown sugar–oat crumble.
Burnt Orange Dreamsicle – Juicy orange ice cream with vanilla custard and a drizzle of burnt orange caramel.
Miso Butterscotch Brownie – Dark chocolate fudge brownies folded into a buttery, toasted sugar cream with a hint of savory miso.
Bay Leaf Cheesecake – A refreshing, herbaceous twist on cream cheese ice cream with a graham cracker swirl.
Cookies in Cream – Scratch-made darkest chocolate cookies with flecks of white chocolate in vanilla-scented cream.
How to Enter
All readers (free + paid): Enter by clicking the link below and sharing your favorite ice cream memory.
Paid subscribers get an edge: You’ll receive FIVE entries instead of one, increasing your chances to win. Plus one winner is guaranteed to be from my paid audience!
Winners will be selected at random, and each winner will receive a shipment of the five fall flavors. Five winners, five flavors!
Why Jeni’s?
I’ve long admired how Jeni’s layers flavor—balancing acidity, sweetness, bitterness, even umami; just like we do in the kitchen. Think of the miso in butterscotch or the bay leaf in cheesecake: these are flavor moves straight from the cook’s playbook.
This giveaway is my way of sharing that inspiration with you.
Dates & Details
Giveaway opens: Today
Giveaway closes: Tuesday, September 3rd (11:59 pm EST)
Winners announced: In my next newsletter
This one’s open to readers in the U.S. only (for shipping reasons).
Thank you for being here, especially to those of you who support The Flavor Files as paid subscribers. Your support allows me to keep sharing recipes, science, and the flavors I love. And for this giveaway, it also gives you a little extra advantage.
Good luck, and may your freezer be full of bold flavors!
The heat has settled over Los Angeles like a heavy quilt. By five, I’m up, leash in hand, Paddington trotting beside me as we chase the last scraps of cool air before the sun bares its teeth. Neither of us has the will for anything more once the streets begin to simmer. The oven sits cold, the stove ignored. Lunch has been little more than crisp salads, sandwiches straight from the fridge, and generous bowls of ice cream. So this week, it feels only right to turn to one of my truest comforts: ice cream in all its glory.
The Scoop on Ice Cream
There are few foods that capture both memory and science like ice cream. A crack of the spoon through its surface, the first silky cold bite, suddenly you’re five years old again, chasing the music of the ice cream truck. Yet beneath the nostalgia lies an extraordinary story of chemistry, physics, and culinary invention. Today, we’ll peel back the layers of ice cream: its history, the science that makes it work, and the machines and cookbooks that have carried it into our kitchens.
A Brief History of Frozen Pleasures
It begins in ancient China, around 200 BCE, where someone thought to stir rice and milk together, sweeten it, and chill it with snow. Not simply a dessert, but a small miracle in a bowl, cold and fleeting.
A few centuries later in Persia, the royal courts sipped sharbat, fruit syrups cooled with mountain snow. A drink with sunlight in its flavor and winter in its chill, the ancestor of sherbets and sorbets to come.
By the sixteenth century in Mughal India, ice was carried down from the Himalayas on horseback to cool fruit and milk puddings. Kulfi was born here: milk slowly caramelized until nutty and golden, then frozen in metal molds. It is still eaten today, dense and creamy, the taste of centuries held on the tongue.
Then Italy, during the Renaissance, where sorbetto (sorbet), light and tart, became the pride of Florence and Naples. Entire courts competed for supremacy, the frozen fruits of summer turned into works of art.
France followed in the seventeenth century. Parisian cafés began to serve crème glacée to the aristocracy. Cold, rich, and impossibly decadent, it was spooned out as if the very essence of luxury could be captured in ice.
Across the ocean in the United States, George Washington reportedly spent a small fortune on ice cream one hot summer, while Thomas Jefferson carefully wrote down one of the earliest recipes for vanilla ice cream. You can almost picture the ink drying on the page as the dessert began to melt in the heat.
And here is the cool fact. Before refrigeration, the ice trade was a global enterprise. In the nineteenth century, blocks of ice cut from frozen New England lakes traveled by ship to India and the Caribbean, packed in sawdust to slow the inevitable melt. The idea of carrying winter to the tropics feels almost romantic now, a gesture of excess and longing.
The Science of Ice Cream
The Architecture of Ice Cream
At its heart, ice cream is a small piece of alchemy, a dessert built on a multi-phase system that somehow tastes like happiness.
There are the ice crystals, tiny shards of frozen water that, if kept under fifty microns, give that elusive smoothness. Then come the fat globules, drifting in from cream or other fats, half-joining as the churn whips through the mixture, helping to trap air. The air itself is another layer, what ice cream makers call overrun. Premium ice creams hold only about twenty to thirty percent air, while cheaper ones can be puffed up to nearly double their volume. Finally, there is the unfrozen sugar solution, the part that stays liquid, keeping everything scoopable rather than turning into an icy brick.
Together, these phases give ice cream its paradoxical nature: frozen yet soft, solid yet melting.
Sugar: The Quiet Magician
Sugar is not there only for sweetness. It lowers water’s freezing point, so the mix never becomes a block of ice. Each sugar behaves differently. Sucrose, our everyday table sugar, gives balanced sweetness and moderate freezing. Glucose or corn syrup keeps more water locked in, lending a gentle chewiness. Invert sugar, honey, and agave resist iciness altogether, keeping the texture velvety.
Emulsifiers and Stabilizers
Egg yolks, with their lecithin and proteins, hold fat and water together while giving a custardy richness. Starch, often cornstarch or arrowroot, has long been used in Italian gelato to add body. In the modern world, stabilizers like guar gum, carrageenan, and locust bean gum keep ice cream creamy for longer and prevent those dreaded shards of ice from forming as it sits in the freezer.
The War on Ice Crystals
The enemy of good ice cream is large ice crystals. The faster the freeze, the smaller they stay. That is why factories use blast freezers at minus thirty degrees Celsius. At home, patience and planning help. Chill the base overnight, pre-freeze your equipment, work quickly, and you will be rewarded with a smoother, creamier scoop.
Styles Around the World
French custard ice cream begins with a cooked egg yolk base, a custard as lush and silky as velvet. Philadelphia-style skips the yolks altogether, leaving the flavor of cream to shine through, lighter and cleaner.
In Italy, gelato is churned more slowly, served warmer, with less fat than traditional ice cream. The result is denser, the flavors more intense, the texture almost elastic on the tongue.
Sorbet is fruit and sugar syrup, nothing more, no fat at all, while sherbet adds just a touch of dairy for creaminess. In India, kulfi starts with milk slowly reduced until thick and nutty, then scented with cardamom, saffron, and pistachios before being frozen solid. Dense, chewy, fragrant.
Soft-serve, a twentieth-century invention, is held at warmer temperatures so it flows out in those familiar swirls, kept stable with modern ingredients.
And here is a story I love. In 1904, at the St. Louis World’s Fair, an ice cream vendor ran out of cups. A waffle seller at the next stall rolled his waffles into cones. The ice cream cone was born in that moment, by accident and necessity, and the world never looked back.
Inventions and Machines
In 1843, Nancy Johnson in Philadelphia patented the hand-cranked ice cream freezer, a simple device using ice and salt brine to chill the base quickly. For the first time, households could make their ice cream without waiting for winter.
In the 1930s, Clarence Birdseye’s work on rapid freezing transformed commercial production, creating smoother textures. A few years later, in Illinois, the McCullough family invented soft-serve, and Dairy Queen began.
By the 1960s, Häagen-Dazs took ice cream in the opposite direction, reducing the air for a dense, rich style that set the standard for premium ice cream.
Modern Tools
Today, compressor machines do it all in one step with their built-in freezers. Freezer-bowl machines are simpler, more affordable, but need overnight chilling before you can churn. And then there is the dry ice method, which freezes the base almost instantly at home, filling the kitchen with clouds of cold, white vapor. At home, I use the Breville the Smart Scoop, which comes with its built-in freezing unit; it’s a lot more convienent especially if you don’t have space to pre-freeze the bucket.
Cookbooks for Ice Cream Enthusiasts
Jeni’s Splendid Ice Creams at Home — my number 1-go-to cookbook for ice creams, the ideas, her iconic cream cheese technique, and the methods are a game-changer.
Frozen Desserts by Francisco J. Migoya — the Culinary Institute of America’s Ice Cream textbook. This book is geared towards chefs, but it does a fantastic job of explaining the science behind frozen desserts and is chock-full of ideas.
Science Spotlight: Freezer Burn and Recrystallization
Why does ice cream sometimes turn grainy, littered with tiny shards of ice? The culprit is recrystallization. Each time the temperature wavers, small ice crystals melt and then refreeze into larger, crunchier ones.
Keep your ice cream in the coldest, most stable corner of the freezer. Lay a sheet of parchment against the surface before sealing the lid to limit moisture migration. And resist the temptation to dip in for “just one spoonful” and put it back. Those cycles of thawing and refreezing are what give you that unwelcome crunch.
Commercial stabilizers are formulated to slow this process, which is why a supermarket pint lasts longer than any homemade batch, no matter how careful you are.
Ice cream may seem like pure whimsy, but every scoop carries history, invention, and science within it. From the first sharbats to kulfi, from the birth of gelato to Jeni’s Splendid, from freezing point depression to the happy accident of the waffle cone, it is one of the most remarkable culinary creations we have ever dreamed up.
Here are some of my favorite ice cream recipes just for you!
So what is your favorite ice cream memory? A kulfi dripping down a stick on a hot Bombay afternoon or a passion fruit ice cream in Auckland? Gelato eaten too quickly by the Arno? A neon-bright swirl of soft-serve at a state fair? Write back and tell me. I would love to share a few of your stories in a future issue.
A treat’s on its way to your inbox. I won’t say more, but you’ll know it when you see it.
There are ingredients that season, and then there are ingredients that change everything. Acid belongs to the latter camp. A squeeze of lemon over fish, the tang of yogurt on warm bread, a splash of vinegar in a simmering pot; they don’t just add flavor, they alter it entirely, reshaping textures, brightening colors, and waking up our taste buds. Cooking with acid is less about subtlety and more about transformation, the quiet but decisive shift from good to unforgettable.
In this paid subscriber newsletter, you will…
Learn which acid gives carbonated beverages a whisper of acidity, and why I store yogurts in glass or stainless steal.
Get my recipes for Poulet Sauté au Vinaigre/Chicken Sautéed in Vinegar and Noyaux (I hope you saved your apricot kernels!)
Discover why there is a trace amount of cyanide in foods like amaretti cookies, and why you shouldn’t go on a raw kernel binge bender!
An Acid Love Story
At a small square table, I pressed the edge of my tostada to keep its crisp crown from cracking, then layered it with ribbons of blue prawn, each slice shimmering under its coat of emerald-green, citrus-bright ceviche. One bite and I was elsewhere, by the ocean, where the sun’s warmth is tempered by a salt-sweet breeze and the soft susurration of coconut leaves brushing against each other.
Acid is one of the kitchen’s most thrilling sleights of hand. It brings a certain brightness, a spark, the sharp inhale of the sour taste that can lift a dish from pleasant to unforgettable. It reshapes what it touches: curdling milk into the cool tang of yogurt through the gentle work of lactic acid, loosening the taut web of gluten in bread dough with the mellow vinegar notes born of fermentation, coaxing meat into tenderness in a marinade. And here, in this ceviche, it takes the sea’s raw offering and, with a kiss of citrus, turns it into something luminous and new.
My friend and cookbook author, Rie McClenny, and I had come to The Hummingbird Ceviche House in Echo Park, a Peruvian-Japanese restaurant that hums with the precision of one cuisine and the exuberance of the other. Plate after plate arrived, each one a testament to the quiet magic of acid and the way it can transform the ordinary into something unforgettable.
Inorganic vs. Organic Acids
But here’s the thing: not all acids are created the same, and because of this, their behaviors are different. In chemistry, acids fall into two groups: inorganic and organic acids. Inorganic acids are acids that aren’t built on a carbon backbone like organic acids – citric or lactic acid, which do show up in cooking, though they’re far less common than organic acids. The ones we use are almost always very diluted because concentrated forms can be dangerous.
Not all acids are created equal, and in the kitchen, their personalities show. Some are sharp and industrial, others soft and fruit-born; each behaves differently, each with its way of coaxing flavor into life. In chemistry, they fall into two families: inorganic and organic.
Inorganic Acids
Inorganic acids are the quieter, rarer guests in the home kitchen. They don’t arrive in the squeeze of a lemon or the brine of a pickle jar, but they still have their place in the greater food world.
Hydrochloric acid (HCl) lives naturally in our stomachs, breaking down what we eat. In food production, when it’s tamed to safe, delicate dilutions, it can help in processes like starch hydrolysis, gelatin making, or crafting certain candies. But it’s far too corrosive to ever keep on the pantry shelf.
Phosphoric acid (H₃PO₄) is more familiar, hiding in the deep, dark sweetness of cola,
A big congratulations to Dale Goldberg, Carlos Castro, and Steph Fuller—winners of Boustany by Sami Tamimi! Thank you for being part of The Flavor Files community. Keep an eye out—more giveaways are on the way soon.
This week, we’re diving into the world of high heat and its transformative effect on flavor, with a special spotlight on tomato’s green cousin, the tomatillo. These little green gems are packed with sharp acidity that cuts through richness, and when roasted, they mellow into a smoky, slightly sweet flavor profile that becomes the base for countless dishes. I’ll share my recipe for a bright and bold salsa verde, perfect for tacos, grilled veggies, and beyond. And, as stone fruit season hits its peak, I’m also sharing some of my favorite ways to cook with peaches, apricots, and plums, celebrating the fleeting flavors of summer. Get ready to bring out the best of the ingredients of the season!
Science Spotlight: Why High Heat = Big Flavor
Ever wonder why your food won’t brown? It might be your heat. This week’s short video is a quick flavor science breakdown on why searing matters (it’s less about burning, more about building).
🎥 Watch the video
The Secret Life of Tomatillos (and the Sauce That Saves Me)
Tomatillos are deceptive. They masquerade as green tomatoes, wrapped in husks that rustle like old paper. Peel one open and you’ll find a sticky film clinging to the skin, a natural shield made of sugars and acids. Rinse it away, and the fruit beneath is startling: firm, luminous, quietly electric.
But there’s more to that brightness. Tomatillos brim with malic acid (and citric acid), the same compound that makes green apples sharp and snappy. Unlike tomatoes, they don’t sweeten as they ripen. Their acidity holds. It’s why they make such compelling sauces, they slice through richness, wake up oil, tame heat. They lift.
Roast them, though, and their sharpness softens. The skin blisters, the flesh collapses. You still get that green note, but it’s mellowed; smoky, slightly sweet, a little sultry. In my kitchen, they become the base of a salsa verde I return to again and again. Grilled tomatillos meet charred garlic, serrano chiles, herbs, and toasted nigella seeds. The result is something bright and bold, with just enough fire to keep it interesting, and enough depth to anchor a dish.
There are days when dinner feels like a question I don’t have the energy to answer. When the fridge offers little inspiration, and I need something that makes a meal out of not much at all. That’s when I reach for this salsa.
Not the jarred stuff (there’s nothing wrong with buying jarred stuff, but in this case, making your own is worth the extra effort). But the type you can make with whatever green you’ve got: a handful of herbs, maybe roasted scallions or a softening jalapeño, a squeeze of lime, a little olive oil. Sometimes I add an anchovy. Sometimes yogurt. Sometimes it’s just tomatillos, garlic, and salt. There are no rules. Only green.
And that’s the beauty of salsa verde. Wherever it comes from, Mexico (Mexico inspires today’s recipe), Argentina, Italy—it doesn’t ask for precision. It just shows up. You stir it into yogurt, and suddenly you’ve got a sauce for grilled zucchini or fish. Dollop it onto eggs, and breakfast feels intentional. Swirl it through potatoes or noodles, spoon it over roast chicken, drag a crust of bread through it, and call that dinner.
It stays humble, just a green sauce in a jar. But somehow, it makes everything taste like more.
This week, I’m sharing my version: smoky, herbaceous, flecked with the markings of brutal heat. I make things in double batches because I know they won’t last.
The recipe’s below. And a few ideas on how to use it, beyond tacos (though put it on tacos).
Time Saving Appliance Hack: Recipes like this used to mean a whole lot of chopping, mashing, and mixing, an arm workout disguised as dinner prep. Back in the day, you’d be breaking a sweat over a mortar and pestle. I, however, would like to personally thank modern civilization for the invention of the food processor, which has saved me countless hours. My favorite is the Breville Sous Chef 16. Once you get food processor-addicted, it’s hard to quit!
Beyond the Chip: 11 Delicious Ways to Use Salsa Verde
1. Swirled into Yogurt. Instant creamy dressing. Spoon it over grilled zucchini, roasted carrots, or steamed potatoes. Bonus: it doubles as a killer dip for crudités or spoon bread.
2. On Your Eggs (Any Style). Fried, scrambled, or poached, whatever your allegiance, salsa verde adds just the right amount of brightness and heat. Try it with jammy eggs and toasted sourdough.
3. As a Soup Finisher. Drizzle over black bean soup, dal, or a brothy chicken stew. It adds acidity and freshness like a squeeze of lime, but better.
4. In a Sandwich. Use it like a spread: slather it inside a roast chicken sandwich, grilled cheese, or breakfast burrito. Especially good with melty cheese.
5. Tossed with Noodles or Pasta. Thin with pasta water and toss with noodles, feta, and any roasted veg you’ve got lying around. Or swirl it into cold soba with sesame oil and a squeeze of lime—also, a great way to build flavor into a pasta salad.
6. As a Marinade Base. Add a splash of olive oil and use it to marinate shrimp, mushrooms, tofu, chicken, or steak. Grill or roast, and let the salsa do the heavy lifting.
7. Mixed into Beans or Lentils. Hot or cold, salsa verde + legumes = flavor-packed meal prep. Add some grains and call it a salad.
8. Tucked into Tacos (Obviously) But also: try it on quesadillas, tostadas, and even smashed avocado toast.
9. Drizzled over Roasted Potatoes. Or sweet potatoes. Or grilled corn. Or honestly, anything starchy and golden.
10. Stirred into Rice or Quinoa. Use it like a finishing sauce. Add herbs, a handful of nuts or seeds, maybe a little cheese. Suddenly, it’s a composed dish.
11. As a Pizza Topping (Yes, really). Dollop it over a white pizza with goat cheese or feta, or swirl it onto a crust before adding toppings. It adds that herbaceous zing that cuts through fat like a dream.
Stone Fruit Season Is Fleeting—Here’s How I’m Cooking Through It
Late summer is when stone fruit truly comes into its own. The peaches are soft and perfumed, dripping with juice. Apricots glow golden-orange like little suns. And plums—whether midnight purple or soft pink—hold their tart sweetness just beneath the skin, waiting for the first bite.
This produce doesn’t need much dressing up. Just a little heat, the right spice, maybe a good swirl of cream or a crackle of crust. These are the fruits I reach for now, when the sun is still high but the days are getting shorter—my way of capturing a season that always seems to slip away too quickly.
So I’ve pulled together some of my favorite ways to cook with stone fruits: recipes that are easy, vibrant, and full of flavor. Some sweet, some savory, all built to let the fruit shine.
Sweet Recipes to Savor. There’s the Peach, Cardamom, and Saffron Cake, warm and fragrant like late afternoon sun. A Peach Thai Basil Clafoutis, which feels just fancy enough for a dinner party but simple enough for a weekday bake. Pumpkin Apricot Bread straddles the seasons—still golden and soft, but with a whisper of autumn spice. And if you're craving something cool, try the Peach and Elderflower Ice Cream—floral, creamy, and utterly dreamy.
Savory with a Stone Fruit Twist. Fruit doesn't have to mean dessert. My Spice-Roasted Chicken with Peaches is rich and aromatic, the peaches collapsing into their sauce. And the Grilled Peach Salsa with Steak Salad is a riot of textures—smoky, juicy, crisp, and fresh all at once.
Whether you’re loyal to peaches, smitten with plums, or quietly hoarding apricots, I hope you find something in this collection that makes you pause, spoon in hand, and think: yes—this is what summer tastes like.
See all the recipes below—and if you make one, I’d love to hear what you think.
I’ve always found it quietly amusing that two of my favorite fruits—peaches and eggplants—have become internet shorthand for things far cheekier than their culinary uses. But today, we're steering clear of thirst traps and heading into the kitchen, where the eggplant, aka aubergines or brinjals, gets the attention it truly deserves. This is your little guide to cooking eggplants like a pro, with science-backed hacks, practical tips, and the kind of detail that makes all the difference. And then, there’s the reward: baingan bharta, that intensely smoky, soft-spoken yet powerful Indian classic. It’s comforting, iconic, and—if you ask me—just about the best way to eat an eggplant.
In this paid subscriber newsletter, you will…
Learn why I often quickly microwave eggplant before frying
Get to know the smoky, spiced magic of baingan bharta and how it varies across the Indian subcontinent
Get my recipe for the baingan bharta that I make at home!
And don’t miss Sami Tamimi’s Eggplant & Chickpeas with Green Lemon Sauce/ Bitinjan ma’ Hummus that I shared last week!
🔬 Kitchen Chemistry: Cooking Eggplant Like a Pro
Here’s a collection of eight clever, science-backed kitchen hacks for cooking with eggplant—whether you're roasting, frying, grilling, or storing them. These tips can help you get the most flavor and best texture out of every eggplant dish:
1. Salt for Better Texture (and Less Bitterness)
Why it works: Salt draws out excess moisture via osmosis, collapsing air pockets, and preventing sogginess when cooking. It also tames bitterness in older or larger eggplants, more so by masking the bitterness (and not destroying the bitter compounds as previously thought). However, farmers have selectively bred out bitterness from eggplants, and today’s eggplant doesn’t taste bitter, so this is now less of a concern.
How to do it:
Slice or cube eggplant.
Sprinkle with kosher salt and let sit for 30 to 60 minutes in a colander.
Pat dry (no need to rinse and pat dry, unless you do end up oversalting).
Bonus: This hack helps prevent your eggplant from soaking up too much oil during frying or roasting.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been on a bit of a tandoori bender. We’ve made skillet naan (because not all of us have a clay oven in our backyard), fast and fancy tandoori lamb, oven-roasted tandoori salmon over at America’s Test Kitchen (yes, it works, no, your smoke alarm won’t love it), and even grilled carrots because... vegetables deserve a smoky glow-up too.
And just when things were getting a little too hot, we cooled it all down with a Coconut Lychee Lime Granita. It’s icy, floral, and the opposite of standing over a grill in August, which is to say, highly recommended. Plus a double feature on apricots, featuring an Apricot Lemon and Orange Jam with a hint of orange blossom water, and an Apricot Coconut Cake laced with cardamom, accompanied by a sweet coconut crumble.
I’d love to see how you take these recipes and techniques — whether it’s tandoori-style grilling or turning fruit into frosty magic — and make them your own. Use them as a jumping-off point, remix them, and tag me on social media when you do. That’s where the real fun (and flavor) begins.
August’s Flavor Forecast
This month’s recipes are basically a vacation in your kitchen, with just enough heat to make things exciting (hello, spicy shrimp roast) and plenty of cool-downs to keep you sane. We’re twirling noodles through no-cook tomato sauces that taste like you’ve been simmering them for hours (spoiler: you haven’t), tossing preserved lemon spaghetti like it’s our full-time job, and letting miso crash the pasta party in the best way possible. There’s a retro-crunch iceberg salad, a garlic-zucchini-yogurt situation that’s begging to be scooped with everything, and desserts that scream summer: roasted strawberries with balsamic, popcorn ice cream (yes, you read that right), and a peach-saffron cake that’s basically August in a slice. Oh—and my Bombay lemonade, because we’re fancy and hydrated! Let’s cook.
I’m looking forward to my upcoming conversation with chef and author . I don’t say this lightly: Boustany is one of the most soulful and evocative cookbooks I’ve encountered in years (and I’m featuring a recipe from it this week!). I have always admired Sami’s work. Sami has a rare talent for weaving stories through food, and in Boustany, he shares them on a deeply personal level—braiding memory, displacement, and identity into every dish and every word.
The very title, “Boustany,” translates to “my garden” in Arabic—an apt, lyrical name for a cookbook devoted to the bounty of vegetables. The word itself conjures visions of his maternal grandparents’ garden in Hebron, teeming with vibrant fruits and lush greens, and of a childhood spent wandering the hills of the Old City of Jerusalem, foraging alongside his parents. During the long days of the pandemic, Sami found solace in tending his own garden in Umbria, Italy, letting the act of nurturing plants ground him. Throughout the pages of his book, one theme stands out clearly to me: the elegance of cooking with simplicity, making the most of a few humble ingredients, leaning on the pantry, which is filled with foods like preserves, fermented foods, and pickles that carry memories of tradition throughout the year.
Sami’s book isn’t just a collection of recipes; it’s a tender tribute to Palestinian people, their kitchens, and the homes many have left behind, a reminder of the endurance of culture expressed through flavor and ritual.
My copy is already bristling with bookmarks: the Freekeh-Stuffed Peppers, Two-Lentil Mejadra, Tomato Arugula Walnut Salad, and the Jerusalem Sesame Bread Nests, where each nest cradles a golden-yolked egg. These are recipes I know I’ll return to again and again, not just for their taste but for the stories they carry. Boustany is a book to cook from, yes—but also to sit with, to reflect on, and to cherish.
Join us live TODAY at 12 pm ET on Substack Live. (Missed today’s Substack Live at noon? Paid subscribers to Flavor Files+ can now watch the full conversation below.)
There are many kinds of eggplant and tomato dishes in the Middle East, each with its own distinct character, and this eggplant and chickpea stew is no exception. It’s a hearty dish that combines the meatiness of the eggplant, the nutty-creamy texture of the chickpeas and the umami of the tomato sauce, all complemented by the zesty green chile sauce.
📚 Don’t Miss This Sunday’s Live Chat — Plus a Boustany Book Giveaway!
Just a quick reminder that this Sunday at 12pm ET, I’ll be going live on Substack with the one and only Sami Tamimi to talk about his stunning new book, Boustany.
It’s going to be a relaxed, flavor-filled conversation about the stories, dishes, and inspiration behind the book — and we’d love to have you join us.
🎁 And we’re giving away 3 copies of Boustany
Here’s how to enter*:
🥘 1 copy will go to someone who attends the live chat this Sunday. Just show up and you’re in the running.
👥 2 more copies will go to readers who do the following:
Are active subscribers to both my Substack and Sami’s
Refer at least one person to either of our newsletters (mine or Sami’s — your choice!)
That’s it! Referrals are tracked automatically by Substack, so just use the button below, and I’ll know. The more people you refer, the better your chances.
👋🏽 I’m thrilled to be hosting a live conversation with the brilliant Sami Tamimi to talk about his beautiful new book, Boustany — a deeply personal project that blends food, memory, and heritage from Palestine.
This will be a casual, live chat where we’ll talk about the inspiration behind the book, favorite dishes, ingredients, and the stories woven through it all.
🗓 When: This Sunday at 12 pm ET 📍 Where:Join via the Substack app (for iOS or Android) or your web browser 📲 Tip: If you have the app, you’ll get a push notification when we go live — but the app isn’t required! I’ll also send you an email.
💬 You can listen in, ask questions, and be part of the conversation. And we’ll be doing a book giveaway!
How to join: Just click here Sunday a few minutes before 12pm ET. If you’re subscribed, you’ll also get a reminder when we go live.
Whether you’ve already devoured Boustany or are just curious about the stories behind it, I hope you’ll stop by!
If you're in the US or UK, it's peak stone fruit season (Aussie and Kiwi friends and family—you’re deep in winter, but your time will come!). And one of my FAVORITE stone fruits is apricots. The velvety golden-orange skin and sweet-tart flavor just bring me peak summer joy, and all my worries fade away. In this paid subscriber newsletter, you will…
Learn why I use underripe apricots for jams (and other science cooking facts)
Get my kitchen hacks to maximize flavor and a culinary use for those apricot pits you might not be aware of!
Make Apricot Lemon Orange Jam and Apricot Coconut Semolina Cake with the two exclusive recipes I’m sharing
But before we get to the good stuff, I need your quick input! I’m planning a series of chats for all subscribers with some of my favorite cookbook authors and want to know who you want to hear from most! Click below, answer 2 quick questions, and THANK YOU!
It’s peak grilling season—and peak produce season, and I can’t think of a better way to bring the two together than with tandoori vegetables. Smoky, spiced, deeply charred, and boldly flavored, tandoori-style cooking works surprisingly well with the right vegetables. But the trick? Choosing the ones with the structure to hold up to the heat.
If you’ve ever tried tossing delicate zucchini rounds or thinly sliced eggplant into a hot oven or onto the grill, only to watch them collapse into a mushy mess. In that case, you already know: not all vegetables are built for this kind of intensity. Tandoori cooking requires vegetables with sturdier textures—ones that can absorb a marinade, withstand high heat, and develop a smoky crust without falling apart.
That’s why I’m reaching for crunchy, firm carrots this summer.
Carrots (especially thick ones, halved or quartered lengthwise) are just the kind of vegetable that thrives in this environment. They grab the spiced yogurt mixture beautifully, caramelize in all the right places, and pick up that slightly charred, smoky flavor that makes tandoori cooking so irresistible.
Why Sturdier Vegetables Work Better:
Tandoori-style cooking relies on a high-heat environment (traditionally a clay tandoor, but at home, we use the oven, grill, or even a cast-iron pan). At these temperatures, water evaporates quickly. Vegetables with low water content and higher structural integrity, like carrots, cabbages, beets, sweet potatoes, celeriac, and even cauliflower, don’t collapse or weep as easily. They develop a seared exterior while the insides cook to tender perfection.
Science Corner:
The proteins in yogurt help with browning, thanks to the Maillard reaction. Acids from lemon juice or vinegar will help brighten the flavors. And when you pair that with sturdy produce, the result is a vegetable with flavor that’s both deep and bright—smoky, tangy, and kissed with spice.
In this week’s post, I’m sharing my recipe for Tandoori-Roasted Carrots —a dish that’s as good hot off the grill as it is at room temperature. It’s simple, vibrant, and makes a strong case for why vegetables deserve a spot in your upcoming cookout lineup. Use this tandoori spice mixture to experiment with other vegetables too.
Why I Avoid Calling this Tandoori Spice Blend a Marinade
We often assume that marinades will "tenderize" vegetables in the same way they can with meat. This likely comes from a surface-level association: "marinate = make soft + flavorful." But the science behind how marinades interact with meat and vegetables is fundamentally different.
The Science: Meat vs. Vegetables
Meat
Meat is mainly composed of protein fibers (like collagen and myosin), which are tough when raw.
Marinades that contain acids (such as lemon juice or vinegar), enzymes (like bromelain in pineapple), or salt can denature proteins and break down connective tissue, thereby helping to tenderize meat.
Time matters: the longer the marination (within limits), the more opportunity for these effects to take place.
Vegetables
Vegetables are primarily made of cellulose, hemicellulose, and pectin—structural carbohydrates that don't respond to acid or salt in the same way proteins do.
Acids do not break down vegetable fibers the same way they do meat proteins.
Acidic marinades can sometimes firm up vegetables (think of how pickling crisps cucumbers).
Additionally, many vegetables have a high water content and absorb flavors more rapidly than meat, so prolonged marination isn't necessary.
Why This Matters in Cooking
Vegetables don’t need to be tenderized by a marinade. What they do need is surface flavor and sometimes a brief soak to allow salt, acid, or aromatics to cling or slightly permeate.
Over-marinating some vegetables (like zucchini or mushrooms) can lead to sogginess, off-textures, or overpowered flavors.
When and Why to Marinate Vegetables
Short marination (15 to 30 minutes) can add flavor without compromising texture.
Use marinades more for seasoning and caramelization (especially before grilling or roasting), rather than for tenderizing.
Vegetables like carrots, sweet potatoes, and cauliflower—those with denser cell structures —can benefit from longer marination, but not for tenderness. It's more about flavor absorption and surface browning.
Happy Grilling,
Nik
Coconut-Lychee Granita: The Summer Dessert I Can’t Stop Making (and Scraping)
We’ve had our moment with hot and spicy—now let’s cool off with something icy, floral, and ridiculously easy.
This Coconut-Lychee Granita is the chilled sweet treat I recently made at America’s Test Kitchen, and it’s giving you a tropical vacation in a bowl (or directly out of the freezer, no shame).
I love a frozen dessert that doesn’t require an ice cream maker, candy thermometer, or seven bowls in the sink. This Coconut-Lychee Granita is just that—and frankly, it’s the dessert I wish I had every time I’ve opened the freezer in July and found nothing but a tragic half-bag of peas.
This one’s got tropical flavor turned up to eleven: I toast the coconut to unlock its nutty, almost buttery aroma, then steep it in coconut milk so it infuses every bite with richness. Lychees bring that floral, perfume-y sweetness that feels nearly too luxurious to be this easy. A splash of lime juice adds a bright, punchy note, rather than a sugary sweetness.
And the texture? This is where the science gets fun. Sugar doesn’t just sweeten; it helps manage ice crystal formation. That means delicate flakes you can scrape with a fork and spoon straight into your mouth (or your guests’ if you’re sharing, but no judgment if you aren’t).
You can make this ahead, forget about it, and then casually serve it after a grilled dinner, as if you’re the kind of person who always has a granita on hand. Which, honestly, you might become.
Recipe’s below—go make it, freeze it, and thank yourself in a few hours.
Note: This recipe resides on ATK and is free. I love seeing you share your excitement! ATK makes several recipes from the residency available for free. You may need to enter your email address so they can send you more great content, but you can always opt out at any time. I’ve been a longtime subscriber to their newsletters and have found them super valuable. I hope that helps clarify how to access these co-created recipes—we put a lot of love into them, and I’d love for you to give them a try! I appreciate your support!
Miss my Tandoori Lamb recipe earlier this week? Or prefer more visuals when cooking? Well you are in luck! I made a short video of my recipe. You can almost smell the aroma through the screen…Kashmiri Chili, Garlic, Ginger, Lemon… As a paid subscriber, enjoy this bonus content this week! Full recipe linked below so you don’t have to search your inbox.
This week, we continue our exploration into tandoori flavor and technique. In this new newsletter format for my paid subscribers, I’ll provide a deeper dive into how this flavor is created and the techniques that are critical to achieving the right result. Keep reading to…
Learn common tandoori spices and the importance of the marinade
Get my tandoori lamb recipe (simple enough for weeknight dinner yet delicious enough for a dinner party)
Recommended go-to resources and my favorite books for Tandoori cooking and recipes
Welcome to The Flavor Files (New and Improved)! Thanks for being a loyal subscriber to my work. Your support means a lot, and I recently shared a survey to make sure I’m providing you more of what you crave! Thanks for all the responses, suggestions, and comments! I’m making a few tweaks to my Substack going forward, based on this, and I wanted to share what you can expect.
If you are a free subscriber:
At least 2 new recipes a month
More “weeknight meals” with quick recipes
More vegetables!
More of the “science behind food”, ingredients, techniques, etc.
If you are a paid subscriber:
All free subscriber content
At least one additional monthly recipe, with a focus on flavor inventiveness
In-depth video demos (recipes, techniques, ingredient deep dives, science!)
Access to past Substack recipes
Pre-public and exclusive access to events, classes, and new books
Newsletters (for now) will continue to be released on Sundays, featuring both free and paid content every other week. If you are a free subscriber, don’t fret! You’ll also get a preview of the new paid content, so you can decide what’s best for you. I appreciate everyone’s support, regardless of subscriber level!
Need my latest cookbook,Veg-Table, in your kitchen? Grab a copy here—your veggies will thank you. 🌱💥
Now let’s get into the good stuff. 🔥 This month will be all about TANDOORI!
The Flavor Files is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Before we jump into tandoori food, next weekend is the long July 4th holiday, and I’ve got my curated list of recipes for you right here! It’s time to plan your ultimate summer menu! This roundup is packed with easy and crowd-pleasing 4th of July recipes—think grilled hot dogs with all the fixings, fresh and colorful summer salads, backyard-style pizzas, and homemade ice cream that’ll cool everyone down. Whether you’re hosting a party or heading to a potluck, these festive July 4th dishes are guaranteed to bring the flavor and keep your guests happy from the first bite to the fireworks.
Kebab Stall in South Bombay, India/ Season Chronicle Books (2018) (C) Nik Sharma
🔥 Fire, Flavor, and Fermentation: The Magic of Tandoori Cooking
I have many fond memories of slipping out late at night with my friends to sneak to the southern tip of Bombay (Mumbai) in India, just to eat kebabs and naan at the famous Bademiya. They served all the North Indian and tandoori dishes we loved, as well as dishes we never had at home, from creamy, tangy butter chicken to spicy chapli and seekh kebabs and caramelized, succulent paneer on skewers, which we enjoyed with fresh, hot naan. It was a joy! And I was young enough to do this a few times a week. It was one of the most rebellious things I did as a kid because I never divulged the details of these trips at home.
Over the next few weeks, we’ll delve into the world of tandoori cuisine, exploring its origins, techniques, and flavors, and even prepare a few dishes together along the way.
There are several reasons why tandoori dishes, such as naan, aren’t prepared at home even in India. Naan is not a daily Indian bread made at home; skillet-prepared rotis and parathas are. The most common reason for this is that a tandoor, the clay oven used to make naan, is large and impractical to keep at home. In India, most people (like we did) will go to a restaurant, and if they’re fortunate to have outdoor space, will hire a chef to haul in a portable tandoor and make it in their backyard.
Tandoori cooking isn't just for chicken. Lamb, fish, shrimp, vegetables, paneer, and even breads like naan and a special version of roti called tandoori roti are prepared in this oven. When most people hear tandoori, they think tandoori chicken—bright red, smoky, served on a sizzling platter. But the technique behind it goes far deeper than a marinade or color. Tandoori cooking is one of the oldest and most flavorful high-heat cooking methods around, and it’s worth knowing for more than just its restaurant fame. Interestingly, while we associate it with North Indian and Pakistani cuisines, this oven has a rich history.
Tandoors date back to ancient civilizations, including the Indus Valley, where communal ovens were often dug into the ground. The word tandoor likely comes from the Persian tanūr, meaning fire oven.
While tandoors have been used for centuries across South and Central Asia, modern tandoori cooking, as we know it today, was popularized in post-Partition Delhi in the 1940s by Punjabi restaurateurs, who brought the technique from cities like Peshawar and Lahore, now in Pakistan. In India, Kundan Lal Gujral, who opened Moti Mahal in Delhi, is credited with popularizing dishes that we know today, including butter chicken (murgh makhani), dal makhani (butter lentils), and tandoori chicken.
Dal Makhani from The Flavor Equation/Chronicle Books 2020 (C) Nik Sharma
🪵 What Is Tandoori Cooking, Really?
At its essence, tandoori cooking is about fire, flavor, and speed. Food is roasted inside a tall, cylindrical clay oven called a tandoor, where wood or charcoal creates blazing heat. Temperatures can soar past 900°F [480°C], cooking food in minutes while sealing in moisture and infusing it with a deep, smoky intensity.
It’s part wood-fired grill, part natural convection oven. Radiant heat from the clay walls, convection from the swirling air, and live smoke all work in tandem, layering texture and flavor with every second.
Traditional tandoors are built from clay, sometimes reinforced with sand, straw, or hay, then insulated with brick. Clay holds and radiates heat beautifully, echoing ancient methods of cooking meat directly over coals.
Using a tandoor is a craft.
Even now, when I visit India, I’ll linger by restaurant kitchens to watch the tandoor cooks in action, slapping dough against the scorching walls for naan, turning skewers of marinated kebabs with practiced precision. There’s a rhythm to it, a speed born of necessity. When the oven’s that hot, there’s no time to hesitate.
I don’t own a tandoor—yet.
This month, in a special series, I’ll show you how to bring those bold, fire-kissed flavors into your home kitchen, no clay oven required. There’s a gleaming stainless steel tandoor I’ve been eyeing for years, still on my wishlist, waiting for the right moment.
A Little Cultural & Historical Context
Tandoors date back to ancient civilizations, including the Indus Valley, where communal ovens were often dug into the ground. The word tandoor likely originates from the Persian tanūr, meaning fire oven.
While they're used across Central and South Asia (and even parts of the Middle East), tandoori cooking as we know it was popularized in post-Partition Delhi in the 1940s, thanks to Punjabi restaurateurs who brought the technique from what is now Pakistan.
And that vivid red hue? Traditionally, it comes from chili and turmeric, but in restaurants, food coloring is often added for consistency and drama.
Maillard Reaction: That blistered, charred exterior? It’s a product of the Maillard reaction, which caramelizes the surface and builds flavor fast.
Yogurt Marinades: The lactic acid and enzymes in yogurt help tenderize proteins while clinging to the surface, with no runoff like watery marinades.
Spice oils + Heat: Spices like earthy cumin, sweet green cardamom, citrusy coriander, and smoky Kashmiri chili contain volatile oils that release their full aroma under high heat, meaning the hotter the oven, the bigger the flavor. Kasoori methi, or dried fenugreek leaves, is another ingredient you will often come across; it is used in many of these dishes to add a sweet scent.
And fun fact: Even vegetables benefit from these effects. Cauliflower, sweet potatoes, and paneer all caramelize beautifully in tandoori-style cooking.
It’s Not Just About Chicken
Tandoori lamb chops, fish, shrimp, and even duck take beautifully to the heat. But vegetables are an unsung hero here, cauliflower, potatoes, carrots, even Brussels sprouts caramelize and char to sweet, smoky perfection.
Don’t forget paneer. Cubes of fresh cheese bind marinades and retain their shape when cooked under high heat, making them ideal for skewering.
If you don’t have a tandoor (and let’s face it, most of us don’t), you can still get close:
A pizza oven is another option that can provide the same degree of heat. With a few tweaks, it’s a worthy contender. I cooked the naan in my Breville Pizzaiolo at 700°F [371°C] for 3 to 4 minutes without rotating or flipping it. Because of its design, the oven will give the naan a more even browning, but where the bread bubbles up, the naan will blister.
Let’s start with Naan?
You’ll need naan—preferably blistered and puffy. My go-to naan recipe (from my cookbook, Season) is simple, flexible, and great with or without a tandoor. It’s this week’s free recipe.
Welcome to The Flavor Files! 🎉This is where my love for cooking, flavor, and food science all come together—because delicious food is even better when you understand a little of the magic behind it.
Looking for more recipes? You’ll find them all at Nik Sharma Cooks. Still need a copy of my latest cookbook, Veg-Table? You can grab it here—it’s filled with veggie-driven inspiration. 🌱✨
You might spot a few affiliate links sprinkled throughout this newsletter; they help keep the spice—and the science—flowing.
Now, let’s dive in. 🔥
The Flavor Files is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
When I shop, whether for work or just the thrill of beautiful ingredients, I almost always buy more than I need. Some of it is instinct, some is habit, and some is the quiet knowledge that I’ll want those things later, when I’m too tired to face the grocery store or when a recipe needs one last test. So I freeze what I can. Vegetables blanched, meats portioned, sauces tucked away like love notes to my future self.
Freezing has become more than just a practical move, my version of self-care that’s both frugal and freeing. Especially now, when food costs feel like they climb higher each week, it’s a way to stretch what I have and waste less. A safety net. A second chance. A reminder that flavor doesn’t always need to be fresh-picked, it just needs to be well-kept. This week, I share my brief guide to how I freeze food at home.
🧊 The Smart Cook’s Guide to Freezing Proteins and Veggies (The Right Way)
Freezing is like hitting pause on food spoilage, but only if done right. Here’s how to stash proteins and veggies in your freezer like a pro, with tips grounded in USDA food safety guidelines.
For Proteins: Freeze Fast, Pack Smart
1. Start With Clean Hands & Fresh Meat
Always freeze meat, poultry, or seafood before the “use by” date. The USDA says that freezing does not kill bacteria; it only pauses their growth. So, don’t freeze meat that's already questionable, and once thawed, don’t refreeze it; use it soon.
Do not freeze whole eggs; the shells can crack. If, for some reason, a whole egg is frozen in the shell (and if the shell didn't crack), you can hard-cook the egg, but you will not be able to use the yolks. Freezing changes the texture of the yolk, making it very thick and syrupy, and it won’t behave like a fresh egg yolk in recipes (freezing encourages the egg yolk proteins to aggregate, and the lipids are released).
USDA Tip: Freeze raw meats within 1 to 2 days (ground meat, poultry) or 3 to 5 days (steaks, chops, roasts) of buying.
2. Ditch the Grocery Packaging
Store packaging is thin and prone to freezer burn. Wrap tightly in plastic wrap or foil, then slide into a freezer bag or vacuum-seal for best protection.
Hack: Label with date and weight. Add marinade or spice rub before sealing to make meal prep easier later.
3. Freeze Flat
Lay bags of meat or fish flat to freeze quickly and stack efficiently. I do this by keeping them on a flat tray or baking sheet and taking out the tray after the food is frozen.
Quick freezing results in smaller ice crystals, which leads to a better texture when thawed.
For Vegetables: Blanch Before You Freeze
1. Clean and Cut Evenly
Wash thoroughly, then chop the pieces into uniform sizes. Uneven sizes = uneven cooking later.
2. Blanch First, Freeze Later
Blanching (brief boiling or steaming, then plunging into ice water) deactivates enzymes that cause off-flavors, color loss, and mushiness in frozen veggies.
Examples
Broccoli florets: 3 minutes
Carrots: Blanch 2 to 3 minutes
Corn kernels: 4 minutes
Green beans: 3 minute
Skip blanching only for onions, bell peppers, and herbs; they freeze well raw.
3. Dry Thoroughly
You can use a clean dish towel or a salad spinner. Excess moisture = ice crystals = soggy veggies.
4. Freeze on a Sheet Pan First
I’ve found that vacuum bag stores produce the best.
Spread the veggies in a single layer on a tray, freeze until firm, and then transfer them to bags. This prevents clumping, so you can grab a handful when needed.
Faster: Submerge the sealed bag in cold water and change it every 30 minutes.
Avoid: Countertop thawing, as it risks the "danger zone" (40°F to 140°F/4°C to 60°C), where bacteria multiply.
If you decide to microwave thawed food, please cook it immediately, as some parts of the food can warm up in the microwave.
✅ Final Tips:
Keep your freezer at 0°F [-18°C] or lower.
Don’t refreeze raw proteins after thawing (unless cooked first).
If it smells bad, you can just throw it. Some foods develop funky odors during storage because fats can go rancid.
FIFO = First In, First Out. Use older items first.
Peanut Salsa Macha & Roasted Japanese Sweet Potatoes with Peanut Salsa Macha and Labneh
What is Salsa Macha
A few weeks ago, I had dinner at Holbox, a small seafood restaurant tucked into the heart of DTLA. The kind of place where the scent of charred chiles and sea brine lingers in the air, and every plate feels like a revelation. One dish, in particular, stayed with me: a delicate tortilla cradling sweet crab meat, blanketed in a deep, rust-colored peanut salsa macha. It was rich and smoky, with just the right amount of heat, luxurious without trying to be.
I left thinking about that salsa. The way it clung to the crab, the warmth it left on my tongue. That night, I came home and headed straight to the kitchen, determined to recreate it, not the whole dish, just the essence. Something simple, quick, and unforgettable. Roasted Japanese sweet potatoes meet their match: a cool, creamy scoop of salted labneh, draped in smoky peanut salsa macha. Crispy fried onions add crunch, fresh cilantro brings lift, and every bite lands exactly where it should.
Salsa macha is an intensely flavorful, nutty, and spicy Mexican chili oil, more of a condiment than a sauce, originally from the state of Veracruz. However, it’s strongly associated with the cuisine of Oaxaca and parts of Jalisco. It reminds me of Asian chilli crisps, but smoky, earthy, and sometimes with a whisper of sweetness.
Welcome to The Flavor Files—Summer Edition. ☀️ Here’s where my love of cooking, food science, and peak-season produce all come together. From juicy tomatoes to smoky grilled peaches, summer ingredients deserve a little chemistry and a lot of flavor.
Want more recipes? You’ll find them all at Nik Sharma Cooks. Still need a copy of Veg-Table? Grab it here—it’s full of ideas to make vegetables the star of your summer table. 🌿🍆
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Now let’s dive into the good stuff—because summer won’t wait. 🔥
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The first time I ate asparagus was awkward and mildly terrifying. It’s not a common vegetable in India, so I’d never seen it until it showed up as a roasted side dish at a restaurant in Cincinnati. I loved its crisp-tender texture and the nutty, slightly grassy flavor. So I went all in. Possibly too in.
About an hour later, I took a trip to the restroom, and that’s when the existential dread kicked in. A strange, sharp odor hit me—something sulfurous and… frankly alarming. I was convinced my kidneys were failing or that I had minutes left on this planet. Too embarrassed to ask anyone, I waited until I was alone, then launched into a frantic Medline search for “sudden onset deadly body odor.”
That rabbit hole led me straight to asparagusic acid, a sulfur-containing compound unique to asparagus. When digested, it breaks down into volatile molecules that get excreted in urine, giving rise to that notorious smell. But here’s the twist: not everyone notices it. Some people don’t produce the smelly compounds at all, while others do but lack the specific receptors to detect them.
In other words, if you’ve never noticed a weird asparagus smell in the bathroom… congratulations, you’re either a non-producer or your nose is genetically blessed.
Why We Still Don’t Fully Understand the Asparagus Pee Phenomenon
Asparagus is famously rich in sulfur-containing compounds, especially asparagusic acid, which breaks down in the human body into volatile, often pungent-smelling molecules. But here’s the twist: despite decades of study, we still don’t fully know which exact chemicals are responsible for the odor, or why only some people seem to detect it.
That surprised me.
In grad school, one of the core lessons we learned when testing hypotheses was this: it’s not enough to observe an interesting effect — you have to prove it, challenge it, recreate it. So in this case, let’s say you detect sulfurous compounds like methanethiol or dimethyl sulfide in urine post-asparagus. Interesting, yes.
But here’s the scientific standard: If you remove those molecules and add them back in, do people still smell the same odor?
And if they do, is that smell identical to what happens after eating asparagus?
The answer so far is: not exactly.
Multiple studies have identified likely candidates for the smell, including various volatile sulfur compounds; however, no one has been able to reproduce the full “asparagus bouquet” from scratch. In short, we’ve found some of the suspects, but haven’t reassembled the crime scene. These molecules may be present, but we haven’t definitively shown they’re both necessary and sufficient to account for the whole odor.
What we do know, thanks to large-scale genetic studies (like the one by 23andMe), is that most people produce the smell, but not everyone can detect it. Smelling it — or not — is primarily a function of olfactory receptor gene variants. Your body might be excreting the funk, but your nose might not be wired to notice.
But here’s where I need to raise a red flag: Those studies were conducted almost entirely on individuals of Northern European ancestry. Which means the findings, while fascinating, are not universally applicable.
In India, where I grew up, asparagus isn’t a staple. The data on whether South Asians, people from Africa, Southeast Asia, or the Middle East, can detect odors is essentially nonexistent. The genetic variants associated with “asparagus anosmia” may be absent or behave differently in those populations. Scientists need to study larger populations and conduct more controlled studies.
So yes, asparagus pee is a funny cultural reference. Still, it’s also a case study in how scientific conclusions get shaped by who we study, what we measure, and what assumptions we make about universality.
In short, the asparagus mystery isn’t fully solved. The chemistry is still inconclusive. And the genetics? Likely more diverse than we’ve measured so far.
The Asparagus Guide
Asparagus Shopping Guide
Look for Firm, Straight Spears: Stalks should feel crisp, not bendy or limp. Avoid wrinkled or shriveled ends.
Check the Tips: The tips (aka the buds) should be tightly closed and compact, not mushy, flowering, or frayed.
Color Matters: Green asparagus should have vibrant, bright-green stalks with a slight purple tinge at the tips. White asparagus should be ivory, not gray or dried out. Purple asparagus should be evenly colored without fading or brown spots.
Size Isn’t Everything: Thin spears cook faster and are great for quick sautés or roasting. Thicker spears have a meatier bite and are better for grilling or blanching. Both are equally tender when fresh; adjust your cooking time accordingly.
How to Keep Asparagus Fresh (Sugar Water Science Hack)
Asparagus is essentially a flower stalk, and like cut flowers, it stays fresher when stored upright in water. Here’s how to extend its life:
The Method:
Trim the Ends: Cut about ½ inch [13 mm] off the bottom of the stalks.
Place in a Jar or Glass: Stand the spears upright in a glass or jar with about 1 in [2.5 cm] of cold water.
Add a Tiny Bit of Sugar (Optional): Stir in ½ teaspoon sugar per cup of water. Why? Sugar feeds the stalks and keeps them metabolically active a bit longer; it’s plant life support.
Cover and Refrigerate: Loosely cover the tops with a produce bag or plastic wrap. Change the water every couple of days.
Shelf Life: This method can keep asparagus crisp and flavorful for 5 to 7 days, sometimes longer, especially if they were super fresh at purchase.
A bright, bold riff on the classic lemon-asparagus combo. I layer the lemon zest, half before cooking, half after, to coax out both warmth and fresh citrusy zing. Garlic and a hint of cayenne enhance the savory notes, accentuating the umami-rich saltiness of Parmesan. It’s fast, flexible, and just elegant enough to land on any weeknight or dinner party table. Peel those thick woody stems, it will ensure a more tender asparagus.
Welcome to The Flavor Files! 🎉This is where my love for cooking, flavor, and food science all come together—because delicious food is even better when you understand a little of the magic behind it.
Looking for more recipes? You’ll find them all at Nik Sharma Cooks. Still need a copy of my latest cookbook, Veg-Table? You can grab it here—it’s filled with veggie-driven inspiration. 🌱✨
You might spot a few affiliate links sprinkled throughout this newsletter; they help keep the spice—and the science—flowing.
Now, let’s dive in. 🔥
The Flavor Files is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
The Flavor Files is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
Do you know how to make Basmati rice the right way? Well, I have the secret for you! I'll tell you why Basmati is different and why that matters for preparation. Serve the perfect rice every time.
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In this quick weeknight meal, Italian passata and Korean gochujang combine to create a smooth, bold sauce reminiscent of silky Italian vodka sauce, but with a deeper layer of umami and a pleasant hint of heat. Passata, an uncooked, strained puree of ripe tomatoes with the skins and seeds removed, is smooth and bright. Gochujang, a deeply savory, fermented chili paste made from glutinous rice, soybeans, and gochugaru (Korean chili powder), brings gentle heat and a touch of sweetness. Together, they formed a rich, harmonious sauce that clung beautifully to pasta and delivered depth well beyond the effort it took to make. A sprinkle of garlicky bread crumbs over the pasta before serving added a pleasant crunch and another layer of flavor.
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