Recipe: Whipped Salt Cod with Caviar on Steamed Potatoes And then he'd steam Red Bliss potatoes, leaving them al dente so when he sliced them, each piece became a sort of crouton that he'd top with the brandade, some sweet butter, and the caviar. He'd buy two or three jars of the best caviar he could afford. He'd poach it in milk with a bay leaf and onion, then blend it with potato and garlic to make the brandade. At Christmas he'd buy little wooden boxes of salt cod from Wulf's Fish Market in Brookline, near Boston, and soak the cod for two days, changing the water twice a day. My father was a passionate cook, always clipping recipes out of The New York Times. Lydia Shire, Locke-Ober Restaurant, Boston To me, the holiday season wouldn't be the same without chestnut soup. It's very hearty if you add a slice of roasted sausage you have a meal. This soup was one of the first dishes I cooked that made me want to be a chef. When I decided, at age 13, to make chestnut soup, my dad was skeptical, but he quickly fell in love with it. My parents always bought the ingredients for our feast from neighboring farms or friends' stores, and every year my father would buy fresh chestnuts and roast them in a special perforated pan he kept in the oven. In the mountains of Le Marche, in central Italy, where I grew up, it's pretty cold, and we had lots of snowy Christmases. We asked eight of our country's best chefs to share their favorite recipes and the memories that go with them. It's about re-creating traditional holiday dishes-all those old standbys that affirm a family's shared history, the simple foods they've loved since childhood, those rib roasts and cookies that are always the same no matter how much everything else may change. But even for the most sophisticated chefs, holiday cooking is not about wowing everyone with the latest ingredients and chicest techniques. No sooner do they get home than they're often thrust back into a kitchen-one that's small and staffed by amateur helpers, some with tiny hands and huge expectations. Does that mean they've outgrown the whole visions-of-sugarplums thing? Not at all.Īt the end of their workday on Christmas Eve, chefs unbutton their white jackets, hang up their toques, and with a sigh of relief, leave their sous-chefs in charge of the kitchen for a few days. They're famous chefs now, with grown-up palates, sophisticated tastes.
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