Ground Lamb

The more-or-less standard meat filling for stuffed vegetables, made with a lot of herbs and spices. It’s so delicious that you can bake the vegetables with no sauce around them, as in the recipe on page 492, or use one of the preparations on pages 445–447. You can add pine nuts and currants to this mixture if you like or make the vegetarian version that follows.

Traditionally, these were made as small pies and rolled up after baking (the dough is not cooked crisp but left soft like a pita); you might make twelve or even more from this recipe. Now, to make them look more familiar to visitors from other parts of the world, lahmacun are often made as large pizzas, which you can do if you prefer.

When they’re hot from the pan, it’s hard not to fill up on paratha alone, though they’re usually served in the context of a larger Indian meal. I learned this spicy, delicious lamb filling from Suvir Saran, an Indian chef and friend who lives and works in New York and whose book, written with Stephanie Lyness—Indian Home Cooking: A Fresh Introduction to Indian Food—is one of the best on the topic written for the American audience.

One of the world’s great dumplings, the samosa has migrated to Southeast Asia and elsewhere. As with most dumplings, the filling is easily varied. And, as with most dumplings, you can use store-bought dumpling wrappers or the simple homemade ones on page 62. But the super rich wrappers here are really the best. Traditionally, you would deep-fry samosas, but more and more often they are baked. They’re terrific either way.

Aaaaahhh, Mediterranean comfort food! Think of this as a heady, warmly spiced alternative to your mom’s stuffed bell pepper. The baked eggplant flesh becomes a tender bed for the luscious meat and rice filling, and the whole is so succulent and moist that no sauce is needed. Some chilled sliced cucumber and onion with olive oil and vinegar would be a good starter or side dish.

Tzatziki, a traditional Greek dressing made from cucumber, yogurt, and mint, lends a cool complement to the burgers.

Broccoli doesn’t stir-fry well from raw. The beaded crown—the tight flower buds—tends to burn before the stem even approaches tenderness. Heads that have been briefly blanched in boiling water will, however, stir-fry deliciously, soaking up the ginger and soy or whatever other seasoning you might throw at them. In the last year or two I have taken to adding them to stir-fries of ground lamb or pork, letting the meat thoroughly caramelize in the thin pan before adding the greens. It’s a very quick, bright-tasting supper, invigorating and toothsome. But you do need to be brave with the meat, letting it glisten and almost crisp before you add the rest of the ingredients.

Late spring, 2007. Six small beets, round as golf balls and not much bigger, arrive in a thick brown paper bag, its edges sewn together with string. The air of moist Riverford soil and sweet roots wafts up as the bag is torn open, but the day is leaden with damp and cold and I have rarely felt less like eating a beet salad. Supper is going to be meatballs: fat, crumbly patties of ground lamb with garlic, dill, and parsley. It crosses my mind that a handful of grated beets might sweeten the ground meat and lighten the texture. What we end up eating on the coldest spring day for years is plump rounds of sweet and spicy meat, crunchy with cracked wheat and crimson with the vivid flesh of finely grated beets. The inclusion of the roots has broken up the solid lump of ground meat and married well with the garlic and clean-tasting herbs. We dip the sizzling patties into a slush of shredded cucumber, yogurt, and mint, given a snap of piquancy (to balance the beets) with a spoonful of capers.

Cold meat, a gentle touch, and wet hands are the secrets to successfully shaping these kebabs. There are a few ingredients that may seem a bit peculiar, but I assure you they’ll make sense once you take a bite. The pistachios add a welcome touch of crunch, and sumac—a tart, slightly astringent spice available at any Middle Eastern market—lends the perfect bright boost of flavor. Serve with rice pilaf, pita bread, and Sriracha Tzatziki (page 23).

This Moroccan-inspired recipe is one of those dishes where less is more: a big, sweet onion stuffed with cinnamon- and cumin-scented ground lamb and plump apricots. While you may be tempted to put the whole spice cabinet in the lamb filling, the simple duo of cinnamon and cumin does the trick. The fruit plays off the rich gaminess of the lamb and the spices add a subtle background flavor to tie it all together. This stuffed onion is perfect for a weeknight dinner with a green salad and steamed basmati rice, or elegant enough to make as a starter for a dinner party. The best part is that you can do this all ahead of time and just pop the stuffed onions in the oven before dinner. Sweet!

Ground lamb is now very widely available, and it makes a nice change from the usual beef ragù once in a while. This is thick enough to serve in shallow bowls over rice or simply with some nice bread, but you could also increase the amount of marinara sauce to four cups and serve it over pasta.

If you’ve cut back on burgers because you don’t want to eat the bun, here’s your solution. These well-seasoned patties get wrapped in a piece of prosciutto, making them extra juicy. Use your hands to combine the meat mixture; you are less likely to overmix this way.

The fried asparagus is a perfect use for the thick stalks that you find from time to time in the market.

For Women, cookbook are often memories of their mothers. Daisy Taïeb, the mother of two daughters, wrote Les Fêtes Juives à Tunis Racontées à Mes Filles (Jewish Holidays in Tunis as Told to My Daughters). “My daughters wanted to learn the religious customs in Tunis, like the fète des filles, a festival where the girls go to the synagogue all in white,” she told me. “Soon, with rapid Frenchification and assimilation, you will be able to learn about these traditions only in museums.” One day when I was in Nice, I watched Madame Taïeb cook her famous meatballs stuffed into vegetables. She was making them for Friday night dinner, to serve with couscous. Though I had expected a quiet, grandmotherly woman, I found her to be a trim, stylish lady who had taken the Dale Carnegie course on public speaking. She is the president of the French version of the Jewish Federation in Nice, and the representative of B’nai B’rith on the Côte d’Azur. These days, Madame Taïeb, who has lived alone since her husband’s death, invites people in for Sabbath dinner. “In Tunisia, you have the same foods as in Nice— fish, vegetables, spices— so it is not difficult to make the recipes,” she told me. “But you have to use your hands to judge, not your eyes, when making meatballs.” For Madame Taïeb, couscous with meatballs stuffed into peppers, artichoke bottoms, and eggplants, one of my favorite dishes, is symbolic of family, remembrance, and Friday night dinners.

You need a fair amount of the fresh mint and cilantro here so the meat really tastes both lemony and herbal. The ginger adds to the fresh, cleansing feeling. Serve with flatbreads or rice. For a snack, this ground meat, or keema, may be rolled up in flatbreads along with finely sliced shallots, chopped tomatoes, and, if you like, chopped fresh hot green chilies. Today, in the Western world, this would be called a “wrap.” As children we wrapped this keema in a chapati (a whole-wheat flatbread) and my mother called it a batta.

Our family eats this so frequently that, along with a moong dal, rice, a yogurt relish, and pickles, we consider this to be our “soul food” meal. Nothing fancy here, only the homey and soothing.

This Armenian specialty makes a hearty main dish. It has a pure and fresh quality and is an entirely different experience from eating an Italian or Asian pasta dish.

Manti, a specialty of Kayseri, are said to have been brought to Turkey from China by the Tartars. I first saw them being prepared in a hotel in Izmir twenty years ago. I was accompanied by Nevin Halici, a cooking teacher, culinary historian, and ethnographer, who was then researching the regional foods of Turkey. She was going from village to village, knocking on people’s doors and attending the traditional lunches where women cook together. The second time I saw the little dumplings being made was in a hotel in San Francisco, where at the invitation of the Institute of Food and Wine she was cooking a Turkish meal for almost a hundred people. She shaped the dumplings into tiny, open-topped, moneybag-like bundles, baked them for 20 minutes, poured chicken broth over them, and put them back in the oven again until they softened in the broth. The following recipe is for the easier version, like ravioli, which many Turkish restaurants make today. It is really delicious and quite different from any Italian dish. They call it klasik manti, and often cook it in chicken broth (see variation), which is particularly delicious.

I was served this exciting dish by Iranian friends who live near me in London. As the golden crust was broken, the rice, stained patchily with red cherry juice, tumbled out with little meatballs and cooked cherries. Fresh sour cherries are used in Iran in their short season. They are pitted or not, and cooked with sugar until they are jammy. I use dried pitted sour cherries without sugar, with delicious results.

This is exquisite and also very easy. The quinces are hard and take a long time to cook before you can even cut them up and stuff them, but you can bake them hours—even a day—in advance. I use very large quinces, weighing a pound each. Serve as a hot first course.

This old classic is prestigious in the Arab world. In Egypt, during their season, artichokes were sold by vendors who brought crates to the kitchen door, and our cook pared the bottoms. Nowadays I use frozen artichoke bottoms that are so good you cannot tell they are not fresh. Look for them (a flat-cup variety) as produce of Egypt in Middle Eastern stores.

A Persian filling of meat and rice with yellow split peas is cooked in a sweet-and-sour sauce and served hot with plain rice.