Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

This voluptuous dip “couldn’t be simpler,” wrote Ravinder Bhogal, the chef of Jikoni in London, in her cookbook “Comfort and Joy” (Bloomsbury, 2023). Tumble avocado in a food processor with ginger, for a subtle sweetness and restorative sting; soy sauce, standing in for salt but rounder and deeper; toasted sesame oil, earthy and plush, making everything it touches more intensely itself; and edamame, for body (and protein). Then stir in yuzu, a citrus that’s sweeter and gentler than lemon, lending a sherbety tang, and light where avocado is luscious. (If you don’t have any on hand, try squeezing together lemon and clementine.) A dose of sambal brings a throb of heat, if you like, while a dusting of furikake adds crunch. Ms. Bhogal serves the dip on toast at her restaurant, but you can dispense with the formality of framing it as a meal and eat it straight, dunking the likes of carrots, radishes, tortilla chips and Thai prawn crackers. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

This creamy yet delicate half-custard, half-flan is an elegant start to a meal. Zaiyu Hasegawa, the chef of Den in Tokyo, beats the eggs — just half an egg per person — with dashi, a stock of kombu (kelp) and katsuobushi (bonito flakes) that brings a mellow brine and a tinge of smoke. The eggs and dashi, now one, are run through a sieve for smoothness, and seasoned with usukuchi, a lighter-bodied and slightly saltier soy sauce with a tart finish. Pour the mixture into teacups or ramekins and let it steam on the stovetop. While some recipes call for a higher ratio of liquid to egg, here the egg, the richest ingredient, comes to the fore. As a grace note, Mr. Hasegawa suggests a purée of celery root melted down with butter, earthy-sweet. Spoon it on top once the custard has set. With the first bite, the faint chewiness of the celery root gives way to silk and surrender. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In the Spanish-speaking world, the technique of cooking ingredients and then immersing them in vinegar is called escabeche. Anything can be made escabeche; it brings a lovely little shiver of sourness to the table. The writer and cultural critic Alicia Kennedy, who lives in Puerto Rico, likes to use chickpeas, simmering them in vinegar, olive oil and sofrito, a potent blend of garlic, onions, sweet peppers, grassy-bright cilantro and its swaggering cousin culantro. Just before serving, she adds Spanish stuffed olives, for extra richness. The beans are meaty enough to sate and small enough to scoop up with a chip — or, as Ms. Kennedy prefers, to be spooned, almost daintily (‘‘like caviar,’’ she says), onto a delicate strip of crisped plantain, hot from the skillet. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In 1927, a former insurance agent in Los Angeles was fiddling obsessively with ingredients in his home kitchen when he came up with a cake that was weightless yet rich — angel and devil at once — which we know today as chiffon. His secret: Instead of butter, he used vegetable oil in a batter thick with yolks, folded together with glossy peaks of whipped egg whites. The cake’s kinship to clouds makes it an ideal dessert for Christopher Tan, who lives in Singapore, where the temperature and humidity are enemies of more traditional, butter-based cakes. Here, he uses mandarin oranges, packing in as much juice and zest as possible. The most difficult part is beating the egg whites properly. Tan has a baking secret of his own: He mixes a little potato starch (which absorbs more liquid than other starches) into the meringue, to guard against deflating. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

The word “biscotti” comes from the Latin biscoctus, or twice cooked: The dough is rolled into logs and given a spell in the oven, then cooled, sliced and slotted back in to bake a little more. The second turn in the oven essentially sucks them dry and gives them that signature crunch. Too much crunch, however, and they can be a little flinty. The pastry chef Mark Sopchak makes biscotti that are shorter and narrower — “Biscottini!” an Italian passerby once said — and ever so slightly softer, with the addition of butter. These cookies are thin enough to snap smartly under the teeth and then obligingly crumble. Inspired in part by Mexican mole, they have a touch of creaminess from cashews and a wild streak of chile powder, just enough to make you hum. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Chocolate fondue is not a traditional dessert but a creation of the 1960s, first conjured up at Chalet Suisse, an alpine-themed restaurant in New York, by Konrad Egli, a Swiss chef and restaurateur far from home. This version is a simple equation of chocolate and heavy cream — essentially ganache, but in different proportions. Warm the cream, pour it over the chocolate and stir. A touch of salt brings the flavor into focus. You don’t need a fondue pot or even a double boiler: Just jury-rig a heatproof rack over a candle, or fill a pot or bowl with boiling water and tuck a smaller bowl inside it. (The key is not to melt the chocolate directly over flame, as this may result in scorching or a grainy, broken mixture.) Serve with whatever you think a little gilding with chocolate makes better: maybe bright crescents of clementines, candied yuzu peel, chewy stubs of mochi, butter-heavy pound cake or whole strawberries like fat little hearts. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In Jamaica, escovitch is fish rubbed with garlic and allspice, shallow-fried until the skin crisps, then doused with hot vinegar, carrots, onions and wicked Scotch bonnets, all swirled together and bubbling. Leave the dish out at room temperature, the better for the vinegar to work its alchemy, creating not so much a sauce as sheer lushness. Francine Turone’s mother would make escovitch in the morning and let it sit all day on the counter, the flavors intensifying with each hour. Come dinnertime, little effort was required beyond putting out plates — which makes it ideal, Ms. Turone says, when cooking for friends: “You can make it and then go away.” Her version allows for boneless fillets instead of the traditional whole fish, and includes an unexpected ingredient, raisins, inspired by travels with her Italian husband and transposed from a Venetian snack of deep-fried sardines in vinegar. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

This light yet earthy sauce lends a generous, almost floral warmth to any white, sturdy fish. For heat, there are crushed Calabrian chiles, smoky and sunny; for a mellow sourness, Moscatel vinegar — feel free to substitute apple cider vinegar and a little sugar to approximate the same fruitiness; and for funk, fermented white pepper (although regular white pepper will work too). Other notes include delicate marjoram, cousin to oregano but less forward, with its comforting contour of balsam, and Timur pepper from Nepal, fragrant and bright, calling to mind a just-peeled tangerine. (If you use Sichuan pepper instead, give it a citrus boost with extra orange juice and a shower of orange zest.) The sauce comes out denser than a vinaigrette but still loose and the orange-red of a young sunset. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

The origins of the fruit sandwich are believed to go back to Japan’s luxury fruit stores and the fruit parlors attached to them. This version comes from Yudai Kanayama, a native of Hokkaido who runs the restaurants the Izakaya NYC and Dr Clark in New York. Fresh fruit — fat strawberries, golden mango, kiwi with black ellipses of seeds, or whatever you like — is engulfed in whipped cream mixed with mascarpone, which makes it implausibly airy yet dense. (In Japanese, the texture is called fuwa-fuwa: fluffy like a cloud.) Pressed on either side are crustless slices of shokupan, milk bread that agreeably springs back. The sandwich looks like dessert but isn’t, or not exactly; it makes for a lovely little meal that feels slightly illicit, as if for a moment there are no rules. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Some dishes are showstoppers, while others are ordinary, unfussy and exactly what you want on a slow evening when nothing need be achieved or sought after. This is a simple salad, with the smallest exalting touch: rounds of goat cheese coated in beaten egg and the sheerest veil of bread crumbs, then gently pressed in a hot pan until dark gold. They come served over a careless toss of greens — you can add fresh herbs like dill or parsley for featheriness and a bright lift — in a dressing that requires no more than oil, vinegar, mustard and a single shallot. Eat immediately, when the greens are fresh and cool, and the cheese is still warm, faintly crackly on the outside and oozy within.

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

At Tiffany’s in the small town of Wailuku in central Maui, hamachi sashimi comes with a sauce so good, diners keep spooning it up long after the fish is gone. Bright and briny at once, it draws from the cuisines of island nations across the Pacific, combining elements of Japanese ponzu and fina’denne’, a CHamoru condiment from Guam that is a blend of shoyu (soy sauce), vinegar or citrus, onions and chiles. The chef Sheldon Simeon adds sweet local onions and ginger in lieu of chiles, for a gentler kick, plus shiso for “effervescence,” he says. To finish, he simmers lemon peel and olive oil over low heat, then strains out the peel so just the olive oil is left, only now sun-possessed. Drizzled at the very end, it gives the fish the vividness of lemon without curing it. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Three decades ago, the first shrimp truck rolled out on the North Shore of Oahu, Hawaii. It served jumbo shrimp, a dozen to a plate with two scoops of rice, crackly shelled and dark with paprika and a rubble of garlic and butter — so much butter that the sheen stayed on your fingers all day. Rivals soon appeared and today, at least a dozen trucks vie for customers, both locals and tourists who drive an hour from Honolulu. When Kathy YL Chan, the writer behind the Onolicious Hawai‘i blog, reverse-engineered the recipe, she dredged the shrimp in mochiko (sweet rice flour) for extra crispness, although all-purpose flour works, too. She calls for one head of garlic here but uses two heads herself; feel free to adjust according to your taste. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Sherbet is lusher than sorbet, more ethereal than ice cream. This recipe — a creamy, frozen concoction of soda and condensed milk, no ice-cream maker required — comes from Neale Asato, who runs the Asato Family Shop, a cult favorite in Honolulu. For people in Hawaii, Mr. Asato’s sherbet is a nostalgic callback to guri-guri (goodie-goodie), the nearly century-old specialty at Tasaka Guri Guri on Maui. Mr. Asato’s version for home cooks is easy and fun to make: Bring strawberry soda to a boil (you can do it in the microwave), add a packet of gelatin as a stabilizer, stir in condensed milk and spike with vanilla extract. Freeze to a slush, then whip on high speed, letting in the air until it expands, a pink cloud rising. Mix in more strawberry soda (and evaporated milk, if you have it on hand, to temper some of the sweetness), then freeze again. Break out an ice-cream scoop. Shiver. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

One Thanksgiving, the pastry chef Diane Yang’s parents, Hmong refugees from Laos, found that they had filling left over from making egg rolls, and her mother came up with the idea of using it to stuff the turkey. It's lighter than traditional bread stuffing, and yields relatively small servings, but it's a delicious addition to the feast. It is not intended to be baked alongside the turkey. If you'd like, double this recipe and use the remainder to fill egg rolls. Purchase egg roll wrappers (often found in the freezer section at the market), thaw them, and roll them with stuffing. Deep fry in vegetable oil until golden brown, and serve hot. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In the Philippines, ginger is both spice and medicine, often administered as salabat, a simple tea of fresh ginger root. Here, tea is transformed into tea cake. Arlyn Osborne, in a recipe from “Sugarcane: Sweet Recipes From My Half-Filipino Kitchen,” begins by brewing a much stronger tea than you would ever drink. The goal is to distill enough ginger to perfume and possess the cake’s every crumb. When straining the tea, press forcefully and patiently, to extract as much of the ginger’s life force as you can. (If you don’t get half a cup’s worth, add water.) More ginger follows, in powdered form, whisked into flour, and crystallized, to stud the top of the cake, after the glaze has run down the sides. Other ingredients play important roles — lemon with its streak of sun, honey mellow and deep, sour cream delivering reliable richness — but the soul of the cake is ginger. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Pain perdu, which Americans know as French toast, traditionally calls for crusty French bread. Heimata Hall, who runs food tours on his native Mo‘orea in French Polynesia, uses ipo, a Tahitian bread rich with grated coconut and coconut milk. The dough should be as sticky as possible — so sticky, you think it must surely need more flour or liquid, but no. Some recipes call for baking or boiling, but Mr. Hall prefers steaming because it holds in moisture and gives the bread a smooth, clean finish. For pain perdu, he cuts the ipo into thick slabs and dunks them in coconut milk, just enough so they’re coated but not sopping, then in egg. The pan gets a brushing of butter (not too much), to crisp the outside of the bread and caramelize the coconut. The finish: fresh mint, nuts, whatever fruit is in season, and, for extra luxury, a spoonful of coconut cream complete the dish. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

When ripe, jackfruit is sweet and golden. But unripe, it’s almost a blank canvas, game to take on whatever seasonings you throw its way. Sturdy enough to hold up in the heat of a pan, it has a satisfying chew that makes it an excellent filling for tacos. In this recipe from the poet and essayist Aimee Nezhukumatathil, skinny strips of young jackfruit soak up an earthy marinade before a turn in the skillet — keep a close eye on the stove, to be sure it doesn’t dry out; you want it saucy — then get folded, still dripping, into warm tortillas. A heaping of raw carrots and cucumber gives you a little crunch, and a spoonful of sour cream brings a rich finish. (If using fresh unripe jackfruit instead of canned, wear gloves and rub your knife with oil before chopping, because the sap is very sticky, and boil the flesh until tender. Note that the sap contains latex, so those allergic to it would do best to avoid eating the fruit.) Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

When Francine Turone hosted her first Thanksgiving dinner in New York City, she declared turkey “bland and boring.” But after friends protested, she came up with this recipe inspired by her upbringing in Kingston, Jamaica. This turkey, a showstopping centerpiece for any big family event, roasts on a bed of whole vegetables, which absorb its fat. A deeply spiced brine and rub packed with cinnamon, allspice berries, thyme and chile pepper imparts huge flavors, rounded out by an herb-infused brown butter. If things are looking to be busy, the butter and rub can be prepared a day ahead. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Lazi ji, a specialty of the sweltering city of Chongqing in southwestern China, might appear at first glance to be all chiles, spilling rim to rim in reckless abundance. But you’re not meant to eat them. They’re fried briefly, just long enough to give off their fragrance and lend a little sting to the cooking oil. Part of the fun of the dish is hunting for the small, crispy nubs of chicken, which in Chongqing are served with the bones left in, for happy grappling. (If you prefer to use boneless chicken thighs, cut them into pieces no bigger than popcorn.) You’ll want your ingredients premeasured at the start, since everything comes together quickly at the end: garlic and ginger turned golden and toasty, Sichuan pepper with its tickling buzz. The culinary scholar Fuchsia Dunlop advises staying away from the most powerful chiles; instead, seek out the long, slender, medium-hot variety sold by the bag at Chinese groceries. Be careful they don’t blacken in the wok. You want that red, untai

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Hawaii’s mac salad is not the summer standard of cookouts on the mainland (what locals call the rest of the United States). The pasta is cooked past al dente, until swoony and soft all the way through. In this version from the chef Mark Noguchi, Gooch to friends, there’s a little punch-up of Tabasco and trace sweetness, like a sidelong glance, from grated carrots and a grace note of sugar. The marquee ingredient, of course, is mayonnaise. ‘‘Just so you know, you’ll be using a lot of mayo,’’ Gooch warns. ‘‘Obscene, guarantee-going-to-make-you-raise-your-eyebrow kine of lot.” Yet somehow what you end up with is richness without weight, leavened by tang and salt. In Hawaii, a scoop would be served with a plate lunch, alongside rice and a main dish, like chicken katsu. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

For the chef Isa Fabro of IsaMADE in Los Angeles, the use of super-ripe Manila mangoes (native to the Philippines) is central to this no-bake dessert, as the fruit has a unique deep honey taste, a creamy texture with virtually no fibers, and a heavy aroma. If using Kent or Haden mangoes, remove any excess fiber and add lime; the extra acid complements their flavor, but will compete with the Manila mangoes. As long as the mangoes are super-ripe, even over-ripe, the dish will be fine. If not, the mango flavor will become dulled and lost in the cold of the freezer. If ripe mangoes aren’t available, frozen ones can be used once defrosted. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

‘Ulu, breadfruit in Hawaiian, is hefty as a melon, starchy and vitamin-rich. It has been touted as the answer to world hunger — but it is also simply delicious and wonderfully easy to work with in the kitchen. In this warm, vital dish from the chef Robynne Maii of Fête in Honolulu, ‘ulu is steamed and mashed until smoother, fluffier and more buttery than even the best mashed potatoes. Taking inspiration from South India, where breadfruit is also a staple, Ms. Maii crushes ‘ulu with a spiced oil of cumin, mustard seeds and turmeric. Then she brings a local touch: lilikoi (passion fruit) in a tart, musky chutney. A heap of cilantro and mint, for brightness, and fried shallots finish it off. If you’re not so lucky as to live in the islands, you may find breadfruit in Caribbean or Southeast Asian groceries, or order it frozen from the Hawai‘i ‘Ulu Cooperative. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

The roots of this recipe, an ancestor of modern hummus, date back at least as far as the 13th century, as the Iraqi food historian Nawal Nasrallah writes on her blog, My Iraqi Kitchen. As adapted by Lucien Zayan, a Frenchman of Egyptian and Syrian descent who runs the Invisible Dog Art Center in Brooklyn, you boil chickpeas until their skins loosen and they reveal themselves, tender little hulks with souls of butter. Then you mash them in a swirl of tahini, olive oil, vinegar, spices and herbs, and fold in a crush of nuts, seeds and preserved lemon, sour-bright and tasting of aged sun. Notably absent from the recipe is garlic. Here, instead, the nuts — Mr. Zayan uses hazelnuts, for more butteriness, and pistachios, with their hint of camphor — fortify the chickpeas in their earthy heft, so close to the richness of meat. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

The principle behind this summer salad is “take what is great from what is right around you and do very little to it,” Hannah Shizgal-Paris, the chef of Roman’s, in Brooklyn, says. The recipe showcases cantaloupe and nectarines, but any firm-fleshed melon and vivid stone fruit will do. Everything depends on the quality of the produce at hand and the stage it’s in: If the melon is crunchy, you cut it thin; if starting to soften, cut it thick. Contrast comes from capers, pecorino, chile (less for heat than punctuation), and a pucker of lemon to finish. Be sure to season each ingredient separately and build the salad in layers, rather than dumping everything in all at once. Taste as you go, and keep it all nice and cool. It’s a dish only for this sun-drunk time. Eat it while you can. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Bibingka is a Filipino cake traditionally made with rice flour and coconut milk and baked to supreme fluffiness over banana leaves in a terra-cotta oven. These versions are built to fit in the palm of the hand. Ray Luna, who ran the much loved coffee shop Mountain Province in Brooklyn, adapted the recipe from his lola (grandmother), using self-rising flour instead of rice flour and coconut cream for extra richness. The cakes are delicious when made with just the requisite five ingredients, but for a touch of refinement, follow Luna’s lead and bake in banana leaves, to infuse a green-tea scent. The final touch: macapuno, opalescent strands from rare, prized coconuts with jellylike flesh. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Stew is a luxury because it demands what we seem to have the least of these days: time. When making miyar taushe (also known as miyan taushe), this earthy-sweet stew from northern Nigeria, you stand vigil while lamb simmers on the stove, slowly coming undone, and butternut squash softens in the oven, its skin ready to cave in. The squash is rendered velvety in a blender, with a dusting of calabash nutmeg — woodsier and mustier than regular nutmeg — then united with the lush lamb stock. Yemisi Aribisala, a Nigerian writer and the author of “Longthroat Memoirs: Soups, Sex and Nigerian Taste Buds” (Cassava Republic Press, 2016), notes that the pot should be big enough so the stew reaches only halfway up, because it splatters. At the end, you deliver to your guests bowls of tamed sun, hot, creamy, melty, thick and earthy-sweet. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Mastic “tears,” as they’re called, are translucent fragments of tree resin that give off the scent of high, sweet pine. The fragrance is the flavor, suffusing this version of mouhalabieh, a delicate Arab milk pudding, from the French Palestinian chef Fadi Kattan's cookbook, "Bethlehem." Requirements are few: a pot of milk over flame; a whisking-in of sugar; mastic pounded down to a shimmery powder; cornstarch, for firming; and vigilance. As an early recipe in the 10th-century Baghdadi cookbook “Annals of the Caliphs’ Kitchens” warns: “You should never stop stirring.” Mr. Kattan suggests repeatedly tracing the number “8” with a spoon over the bottom of the pot, so the milk won’t scorch. When the mixture is near custard, pour it, still hot, into individual bowls. “It goes from liquid to quite solid in a few seconds,” he says. Let rest an hour at room temperature, then another two or more in the refrigerator, until it wobbles. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

The sour orange, unlike the sweet orange, is too tart to eat straight. But the peels, when cooked, lend a bright tang and profound fragrance. To make norinj pilau, a celebratory Afghan dish of lamb and rice, Shazia Saif Naimi recruits her husband, Asadullah Naimi, to harvest sour oranges from their backyard. He cuts the peels into skinny strips using a razor blade and brings them to a boil three times, to make sure that most (but, crucially, not all) of the peels’ bitterness is leached out. Then he stirs in sugar, saffron and cardamom, and the scent of honey and white flowers expands through the house. Ms. Naimi braises the lamb and soaks the rice, massaging the grains to release the starch. At the end, lamb and rice are mounded together in a platter of abundance, with one cup of rice — simmered separately with the orange-peel syrup — spread over the top like spilled sun. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Kare-kare is a nutty-sweet stew, traditionally made in the Philippines with oxtail, bok choy, string beans and eggplants, simmered with ground peanuts and achuete oil; peanut butter, a modern substitute, lends voluptuousness. This recipe is adapted from Nicole Ponseca and Miguel Trinidad’s forthcoming cookbook “I Am a Filipino” and their restaurant Maharlika in New York, where the dish is always served with rice and bagoong, a fermented seafood paste that brings a depth of flavor akin to aged cheese or steak. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Pastillas de leche are Filipino candies traditionally made by cooking down carabao (water buffalo) milk for hours. (Although the recipe is native to the Philippines, the name comes from Spanish: Pastilla describes the lozenge shape and leche is milk.) Abi Balingit, the author of the dessert cookbook “Mayumu” (Harvest 2023), offers a beautifully simple, no-cook shortcut: You sift whole milk powder and salt, then mix in condensed milk until a dough forms. Roll into snowy white logs, then dust the soft, creamy treats in sugar. That’s it — there’s no waiting; you can eat them right away. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

As a child living in Tuscany, Ixta Belfrage fell for a pasta rich with dried porcini mushrooms, served at the lone restaurant in the tiny mountain village of Acone. In her cookbook, “Mezcla” (Ten Speed Press, 2022), she pays homage to the power of porcini mushrooms, which are typically gathered from the wild and taste of it, luscious and nutty. They offer a shortcut to glory in this ragù that almost defies the name, because it doesn’t demand hours on the stove and attains a velvety intensity in practically no time at all. Leave the porcini to soak and swell back to life; chop; gently fry with tomato paste, garlic, chile and parsley; rain down black pepper; melt in some Parmesan; swirl with pasta water and porcini broth and let it bubble. A dab of cream, then a slicking and coating of the pasta, and it’s on the table. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

This recipe, adapted from the chef Tom Cunanan of Bad Saint in Washington, D.C., really needs fresh white rice when you serve it. It serves as the plain, blank canvas for all the tartness of the tamarind and the richness of the ribs. At Filipino meals, it’s quite common to have a variety of sawsawan, or sauces and condiments, on the table at mealtime. The idea is for everyone at the table to customize their dishes exactly to their liking. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

These scones are surprisingly decadent for a recipe devised in wartime Britain as a way to stretch rations of flour and butter. As adapted by the historian Eleanor Barnett from a 1940s pamphlet produced and published by the Ministry of Food, it uses up leftover mashed potatoes and lets you get by with about half the amounts of flour and butter that a typical scone recipe might require. There’s less of a rise, since potatoes lack gluten and thus can’t create the long, elastic strands of protein that trap air and bring buoyancy. But the extra starch gives the scones softness and a delightfully tender crumb. Out of a limited batch of ingredients, you 12 scones, enough to create 6 scone sandwiches with your choice of filling: a sweet slather of cocoa powder, sugar, butter and a dash of milk, evoking cake frosting, or a quick savory slaw of shredded cabbage and carrots, livened up by onion chutney. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In this sophisticated take on ricotta toast, Raquel Villanueva Dang, the chef of Baby’s Kusina and Market in Philadelphia, roasts grapes with fresh thyme and salt until the skins pucker and the flesh grows slouchy, verging on collapse. Taste and texture become almost one: jammy and louche, with a tinge of dark wine. She tumbles the grapes over velvety whipped ricotta, with hunks of sourdough on the side. Deepening the contrast of flavors is a salty-sweet glaze of balsamic vinegar cooked down with honey and fish sauce, a nod to her Filipino heritage. If you like, add ¼ teaspoon mushroom seasoning (an umami-rich blend of pulverized dried mushrooms and salt) to the grapes before roasting, to lend earthiness, and finish the ricotta with a flourish of flaky sea salt and scattered torn mint for a touch of freshness and color. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

On Thanksgiving night, with dinner pillaged and in ruins, Joshua Mangerson picks off the remaining meat from the turkey carcass, submerges it in chicken stock and lets it simmer. The next day, turkey leftovers are transformed into turkey ramen, with mushrooms, scallions and a six-minute egg in each bowl. The rich, cloudy broth is an ode to the Strongbow Inn, the turkey restaurant that Mr. Mangerson’s great-grandmother opened in 1940 on the family turkey farm in Valparaiso, Ind. Mr. Mangerson, who worked summers at Strongbow as a teenager, makes his own chicken stock first, with chicken backs and necks collected over a summer of grilling, but you can use store-bought stock and still get a strong boost of flavor. The recipe may look labor-intensive, but “I wouldn’t want anyone to be scared away,” he says. “It’s not difficult to do. It just takes time, and you have to care.” Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

The American South has long laid claim to Country Captain, but the dish’s origins can be traced back to the British Raj. It’s an Anglo-Indian legacy of colonials with palates newly awakened to the possibilities of spice. In this version from Rohan Kamicheril, who grew up in Bangalore, only a few seasonings are called for: turmeric, ginger-garlic paste — easy to mash up quickly or buy premade — and Kashmiri chile powder, which has a gentle heat that can be approximated with a mix of paprika and cayenne. Vinegar is the last, vital touch, its sourness twangs the nerve and startles the other flavors into focus. The recipe is simple, but it takes skill to make, and should be eaten immediately. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

This recipe for rotkraut, a tart dish of pickled red cabbage simmered with warm spices in a dry red wine, came to The Times from Debbie Himmler of Cincinnati. The dish, a nod to her grandparents’ German heritage, makes regular appearances on her family’s Thanksgiving table, but can be served year round. It’s best prepared a day or two ahead, and also freezes well — a real boon if you’re planning a big meal. Just reheat it in a covered saucepan on the stove the day you plan to serve it. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In Arabic, adas are lentils, and rqaq is a flatbread as thin and nearly as sheer as paper. The two come together in this stew, which was traditionally a way to use dough left over from baking bread, as the Palestinian artist and chef Mirna Bamieh explains. The lentils are simmered with cumin, bringing its stealthy warmth, along with bronzed onions, tamarind and sweet-sour pomegranate molasses. Meanwhile, scraps of dough are rolled out, then up into cylinders and slashed into long, skinny strands that look like tagliatelle. But you don’t have to wait for baking day: Instead, just knead together the quick dough below or swap in dried pasta. The noodles are dropped right in the pot, to cook among the lentils, leaching starch and making the stew even richer.

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

A Salvadoran quesadilla, unlike the Mexican dish of the same name, is a sweet bread verging on cake, just savory enough for breakfast or a midafternoon pick-me-up. There are variations based on rice flour, yuca flour or masa harina; Karla Tatiana Vasquez, in “The SalviSoul Cookbook” (Ten Speed Press, 2024), suggests all-purpose flour as an accessible starting point. Traditionally, the quesadilla’s salty kiss comes from queso duro blando, an aged Salvadoran cheese, but Parmesan, equally funky, makes a good substitute. Crema Salvadoreña, the thick top skimmed off fresh cream and left to turn gently sour, brings a touch of tang. It’s akin to crème fraîche, which may be used instead. (In a pinch, Ms. Vasquez has improvised with diluted yogurt.) Ideally, she says, you whip up the quesadilla after lunch, bake it until there’s browning at the edges, let cool, and by 3 o’clock it’s yours for the taking, between sips of hot, dark coffee. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

This lush, rich Ecuadorian stew belies its name, “seco,” which in Spanish means “dry.” In this recipe from the cookbook “My (Half) Latinx Kitchen: Half Recipes, Half Stories, All Latin American,” Kiera Wright-Ruiz boosts the flavor by first browning the chicken in a pot to a golden veneer, then gently sizzling a pulverized sofrito of onion, garlic and bell pepper in its rendered fat, scraping up the lovely dark bits. Traditionally, the chicken was simmered in chicha, a fermented alcoholic beverage often made with corn, yuca or quinoa, but a simple lager will do here, bringing a mellow, malty depth. The beer’s trace bitterness is offset by tomatoes and naranjilla, also known as lulo, a small indigenous fruit that’s lime-sour and oozily tart like a pineapple. (You may substitute freshly squeezed orange juice.) Submerged in broken-down tomatoes, naranjilla and beer, the chicken lounges, loosens, relents. At the very end, there’s a splash of vinegar to snap everything into focus, and cilan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

Rundown is only one of many names for this earthy Jamaican stew of fish and vegetables simmered in coconut milk. It's “an easy dish with big rewards,” says Melissa Thompson, a British writer and the author of the “Motherland” cookbook (Interlink Books, 2022). She begins by slackening onions in a pan, followed by garlic, yellow yam, tomatoes and red bell peppers. Spices are half the transformation: ginger, allspice and cumin, built to warm; thyme, with its kiss of camphor; bay leaves for a piney depth. Coconut milk is poured over, and the heat is left to do its work. When the yam turns tender, the fish goes in — in Ms. Thompson’s version, adapted for life in England, smoked mackerel takes the place of more classic salted mackerel — and then the coconut milk gets another 10 minutes to “run down” and thicken to near cream. This dish is also known as dip-dip, because diners traditionally scoop up the stew with the likes of boiled dumplings and, here, green bananas, not yet sweet. Ligaya Mi

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In this simple cheesecake, the luscious filling is held together between two layers of flaky pastry, generously dusted with cinnamon sugar. The recipe is a Southwestern tradition, taking inspiration from sopapillas, pieces of dough dropped in hot oil until they puff into little pillows with origins that go back to Latin America and regions of the United States that were once part of Mexico. Maria Kitsopoulos, a cellist with The New York Philharmonic, created her recipe for the cheesecake with extra cinnamon (and less sugar) based on a version by the blogger Deborah Harroun. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In the Middle Ages, monks on Italy’s Amalfi Coast were tasked with preserving anchovies, the local catch. They discovered that the amber liquid exuded by the aging fish — colatura di alici, literally “anchovy drippings” — could be used as a briny seasoning. Nodding to this tradition, the chef Diego Rossi, at the acclaimed trattoria Trippa in Milan, unites colatura and bottarga di muggine (cured gray mullet roe) in a pasta that is powerfully marine. The sauce isn’t cooked: Instead, he lets the ingredients — bottarga, yellow tomato sauce, colatura, basil, garlic, lemon and chile — melt among the strands of hot spaghettini. The sweetness of the tomato tempers the bitterness of the bottarga. (It’s best to make the pasta in single servings, to control that bitterness, and to eat it immediately.) The umami is everywhere, in the bottarga, the tomato, and, delicate yet insistent, the colatura, calling back to a remembered sea. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

The marquee dessert at Golden Diner, in Manhattan’s Chinatown, is a take on tres leches, a Latin American cake soaked in three kinds of milk, as the Spanish name attests: whole milk, condensed milk and evaporated milk, its unsweetened cousin. Sam Yoo, the chef and owner, infuses the milk with Thai tea powder, a blend of black tea and vanilla that yields a signature tiger-orange hue. The longer the cake soaks, the better it is. (Mr. Yoo lets it rest for as long as two nights, with a flip in between so the liquid that’s pooled at the bottom has another chance to run through.) The cake is finished with whipped cream, coconut flakes toasted near gold and lime zest lending a bright sting. Keep the cake in the refrigerator until the last moment, so it’s as cold as possible and melts in the mouth, almost like ice cream. The faint bitterness of the tea checks the sweetness of the cake, so it’s just enough. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

You could call tinola a chicken soup, but that is just a literal description for a dish that, in the Philippines, is more like a form of medicine. The writer Jill Damatac remembers her lola (grandmother) putting a whole chicken in the pot; in her own version, she bronzes thighs and drumsticks then submerges them in chicken stock and sets to a simmer. The broth’s depth comes from ginger, peppery malunggay (moringa) leaves and patis (fish sauce), standing in for salt. Chayote, kin to squash but as bracing as an apple, yields a clean, juicy bite. Be patient: The soup’s subtle flavor “does not bloom, soft and gentle on the tongue, until the second mouthful,” Ms. Damatac writes in her memoir, “Dirty Kitchen” (Atria, 2025). As a luxurious topping, she buys extra chicken skin from the butcher, crisps it and adds it to the soup at the last moment, for a satisfying shatter. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In Hawaii, onaga is the most prized kind of snapper and the centerpiece of festive meals. Glenn Yamashita steams the whole fish, Chinese-style, with a sour-salty stuffing, a topping of preserved vegetables and a tumble of aromatics. Two of the ingredients are readily available in Hawaii but may require more of a search elsewhere: chung choi, salted turnip wrapped in its own leaves — pickled mustard greens are a fine substitute — and scallop powder, which can be approximated with fish sauce. Skeins of Japanese somen noodles are tucked beneath the fish and hot oil poured over at the end. Done right, it crackles. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

This vegan version of a traditional Bolivian soup is made with a base of puréed peanuts but has none of the heaviness of peanut butter. Instead, it’s creamy yet delicate, hearty without heft. Patrick Oropeza, the chef of Bolivian Llama Party in Sunnyside, Queens, primes the stock with a powder of locoto chiles, gutsier than jalapeños, and quilquiña, an herb that delivers the sunny grassiness of cilantro, with a sly kick. (Both may be found at Latin markets and specialty grocers online.) Then he drops in potatoes, and tubes of penne that are toasted first in a dry pan to draw out their nuttiness and change their texture just enough that they hold firm in the soup. In Bolivia, a bowl of sopa de maní typically comes topped with thick wedges of fried potato, like steak fries. Mr. Oropeza uses matchsticks instead, which fry faster and stay crispy. Ligaya Mishan

Ligaya Mishan · NYT Cooking

In Japanese, “yamitsuki” means addictive — a precise description of this seemingly humble side dish of cabbage, gently torn and simply anointed with sesame oil and seeds, garlic, black pepper and a fingerprint’s worth of salt. So few ingredients, so little time required, and you can’t stop eating it. Often served at izakayas, the Japanese equivalent of pubs, the cabbage is especially good for refreshing the palate and easing the stomach between bites of richer, fattier foods. Aiko Cascio, an instructor for the New York-based League of Kitchens cooking school, prefers tearing the leaves by hand rather than using a knife because the rougher edges absorb more of the sesame oil. This recipe, from “The League of Kitchens Cookbook” (Harvest, 2024) by Lisa Kyung Gross, Rachel Wharton and the women of the League of Kitchens cooking school, calls for flathead cabbage, also known as Taiwanese cabbage, which is soft and tender, with space between the ribs. If you can find only green, Ms. Cascio a