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Store-bought gnocchi makes this one-pan supper simple as can be.

I love a sheet-pan dinner, which usually consists of whatever veg have been around long enough to look a little past their prime—bell peppers, cherry tomatoes, fennel… usually with a few fat slices of red onion thrown in— and a protein: chicken thighs, slabs of halloumi, or chunks of sausage. I toss the whole thing with olive oil, salt and pepper, and maybe a dash of vinegar, and roast it at 425 for what’s usually less time than I think it will need. Start checking after 15 minutes, and flip what needs to be flipped.

Pictured above is the easiest-ever sheet-pan gnocchi recipe from Jake Cohen, whose new show “Jake Makes It Easy” premiered last week on A&E. I wrote about it for Cool Beans (here), where you’ll find a link to the recipe.

I pulled it out of the oven a bit early to snap this photo while the tomatoes were still plump and vibrant, then stuck it back in to cook a little longer when friends came by for dinner. By then, the gnocchi (the store-bought, shelf-stable kind) had gone golden and the veg (which includes eggplant) had some burnished bits. If I’d had fresh ricotta I would have dolloped some on each plate before serving. Diced low-moisture mozz would also be great here, roasted along with the gnocchi and veg. Anyway, it was perfectly easy and there was only the one pan to wash up. Weeknight win-win.

As part of my weekly contribution to the sustainable-food-focused newsletter Cool Beans, I ask chefs, cookbook authors, and other food folk what plant-based dish they make on repeat. This week, I talked to the wonderful Mexico City-born Barbara Sibley, whose restaurant La Palapa has been dishing up authentic Mexican fare on St. Mark’s Place for almost 25 years.

She described a dish that’s based on the classic Shrimp a la Diabla but swaps in cauliflower for the crustaceans. I was blown away—the cauliflower, blanched briefly in salted water and sliced, ends up a very similar shape and texture to shrimp, and was a great vehicle for the sauce, which was delicious and surprisingly simple to make.

What follows is the cauliflower version of the dish based on the recipe for Shrimp a la Diabla from “Antojitos: Festive and Flavorful Mexican Small Plates,” by Barbara Sibley and Margaritte Malfy.

• 1 head of cauliflower, cut into large florets
• ¼ cup olive oil
• 2 tablespoons finely chopped onion
• 1 tablespoon minced garlic
• 3 dried ancho chilies, reconstituted in hot water, seeded, and cut into half-inch rounds
• 3 dried passilla chilies, reconstituted in hot water, seeded and cut into half-inch rounds
• Kosher salt
• Freshly ground black pepper
• ½ cup white wine

1. Blanch the cauliflower in boiling salted water for three minutes. Drain and run it under cold water. 
2. Cut the florets lenthwise into ¼-inch slices. 
3. In a large skillet, heat the oil over medium-low heat. Add the onion and garlic and cook, stirring occasionally, for 2 to 3 minutes, until tender but not browned.
4. Add the chiles, and raise the heat to high. When the pan is hot, add the cauliflower, season with salt and pepper, and cook, stirring and shaking the pan to ensure even cooking, for 3 to 4 minutes, turning the pieces of cauliflower over a couple of times to coat in the sauce. Remove from the heat. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the cauliflower to a plate or shallow bowl, leaving as much pan sauce as possible in the skillet.
5. Return the skillet to medium heat. Stir in the wine, and simmer for about 30 seconds, then return cauliflower to the skillet. Raise the heat to high, and bring to a boil. As soon as the liquid boils, remove the skillet from the heat.
6. Divide the shrimp and pan juices evenly among dishes. Serve piping hot with tortillas on the side.

In my latest piece for The Forward, I explore the role of fresh herbs in Jewish cooking, and recreate a phenomenal Persian egg dish called kuku, which is packed with chopped fresh herbs, chopped walnuts, and dried barberries (or cranberries). The story and recipe are here.

It’s funny that I felt I had to qualify the idea of cabbage being a Jewish ingredient in my latest article for the Forward. As I’ve mentioned, I’m writing a series about the most iconic Jewish ingredients, and for some reason, in the articles I wrote about raisins and sesame seeds, I didn’t feel like I had to acknowledge that those foods aren’t exclusively Jewish…

But with cabbage, I began the column with the line, “Lest I spark the Cabbage Wars…” — a reference to the “Hummus Wars” of 2008, in which Lebanese and Israeli restaurateurs butted heads over the origins and ownership of the ubiquitous Middle Eastern spread. I’m not kidding — you can read about it through a link in my cabbage story. Perhaps it’s because it’s hard to think about cabbage without thinking about cabbage’s greatest hits, top among them kimchi, corned beef and cabbage, and sauerkraut.

So it was only after acknowledging cabbage’s crucial role in other world cuisines that I went on to discuss it’s widespread use in Jewish dishes from stuffed cabbage to slaw and salad to strudel (a recent discovery for me) to the beautifully caramelized wedges my friend Adeena Sussman offers up in her cookbook, “Sababa.” (Those are based on a braised cabbage dish that’s wildly popular in Israel.)

I had thought I might develop my own recipe for cabbage strudel, which is something I’d never tasted until a couple of weeks ago when I was researching the story, but I ended up coming up with something I found more delicious and special: a cabbage tart. I can’t sing its praises enough, and it’s super simple to pull together if you have some frozen puff pastry dough and a cabbage on hand. And who doesn’t?

For the story and the recipe, click here.

I’m writing a series of articles about the most important ingredients in Jewish culinary history, and the little raisin turns out to be a biggie in the cuisines of Eastern and Western European Jews as well as those from the Middle East and elsewhere in the Jewish Diaspora.

To accompany the article, I came up with a simplified version of Claudia Roden’s Tagliatelle Frisanal (with chicken, raisins, and pignolis), which originated in the Venetian Ghetto. (It’s in her wonderful book “The Book of Jewish Food.”) It’s a dish I’ve riffed on a million times, especially when I have leftover rotisserie chicken in the fridge, because I almost always have raisins and pine nuts (or slivered almonds) lying around. The version in the Forward is particularly easy to make, and delicious in a comforting and slightly surprising way. That toasted-nut-and-raisin combo makes a very simple sauce sublime. Click here for the article. The recipe’s at the end.

Like the story of Ali Baba, the tale of the sesame seed is a rags-to-riches story. What is it about this lowly seed that makes it one of the most iconic ingredients in all of Jewish culinary history? So begins a recent story I wrote for the Forward, the first in a series I’m doing on the most iconic ingredients in Jewish culinary history. 

“So why the Chinese sesame noodles?” you may ask. Well, because when I was thinking about all the Jewish dishes that call for sesame seeds, I couldn’t leave out that delightfully comforting, utterly Americanized appetizer from a cuisine we’ve all but adopted. I even went as far as to come up with my own recipe, the delicious result of which is pictured above. The recipe is at the bottom of the Forward story, here. 

It’s been a week since I had the incredible pleasure of joining the team from Hudson Chatham Winery for their last harvest of 2022, and I wanted to post the images before this all becomes a distant memory.

We picked the gorgeous Petite Pearl grapes pictured here — over three tons of them, I believe — at a vineyard up past Albany. I got in my car at 6 a.m. and drove through the foggy darkness, then the pale pink and purple dawn, and on into a cool, cloudy day that was absolutely perfect for the hard work of picking. The rain held off for the six or seven hour seven hours we worked, and even while we scarfed delicious sandwiches when we were done. It was only as I got into my car to head home (to a very long, hot Epsom-salt infused bath) that the rain came down.

In any case, I can’t wait to drink the resulting vino… two years from now. Have I mentioned I’m not a particularly patient person? Since I have Hudson Chatham Wine on the brain, I’ll be heading there tonight to sample some of the new wine that is indeed ready to drink. Cheers!

Steven (above) and Justen (below) of Hudson Chatham Winery