all things food
In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She’s boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and roasted more broccoli than she cares to recall. Today, she tackles peanut…
In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She's boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and roasted more broccoli than she cares to recall. Today, she tackles peanut butter.
This was the year the peanut peaked.
We have a very, er, specific New Year’s Eve food tradition in my household.
It’s an elaborate shrimp tree, and my mother and I spend hours constructing it each year. There’s the day-of, panicked search for the correctly shaped and perfectly sized foam…
We have a very, er, specific New Year's Eve food tradition in my household.
It's an elaborate shrimp tree, and my mother and I spend hours constructing it each year. There's the day-of, panicked search for the correctly shaped and perfectly sized foam cone, which somehow always gets tossed away during the year prior. There's the painstaking affixing of curly kale leaves to said foam cone (once procured), in the style of a full Christmas tree. There's the careful preparation of a perfectly seasoned cocktail sauce. And then, just before our New Year's Eve party starts, there's the pinning of each individual shrimp to the tree, using colorful toothpicks, to look like a wrap-around garland.
Here at Food52, some of us are football fans, some of us play along for the tailgating spread, and a handful of us have no horse in this race whatsoever. But when it comes to the Super Bowl, there’s one thing upon which we can all agree: Chicken wings …
Here at Food52, some of us are football fans, some of us play along for the tailgating spread, and a handful of us have no horse in this race whatsoever. But when it comes to the Super Bowl, there's one thing upon which we can all agree: Chicken wings are the true winner, every single year.
Which is why we have no shortage of chicken wing recipes on the site. We have baked wings. Broiled wings. Deep-fried wings. A drumette-only take. Wings with za'tar and fava bean dip. Wings glazed with orange-sesame.
My boyfriend and I almost break up every time we wash our duvet cover.
It’s an unavoidable chore—and one we probably complete more frequently than the average home-dweller, thanks to my habit of drinking coffee in bed. Read More >>
My boyfriend and I almost break up every time we wash our duvet cover.
It's an unavoidable chore—and one we probably complete more frequently than the average home-dweller, thanks to my habit of drinking coffee in bed.
In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She’s boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and roasted more broccoli than she cares to recall. Today, she tackles turkey…
In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She's boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and roasted more broccoli than she cares to recall. Today, she tackles turkey breast.
There’s no less appealing cut of raw poultry than the turkey breast. If you don’t believe me, I invite you to stare one down for more than 30 seconds while ingesting a snack of any kind.
I don’t mean to blow up your work week, but I recently discovered that it’s possible to make anything taste like Doritos without ever touching a chip.
Some, such as Wylie Dufresne, James Beard Award–winning chef and a father of molecular gastronomy, m…
I don’t mean to blow up your work week, but I recently discovered that it’s possible to make anything taste like Doritos without ever touching a chip.
Some, such as Wylie Dufresne, James Beard Award–winning chef and a father of molecular gastronomy, might say I’m late to this epiphany, like when I called to ask if he’d heard of cheese powder, a dehydrated, concentrated version of the fresh stuff.
In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She’s boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and roasted more broccoli than she cares to recall. Today, she tackles chicke…
In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She's boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and roasted more broccoli than she cares to recall. Today, she tackles chicken thighs.
It was summer of 2013, hot and sticky in the city, and I’d just acquired 12 chicken thighs.
Mortadella is having a moment.
As a cured meat obsessive, I’ve always vaguely known about it—mainly as an element of certain sandwiches, like the muffuletta. But it wasn’t until recently that I started encountering it almost every time I went out to e…
Mortadella is having a moment.
As a cured meat obsessive, I’ve always vaguely known about it—mainly as an element of certain sandwiches, like the muffuletta. But it wasn’t until recently that I started encountering it almost every time I went out to eat.
In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She’s boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and seared more porterhouse steaks than she cares to recall. Today, she tackl…
In Absolute Best Tests, Ella Quittner destroys the sanctity of her home kitchen in the name of the truth. She's boiled dozens of eggs, mashed a concerning number of potatoes, and seared more porterhouse steaks than she cares to recall. Today, she tackles broccoli.
The year is approximately 25 B.C., and the world’s primordial broccoli is about to be presented to a human for possible consumption. “Aspetti!” hisses the emperor’s chef, his eyes wide as the tiny treelike structures make their way to the grand dining table of Domus Augusti. “Wait! Is there any way to make it look any less…limp? Or any more…green?” But it’s too late—the florets are already in motion. And the emperor, never one to mince words, takes a single bite before pronouncing it “fine but kinda boring,” thereby relegating it to side dish status, at best, for thousands of years.
Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa, is my everything.
I’ve been watching her cook beautiful spreads in her spotless—but not inaccessibly so—kitchen, and then throughout the pages of her books, for as long as I can remember. My best memories from middle…
Ina Garten, the Barefoot Contessa, is my everything.
I've been watching her cook beautiful spreads in her spotless—but not inaccessibly so—kitchen, and then throughout the pages of her books, for as long as I can remember. My best memories from middle school involve faking sick so I could stay home and lie in my parents bed, propped up on my elbows, mesmerized as she peeled potatoes effortlessly on the screen of their shoebox-sized television.
