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As soon we were old enough to fly alone, my sister and I would travel back east for a few weeks every summer to visit our grandmother in Connecticut. Our late-summer arrival always coincided with the peak of her beefsteak tomato crop. Every evening, we’d venture out to the backyard to pick tomatoes for that night’s salad. Still warm from the sun, those juicy red slices, sprinkled with salt, left an indelible impression on me. My next life-changing tomato experience was at Al Forno, in Providence, Rhode Island. The owners, George Germon and Johanne Killeen, would drive 35 miles to a tiny town called Little Compton to pick up crates and crates of big red beefsteak tomatoes from their favorite farmer. Slicing the tomatoes to order, they served them with red onion, salt, basil, oil, and vinegar. Again, so simple, yet one of the best things I’d ever tasted. I didn’t discover heirloom tomatoes until a few years later, when I got a job at Chez Panisse in Berkeley. Amazed by the odd shapes and variety of colors, from white to orange to almost black, I sampled every variety I could get my hands on. At Lucques, our regular customers start asking for this heirloom salad in early June. It’s been on the menu every year since we opened and seems to signal that summer is finally here.

When it finally occurred to me that custards didn’t have to be sweet, I went on a savory custard kick, and I’ve never looked back. Once you learn the technique and feel comfortable with this custard recipe, you can play around with other variations, by adding sliced prosciutto, asparagus, or mushrooms. Be sure to bake it in a pretty dish, such as an old French earthenware or enameled gratin, that will look nice at the table.

As a rule, I season my greens in direct proportion to their degree of bitterness. To mellow the edge of mustard greens without overwhelming them with seasoning, I use this technique of cooking them in salty boiling water with butter melted into it. It infuses the greens with tons of flavor, but keeps their natural edge intact. If you love that hot, mustardy bite, be sure to add the mustard oil at the end.

To bring out the best in this snowy white root vegetable, I simmer it in honey and citrus. A little heat balances the luscious sweetness.

I came up with this technique of boiling a squash whole while watching a movie. I didn’t want to miss the good parts—and the kids didn’t want to pause it for me while I tended the stove. The squash ended up cooking beautifully, becoming juicy and tender with zero effort.

Hen of the woods, also known as maitake, are my favorite mushroom. They’re as meaty and rich as steak and they make a great side dish. You can also try this technique with oyster mushrooms in clusters or even shiitakes, both of which will cook more quickly. The seasonings couldn’t be simpler, but the unusual combination of sesame, parsley, and lime is utterly delicious.

Served under Soy-Syrup Roasted Duck (page 142), this super-tender cabbage perfectly balances the richness of the meat. But I love it so much, I eat it on its own, too. As always with fresh cabbage, I add the juniper berries at the end to lightly perfume the dish.

This unsung root vegetable deserves more attention. It’s sometimes called vegetable oyster or oyster plant because it actually has a hint of that sweet brine. To highlight that unique flavor, I cook these roots in lemon juice and toss them with a lemony beurre fondue.

Swiss chard isn’t exactly a bitter green, but it’s not candy either. To bring out its fresh, mild, spinach-like flavor, I braise it with earthy mushrooms and thyme.

Blanching the carrots before roasting them makes a huge difference. Not only are they more flavorful, they also become juicy and tender after roasting. Coating them with a fragrant spice paste and cooking them along with fresh citrus infuses them with an intoxicating blend of flavors.

I roast my potatoes with garlic and herbs, so why not do the same when boiling them? I discovered that the aromatics really infuse the potatoes when you start them together in cold water and then heat them to boiling.

Too often, summer squash ends up watery and soft. By cooking the squash on a rack, I release the water and give the squash an almost fluffy texture. The cheese creates a crisp, savory crust that makes this dish irresistible.

My version of corn “cake” is pure corn. There’s no flour, eggs, or any other binding element—the natural juices of the corn are starchy enough to hold everything together as a tender, custardy whole.

I love this asparagus-olive combo. Blasting the two together in a really hot oven intensifies all of the flavors. If you make this with thin asparagus spears, skip the peeling step and roast for just 6 minutes.

In spring, garden peas and young carrots need little embellishment to taste amazing. It’s all about the execution. You want them just tender, but not crunchy. And you use only a little butter here—just enough to make the vegetables glisten.

People often ask me why the asparagus in my eponymous restaurant tastes so much better than similar-looking spears they’ve had elsewhere. The answer is simple: We cook each batch to order. Most kitchens blanch the asparagus early in the day and then reheat it just before serving; a lot of flavor is lost that way. This is one of the first lessons my chef de cuisine Mark Lapico teaches new cooks at my flagship. Once you try this recipe at home, you’ll never throw your asparagus in ice water again. Of course, you can make this dish with olive oil, but it’s especially good with butter.

Whenever I serve something really rich, like Soy-Braised Lamb Shanks (page 168), I like to have something tart and bracing to go with it. The tangy-hot blend of apples and chiles goes well with just about any red meat, and the combination of creamy and crunchy is unbeatable.