Spring

This risotto is a special springtime treat, not only because of the delicate flavor of the ramps but also because the porcini is allowed to really be the star. I treat it like a fine truffle, shaving it with a mandoline in a shower over each bowl. The heat of the risotto softens the mushrooms ever so slightly, and the shavings add texture and a wonderful fragrance.

Otherwise known as green garlic and garlic shoots, spring garlic captures the essence of garlic without any harshness or bite. Unlike mature garlic, spring garlic should be featured in recipes that won’t overwhelm the delicate flavor, such as this risotto. Make sure you wash the spring garlic thoroughly to remove any sand.

Wood sorrel, with shamrock-shaped leaves and a more mellow and elegant flavor than its cousin, grows wild across the United States. Common sorrel is easier to find, with more of a pronounced sour-lemony taste, and can be used in this recipe if foraging isn’t one of your fortes. This is a refreshing soup, simple to make, with an elusive, unusual flavor due to the herb. Greek yogurt is thicker than other types of yogurt, but draining it still yields a denser base for the soup.

The success of this deceptively simple soup depends on the use of perfectly fresh English peas and careful, brief cooking to preserve their delicate flavor. The unctuous duck egg gilds the lily, highlighting the vibrant sweetness and color of the peas. If you wish to make the soup in advance of serving, chill it quickly in an ice bath after straining and blending in the cream. When ready to serve, reheat the soup while you poach the eggs.

I created this dish following a particularly inspirational visit to the farmers’ market, one of those visits where every vegetable looks like something holy and you want to take home every variety laid out in front of you. Think of this soup as more of a philosophy than a recipe. Use the very best, freshest, tiniest baby spring vegetables you can find, either following the guidelines here or substituting whatever looks best in the market, then accent their sweetness with just a hint of mint, lemon verbena, or cicely. If you do use favas in the recipe, be sure to follow the directions here for removing their skins; using the traditional blanching method will result in overcooked beans. The Cincinnati radish makes the soup a very pale, pretty pink that looks gorgeous served in shallow white bowls. Because this is such an easy soup to make, I also like to serve it in demitasse cups or small mugs as a walk-around first course for a relaxed spring get-together.

I don’t generally use chicken stock in soups. I prefer the cleaner flavor that water brings to the soup, especially with such a fantastic vegetable as the artichoke. Farro is a chewy Italian grain somewhat like spelt, but with a firmer texture. If you want to prepare the soup ahead of time, be sure to chill it immediately after cooking, transferring it to a shallow container so that it cools quickly. You’ll need to adjust the water levels when you reheat the soup because the farro will absorb some of the water as it sits. For a nice variation, you could add some fava beans or peas.

I’m not the biggest fan of puréed soups, but this is the exception: the simplicity captures the vegetable’s essence perfectly, and the texture is luscious and rich without even a bit of cream that might blunt the flavor. Take care to remove all of the green, fibrous leaves and bits when you prep the artichokes, and strain the soup through a fine-mesh sieve to ensure it’s pure velvet. I like to retain the simplicity by garnishing with nothing more than a drizzle of excellent olive oil to highlight the color and flavor.

The only way to improve upon a fried artichoke is to shower it with fried-garlic breadcrumbs, making a hands-on dish a little bit messier and a lot tastier. This is a great little antipasto, excellent with a light white wine or served with cold beer for a ballgame snack that ranks more than a few steps above nachos. Eat the larger leaves just as you would if you had a bowl of melted butter sitting right there, scraping the leaves against your teeth. The tender stems and inner leaves can be eaten whole.

This cooking method only works with the very first favas of spring—the ones that are thin skinned enough to be eaten whole. Not only is this a light, crunchy, and addictive snack, but it’s also a nice way to enjoy fava beans without all the fuss. For dipping, mild green garlic makes for an aioli that doesn’t overwhelm the favas’ sweet flavor.

Southern summers are too hot for rhubarb to grow, so we Southerners must make the most of our short-lived springtime harvest. This buttery, crunchy tart is one of my favorite ways to do just that.

I created this delicate slaw to showcase the vegetables—curlicue pea shoots, tender carrots, spicy arugula, and fresh herbs—that mark the arrival of spring.

This dish contains all the flavor and crunch you expect from fried chicken, but with all the health benefits of using boneless, skinless chicken breast. Plus, you get bonus points for scattering the cutlets over a tender arugula salad bursting with fresh herbs and drizzled with tarragon-infused Buttermilk Green Goddess Dressing.

Soft-shell crab season, which generally lasts from May through June, is short and highly anticipated. That’s because soft-shell crabmeat is unbelievably tender and buttery-sweet, and the shell, which you eat along with the meat, is perfectly crunchy without being the least bit tough or chewy. True fanatics don’t let a moment of soft-shell crab season go to waste, eating them for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, in sandwiches or served solo. Ask your fishmonger to clean them for you.

Fresh green peas and their curlicue shoots are one of the first signs of spring at my local farmer’s markets, and I can never resist combining the two in these refreshing and delicately flavored toasts or Meyer Lemonade. Shake it up with a MEYER LEMONADE (see page 27)

This is my twist on classic Greek spanakopita, a spinach and phyllo pie. I add fennel and artichoke hearts. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t go mad for these crisp and savory little pastries.

Preparing fresh artichokes takes some effort, but it’s worth it because they are so delicious. In The French Laundry Cookbook Thomas Keller says that cleaning artichokes is one of his favorite things to do. I’m just the opposite. When I started out at Louis XVI, I had to clean two cases a day. My fingers were perpetually dried out and stained a nasty tobacco brown, and they didn’t want to come clean, no matter how much lemon I rubbed on them. I still clean the occasional case myself, and cuss under my breath the whole time. So, if you’re not put off by this introduction, read on to learn how to clean, cook, and stuff your way to happiness.

This silky concoction makes an elegant starter, or a light supper if paired with the Parisienne Bistro Crudité Plate (p. 102) or the Bayona House Salad with Balsamic Vinaigrette (p. 95) and a warm baguette. Oysters and artichokes are another favorite New Orleans combination. For your convenience I’ve called for canned artichoke hearts, but if you’re feeling expansive (and industrious), use fresh artichoke hearts. Your efforts will be rewarded.

You can’t come to the French Quarter without being seduced by a rich, bubbling crabmeat gratin. This is my take on the traditional New Orleans dish—it’s luxurious and surprisingly simple to prepare. For the most elegant presentation, serve this in individual gratin dishes as a lunch or a first course for a special meal. This gratin gets added flavor and crunch from the topping, a Spicer staple.

Don’t let your opinion of dolmades, stuffed grape leaves, rest on the ubiquitous canned versions, which are tasty but forgettable. Take the time to make these and you’ll be rewarded with a fragrant house and a satisfying savory snack for a party or simply for having on hand. Unlike most other versions I’ve had, this filling is brightly flavored and packed with aromatic ingredients—I add artichoke hearts, preserved lemon, and golden raisins. Pine nuts give these little guys a pleasing crunch, and I love the briny, herbal flavor that the grape leaves impart while they cook—this is the process that forms the sauce—in the lemony liquid.