Roast

If you’re a fan of dark-meat chicken, move up to Five-Star Duck Legs. The great thing is that it’s getting much easier to find fresh duck breasts and legs, not just rock-hard frozen whole ducks that take a week to thaw. Pick one part, because breasts and legs are complete opposites. While the breasts are best cooked like a medium-rare steak, the legs are better slow-cooked like barbecue. Simple foil pouches make the whole procedure easy to manage. Duck legs reheat beautifully and take well to a brush-on glaze at the end.

Cheating doesn’t mean just opening a bottle. As our provider of primo Tennessee hardwood and traveling philosopher, Jerry Elston, likes to remind us, sometimes you can’t get out of doing the work. Like most bottled barbecue sauces, Asian-style sauces are cheater easy and get the point across. But usually they taste overly sweet and empty, with little going for them besides sugar and soy. Here’s a brush-on honey lacquer for dry-rubbed chicken with real Asian flavor using pantry staples and some freshly grated ginger.

About fifteen years ago R. B. thought his next-door neighbor, who was out grilling some chicken, called him a jerk. Back then, R. B. hadn’t heard of jerk seasoning, and his neighbor seemed like a nice, quiet fellow who pretty much kept to himself. When R. B. turned down the Bob Marley, everything got straightened out, and the chicken was delicious. A jerk dry rub requires allspice, thyme, and some heat. The Scotch bonnet pepper is the traditional choice, but that’s too many Scoville heat units for us. We keep the heat out of the rub, then sprinkle on cayenne to customize the chicken to suit everyone.

A pork loin is a roast of uncut pork loin chops. Leaner than pork shoulder and cheaper than pork tenderloin, it’s a popular cut for grilling and slicing to feed a crowd. It’s also perfect for any one of our Cheater Brines (pages 77 to 78). Our cheater meat slicer is a compact electric knife—the affordable, no-frills, unsung hero of kitchen appliances. R. B. calls it the indoor chain saw. Ultimate Cheater Pork Loin sliced paper-thin will make a pile of Cuban Fingers (page 176).

We don’t understand why pork ribs are too often confined to summer barbecues, outdoor festivals, and dinner at a rib joint. At $15 to $20 a restaurant rack, maybe it’s the cost. But at half the per-pound price of rib eyes, filets, and strip steaks, cost can’t be the whole story. We think ribs are just another casualty of barbecue hype and mystique, a victim of their own popularity. The result is that lots of folks are reluctant to make them at home. Can they be any good if they’re not from a “real pit barbecue” restaurant, a competition team with matching shirts and dancing pig logo, or the crazy guy down the street with six grills and a smoker on wheels? Truth is, we should all be making ribs and having them with champagne, another enjoyment unfortunately confined to special occasions. If you’re a reluctant ribber, or still recovering from disappointing attempts, the cheater oven method will lead you to really great “fall-off-the-bone” spare-and baby back ribs with consistent results and minimal hassle. No lie.

If you love ribs, it’s hard to break the habit of the classic barbecue profile of brown sugar, vinegar, and ketchup. Since we can’t easily find lamb ribs in Nashville, we cheat by dressing up pork ribs with Mediterranean herbs, garlic, and mustard. Serve the pork in lamb’s clothing with couscous, rice, garlicky white beans, tomatoes and fresh basil, Greek feta salad, pita bread, or anything inspired by any country that touches the Mediterranean—and anything other than sweet barbecue beans and traditional slaw.

You can’t pick them up with your fingers or gnaw the bones, but country-style boneless “ribs” make nice pork barbecue. We like this hot-covered-pot-in-the-oven method to speed things up without sacrificing taste or tenderness. Moisture and smoke are trapped inside and the pork’s fat keeps the meat from drying out. If you’re among the 20 percent of households without a slow cooker, this is for you.

An Arctic cold snap certainly inspires one to rethink the traditional all-day hickory-smoked approach to barbecued ribs, especially with a 10°F wind chill outside and football and a roaring fire inside. Saucy Asian-style Rooster Riblets were named when we first made them for Chinese New Year, then the Year of the Rooster. Rename them annually, throw them in the oven, set the timer, and relocate your cooking post to the recliner. Even better, cook them a couple days in advance. Before serving, reheat the ribs with their sauce for a few minutes in the oven, on a grill, or under the broiler to add a little crust. Chinese ribs aren’t a good match for the usual baked beans, potato salad, and creamy slaw. If you’re up for it, serve pan-fried dumplings (find them in the grocery freezer section) or rice and an icy rice vinegar–cucumber salad (page 153).

Have we cheesed you out? Take a cheese break and try this straight vegetable-bean puree with nutty sweet garlic and smoked paprika. It may not be the lead-off dish to a night of Crock Dogs, but it fashionably introduces dressier barbecue dinners. We especially like it with Tandoori BBQ Chicken Thighs (page 96), Cider-Soy Pork Tenderloin (page 79), House Lamb Shanks (page 128), and Ultimate Cheater Oven-Smoked Salmon (page 132).

Raised up seven hundred years before Christ on the Mar Ionio, the resplendence of Sybaris eclipsed Athens. Tenanted by unredeemed voluptuaries who roasted songbirds, wove cloth from gold, slept upon rose petals, and indulged every hunger, even their appetite for peace, these Sybarites vanished, as if by some peevish smite from the gods. All that remains is a farming village of sweet, sleepy folk who roast lamb with lemons. Still, I think theirs is a dish upon which an old Sybarite could smile.

To tear at a beautiful, newborn bread and eat it with fat, salty olives, a potent red wine sipped between them, is a meal everlasting in its innocence and sensuality. Here follows the simplest of recipes that pairs the soft creaminess of roasted garlic with the olives for a lush result. The dish asks only a little dalliance in the oven. Roasting the olives plumps them, renders them voluptuously fleshy, tender. And when whole, fat garlic—caramelized in a long, slow roasting—confronts the salt-tinged meat of the warm olives, the whole becomes quietly paradisiacal. As beautiful as it is, stray for a moment from the red wine idea and consider a fusion, instead, with an iced Marsala Superiore Riserva or Marsala Vergine or Marsala Soleras Stravecchio—altogether different wine from the often industrially produced sweet varieties that find their way to the States and are used to make zabaglione or to splash sautéed veal. The crackling, almost dry golden chill of them leaves just a point of sweetness on the tongue.

From Lecce and its environs, quince paste—a deeply bronzed jelly molded into plump squares and tucked inside wooden fruit boxes—is our favorite Puglian treasure to take back to Tuscany. Here follows a lovely sort of pudding made from quince that, though it offers a less-dense dose of the fruit, yields one with all its beautiful, apple-wine sort of autumn savor.

Alfonso cooks a dish much like this one, invented epochs ago by the Cilentini during the vendemmia—the harvest of the wine grapes. He tells the story of the fishermen who were also winemakers, who, after depositing the daily winemaking debris into the sea, set out their shore lines, much as they did every other evening. Serendipitously, they lured an abundance of fat, pewtery sea bass—branzino—the fish bewitched by the fermenting perfumes of the grape skins and seeds. The Cilentini then roasted the fish who’d fed on the grape must over cuttings from the vines. The flesh of the fish was scented, through and through, with essences of grape. Legend has it that the dish made voluptuaries of all who ate it. Stuffing the fish with cooked grapes likely gives it an even more luxurious savor than that taken on by his must-eating ancestors.

A simple-to-make and delectable little paste with which to dress just-cooked pasta, to spoon into vegetable soups, to thin with milk or vegetable stock into, itself, a fine soup, to stuff into fat, ripe tomatoes, to present alongside roasted meat or fish, to spread on great chunks of olive-oil-toasted bread, to eat with a spoon while waiting for bread to bake.