A few years ago, Alex and I started batching cocktails and keeping them in the freezer. Batching may sound fancy and professional but at most we were participating in rudimentary math (“one ounce? nah, one cup!”) and advanced laziness (ahem, preparedness). Having cocktails ready to go and super, super cold so that they won’t immediately water themselves down by melting ice was a win. And, as the habit has continued, it’s always fun when a friend stops by and you remember you already have perfect manhattans ready to go, as if you were trying to medal in the impromptu hosting olympics.

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Until recently, I was fairly ambivalent about one-pan pasta recipes. I appreciate them in a pinch [here’s a longtime favorite; and this is my total comfort food], but I sometimes find that when the pasta is cooked in a sauce the whole time, it doesn’t quite get that al dente definition and structural integrity that it does when cooked in water. I’m so glad I didn’t quit on them, though, because with this recipe, not to be dramatic or anything, but I feel like I’ve finally cracked the code.

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It’s probably no surprise that if choosing between having brunch at a restaurant or making it at home, I’m squarely on team Brunch At Home, especially when we find a way to pull it off and still sleep in. There’s nothing worse than waiting too long for a table only to be served an overcooked, unseasoned omelet, home fries with those gnarly bits of green pepper in there (I will die on the hill that nobody has ever longed for green peppers in their potatoes), or soggy bacon. Maybe at home imperfections also happen but those imperfections don’t cost $150 for a family of four.

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Everyone needs a recipe for classic, foolproof skillet french toast, even stubborn people like me who, despite making it at least once a month and more often when there’s leftover challah, are so easily bored by and restless with simple recipes that I’ve resisted writing this up for almost 19 years. I’ve filled the french toast vacuum on the site instead with customizations: casserole-style baked french toasts with cinnamon sugar toast and, uh, bailey’s (ah, the child-free years). There’s even a fancy french toast akin to individual crème brûlées. But eventually, through a combination of friends texting on random weekend mornings [“Do you seriously not have a challah french toast recipe?!”] and the existence of a teenager, who I cannot teach to make french toast for us if I haven’t written it down, I’ve come to my senses. I mean, mostly.

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Do you have a big, neglected cabbage in your fridge awaiting the right inspiration? I had a feeling you did. The way I figure it, the sidewalks are currently covered in pink and white petal confetti, the ramps are here, and the asparagus is close, thus I’m crossing my fingers that this can be our last hurrah with heavy winter vegetables until at least November. We’re going to make it a good one.

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For the last several years, if we know each other offline and you ask me what brisket you should make for Passover or another Jewish holiday and you seem a little concerned over the work of it all — because something not discussed nearly often enough is that it’s never just about the brisket, right? It’s starters and sides and desserts, plus table-setting, water carafes (there are never enough), procuring wine and someone (hopefully not me) needs to make sure the place is passably spic-and-span for guests — I will send you an email with the recipe for what I call Stupid Easy Brisket. I’m overdue to stop holding out on the rest of us, too, albeit with a less insulting title.

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We jokingly call these meaty, greeny, cheesy, beany, spicy baked chickpeas because, well, internet recipe naming conventions make us laugh but I really think of them as Pizza Beans 2.0. I introduced Pizza Beans 1.0 in my second cookbook, Smitten Kitchen Every Day, where I dreamed of a mash-up of Greek gigante beans in tomato sauce and an American baked ziti, with beans instead of noodles. I called them “pizza” beans to try to convince my then-kindergartener to try them with clever marketing. We still adore the recipe and all of the truly unexpected places it’s landed.

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You might be asking yourself, Deb, why are you publishing a lemon tart recipe when the greatest lemon tart of all time already exists on your site? Okay, I’m embellishing a little, but I do really love the whole lemon tart and its sister recipe, the whole lemon bars in The Smitten Kitchen Cookbook every bit as much as you — the simplicity, the complexity, the surprise of it all.

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Eighteen years is long enough for a website to go without a potato leek soup recipe, don’t you think? I’ve always been a bit torn about it — it’s thick, pale, and can be a little sleepy. And yet if there is any time of year that’s going to bring out my cravings for filling and uncomplicated soup, if there’s any time of year when my nostalgia kicks in for the thick, hearty vegetable porridges I had in Ireland with brown bread and ale, if there’s any time of year when I’d happily act and eat like a slumbering bear in a childhood fairytale, it’s January. January is biting cold and generally irredeemable unless your only commitments are to comfort and coziness. I’ll do my best to keep us covered.

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A dozen years ago I shared my mother-in-law’s recipe for apple sharlotka (which family just calls “apple thing”), a lightly sweetened apple dessert that’s as much a thick crêpe as it is a cake. It’s got a short ingredient list and is the kind of thing you make on a whim. It’s so rustic and simple, I honestly didn’t expect it to cause a ruckus — it’s not apple pie, crumb cake, or even my mom’s doorstop of an apple cake — but you surprised me. It has over 1000 comments and I’ve seen variations on it all over the internet. So where does this come in? I think of this as Sharlotka 2.0: Fancy Pants Edition.

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Making chicken noodle soup should be simple — in fact, we’ve got a new podcast episode out about just this. Choosing a chicken noodle soup to make should be simple too, thus I hadn’t intended to add a third chicken noodle soup recipe to this site. But, I’m kind of restless. I fidget. I always wonder if something could be better. And it’s from this place that I’ve come clean with myself to admit that quite often, my least favorite part of chicken noodle soup is the chicken. It easily overcooks in the broth, ending up dry and hard to chew. Do you know what’s not? Buoyant, tender chicken meatballs.
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I realize, after 18 years as a part of it, that the rules of the food internet in the week before the American cooking superbowl we call Thanksgiving dictate that everything should relate back to turkey, stuffing, or pie. But friends, we have that abundantly covered in the archives, and the newsletter. So let me tell you what I’ve been making a lot lately to feed myself what I crave, and that is sheet pans of mixed vegetables roasted until almost charred, finished with a balsamic vinaigrette, and studded with heavenly, salty, crispy pillows of halloumi.

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I hadn’t planned to spend most of the fall to date making skillets upon skillets of baked, gooey, decadent macaroni and cheese, though given the state of things right now, perhaps this steady dose of comfort food was some unintended brilliance on my part. But mostly it started because we had baked mac and cheese from The Smith one night. My kids fought over the last scrapings from the pan and I reminded them — I honestly don’t even think they realize it sometimes — that I could make it for them, too. And so the next night, I pulled up my trusty Martha’s mac-and-cheese, a forever SK and internet favorite, and it immediately …irked me. Start with cooked pasta? Warm the milk for the bechamel? So many pans, so many bowls, so many steps. On a Tuesday, no less. It felt unacceptable.

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Confession time! As someone with more opinions than I can fit in three cookbooks, one audiobook, and even 18 years of archives on this website, sometimes when I want to grumble about something food-related but it’s not the time or place, I tuck it in a little document called “rants” that is so full of cringe, you only have my permission to publish posthumously. But I can’t write a headnote for this particular cake without first owning up to #23 on the list in advance: “Apple cider cakes are lies.” Which begs the questions: Who hurt you, Deb? What gives? Essentially, my quibble is that you can put all of the wonderful fresh-pressed apple cider you want in a cake, but it rarely comes through to actually taste like apple cider. The flavor is not robust enough. I’m not saying it can’t be wildly delicious with all of the cinnamon spice we also put in these cakes, but it rarely, to me, tastes like an accurate representation of its name.

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“I was looking for a simple roasted carrot recipe on your site and couldn’t find one,” a friend told me a month ago and I immediately put “simple roasted carrot recipe” on my sprawling, decades-long To Cook list because sometimes I forget myself, too. Spoiler: I was never going to write a simple recipe for roasted carrots.

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What if I told you I had a from-scratch cinnamon roll recipe that was effortlessly veganized, required no kneading, and could be coming out of your oven in just over two hours? And what if I told you’d I’d been making it for years and didn’t tell you about it because I thought, for some bizarre reason, that the site didn’t need another breakfast bun recipe? Yes, I’d throw a jar of cinnamon at my head too. Good news, though, you can stop yelling now because I’ve come to my senses.

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It’s humbling that way every September, without fail, knocks me on my rump. One week, you’re breezy and unscheduled, reading books on a beach and tearing lobster apart with your bare hands (indeed, we were in Maine) and the next you’re realizing a certain fetid backpack was never emptied on the last day of school in June, scrambling for after-school care, and despite the fact that I work every week of the year, somehow there’s a lot more to do. If dinner can’t be made in one pan in which everything cooks at once, I haven’t been making it. And yet I’ve made this chicken dish four times in the last month; it’s clearly time to shout about it across the internet.

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If you were to make a multi-part Venn diagram combining my favorite salad things, you could nestle this right in the center. It’s one part wedge salad, the fork and steak knife kind, something I am so into I talked my podcast co-host Kenji (okay, it wasn’t hard) into dedicating a whole episode to it. And it contains cabbage, and not just cabbage but Napa cabbage, which I think deserves more credit as a salad green. [This can be convenient to know as it often comes in heads large enough to feed a small family for a week.] Napa cabbage is a little leafy, a little crunchy, and yet kind of juicy too and I’ve used it, sliced thin, in everything from this Italian-style salad to a classic Caesar.
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Consider this the summer flip of one of my favorite recipes in my third cookbook, Smitten Kitchen Keepers — the apple butterscotch crisp.

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Last summer, when my younger child joined my older child at sleepaway camp for a month for the first time, leaving us unmoored and a little restless, we made a list of restaurants we’d been meaning to try and friends we don’t see enough and took this task on like it was our job. I barely cooked once. By the end of the third week, everything hurt and we realized our template for a child-free life (going out late, cocktails on weeknights, and generally behaving despicably) was based on our age and energy level when we were last child-free, which (I’m sorry as this fact seems to upset you guys as much as it does his actual parents) was almost 15 years ago.

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