Crispy Chicken Legs with Rosemary, Tiny Potatoes, and Sour Cream by Alison Roman

Truthfully, I don’t know where to begin. How to describe the very best chicken leg you’ve ever tasted? How to communicate its delicate tenderness? How to memorialize the scents of garlic and rosemary wafting from the kitchen to the living room?

I believe a song is in order. 

me circa 2010

Just kidding, I won’t do that to you. I was just so moved by this meal. I’ll do my best to paint its picture. 

The ingredients are few and require very little prep. Chicken legs, which include both thigh and drumstick, took a little searching for me, since Trader Joes doesn’t carry them. I found some at Whole Foods. The chicken is covered with salt and pepper and placed in a deep baking dish. A head of garlic cut crosswise, several sprigs of rosemary, and tiny potatoes join the chicken. Alison says the potatoes should be no larger than a quarter, but I couldn’t find such small potatoes. Instead, I cut my baby dutch potatoes in half. And as is customary with Alison’s chicken recipes, the pan is absolutely drenched in olive oil. (Thank goodness my mother-in-law shares her Costco membership with me. I’m going through so much olive oil these days.) 

The pan is baked for 1.5 hours over a low temperature. By the time it was done, the smells of garlic and rosemary had fully permeated my entire apartment, and I could barely stand waiting any longer for the meal, but I resisted digging in for one more crucial step -- to crisp up the chicken skin by searing the legs skin-side down in a pan over high heat. The extra effort and wait is so worth the crispy exterior to such fall-apart, tender meat underneath. 

The garlic cloves turn soft and buttery, ready to spread over each bite of chicken before dipping it into sour cream. I will eat this meal over and over again for many years to come. Such little work, and a good deal of patience, creates a truly inspirational meal. 

41 recipes cooked, 184 to go.

Salmon with Soy and Citrusy Charred Scallions by Alison Roman

What can I tell you about this salmon? First, I can say that it took me 3 weeks to write this -- I made it that long ago. Second, I can tell you that I spent most of this morning avoiding writing by dancing in my living room and reading emails and attempting to pickle some turnips that were about to go bad in my fridge. Third, I can say that salmon is a nostalgic food for me because I associate it with my Oma. 

Oma means grandmother in Dutch (& Korean, too, coincidentally). My Oma and Opa (grandfather) immigrated to the United States in 1964, with four young children, and a fifth on the way. Their fifth child was my mother. They moved to Southern California, where a large Dutch immigrant community lives, to start their “American Dream.”

Being a lover of plants, my Opa started a business selling flower seeds after arriving in the States. (Fun fact: Vis Seed Company still exists today and is run by my Uncles.) My Oma raised 5 children, and taught them how to laugh in the face of struggle (she loves to laugh) and be resilient. My Aunts, Uncles and mother have a particular inner toughness that I really admire. 

My Opa passed away before I was born, and my Oma has lived on her own ever since. She cooks her own meals and tends to her beautiful backyard garden in the afternoons. She is one of the strongest, most inspiring women I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, much less being related to. She has 15 grandchildren and already 16 great grandchildren. Her heart is big. 

My Oma likes to make salmon every week. She’ll make a large portion and then eat it over several days. Whenever I make salmon, I think of her. 

This salmon, while it doesn’t beat Alison’s “best salmon ever” aka Slow Salmon with Citrus and Herbs, the final result was still flavorful, tender fish. Admittedly it is more fussy than the “best salmon ever” too, but not without cause. 

The fish is cooked in the oven with 2 Tbsp. of olive oil, which is not enough to cover it. Once again, the fish took longer than directed (10-12 minutes), but this time I was prepared for that to happen. While the salmon bakes, several scallions are charred in a cast iron skillet and then chopped. Mix them with a bowl of chopped raw scallions, orange and lemon juice, soy sauce, spices, and more olive oil. This sauce becomes the flavoring of the salmon that is then drizzled over the fish just before serving. 

The scallions, while a nice touch, didn’t feel necessary to me, and added an additional pan for washing. I would have been just as satisfied with only the juices and soy sauce to add flavor. The marinade/sauce can be used for roasting veggies (broccoli!), or drizzled on rice, which I served with the salmon. I’ll definitely make this one again, but will likely skip the scallions. 

39 recipes cooked, 186 to go.

Skillet Chicken with Crushed Olives and Sumac by Alison Roman

I bet my mother-in-law, Michelle, is on the edge of her seat, waiting to hear what I thought of this dish. Michelle is an avid olive lover. On multiple afternoons, I’ve witnessed her spontaneously glance at the oven clock and, regardless of the actual time, announce to the room that it was “Olive Hour” before marching to the refrigerator to collect her jars of olives for a snack. She can consume a whole bowl of olives and not bat an eye. She always has multiple olive varieties on hand, stored in large glass jars in her fridge. I actually accompanied her on a trip to IKEA to buy these large jars for storing her olives (& her pickles, because priorities). Her love of olives is exceeded only by her love of really good pasta and her family, whom she loves really well, I might add. 

For all of her enthusiasm, Michelle has been disheartened by my inability to enjoy an olive. My distaste for olives confuses me. I love salty, briney food like pickles, mustard, and sauerkraut. What is it about an olive that makes me instinctually scrunch up my face when I bite into it? I know that no one in my nuclear family likes olives. Is it a genetic predisposition? 

When I learned that Alison is on par with Michelle’s olive love, I dreaded the implications. But like so many other times that I’ve already had to face my skepticism in these past months, I knew I couldn’t cater to my olive aversion forever. So I chose to start with the recipe on the cover of Alison’s book, Dining In. 

A brief note about my first olive-buying experience. I just couldn’t wrap my mind around buying a room-temperature jar of olives. The way the little round guys sit in that still liquid makes me think of a biology class experiment that is never meant to be eaten. Jordan once took a completely candid picture of me while we were in Costa Rica, and the expression on my face in this picture probably mirrors what my face looks like when I see jars of olives at the grocery store. To avoid this reaction, I went to the olive bar at Whole Foods. Somehow that was a slightly more pleasant experience. 

The first step of this recipe is thinly slicing half a red onion and marinating the slices in lime juice, salt and pepper. Doing this step first allows time for the onions to soften in the acid and pickle ever so slightly. 

Onions aside, the bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs get a good coating of salt and pepper before cooking in a skillet, skin-side down. It takes about 15 minutes or so on high heat to get the meat cooked though and the skin a golden, crispy brown. (Allow me a moment to say that it’s a time like this when owning a digital meat thermometer is so crucial. All I had to do was stick the tip of the thermometer into the thickest part of each thigh to know if it was cooked through to a safe temperature (165 for chicken). No need to slice the thigh open to look at signs of rawness, thus ruining the skin and mangling the meat in the process. My meat thermometer has made cooking chicken less stressful, and it was only $18!) Thanks for indulging my digression. Now back to regularly scheduled programming. 

Once the chicken is ready to go, it’s removed from the skillet, which by now is super hot. Throw in the crushed Castelvetrano olives, ground sumac, and a half cup of water, and allow it all to heat up. Then place the chicken back in the skillet, skin-side up to keep it crispy, and allow the water to reduce. This helps infuse the chicken with more flavor and, I imagine, reduce some of the olives’ bitterness. At the very end, the lime-y onions, which by now are much softer, are added to the skillet to barely warm through. Just until the red skin has turned a bright fuschia, about 2 minutes.  

Now for the moment of truth. Just before plating the chicken, I reached into the pan and picked out an olive bit. Without much thought, I popped it into my mouth. And it was really… good. Really good. “Jordan!” I yelled. He turned around from his work desk. “I just tasted an olive and liked it!” 

Two theories about why I liked these olives: 1. The olives lost some of their funk and bitterness from being heated through. 2. Castelvetrano olives are supposedly very mild. That’s all I got. I’m open to any other ideas. 

Jordan loved this meal, and proclaimed for the fourth time that THIS was the best chicken recipe from Alison Roman. Really, he’s said this about four different recipes. I honestly loved it, too. So I will be making this one again. 

37 recipes cooked, 188 to go.

served with Alison’s Frizzled Chickpeas and an herby kale salad

Pot of Pasta with Broccoli Rabe and Chorizo Breadcrumbs by Alison Roman

Making this dish was a bonafide relay race that I was not prepared for. It’s silly, really. I glanced at the ingredients and the overall process (which is like a lot of other pasta+veggie dishes) and figured this would be one of the most simple recipes I’d attempt in this project. In one sense, it was easy - no new techniques, no crazy ingredients. 

On the other hand, everything happens so fast. Because I didn’t prep most of the ingredients ahead of time, the assembly had me flying around the kitchen at a stress-inducing pace. When one thing needed to be added to this pan, something else had to be stirred in the other, or chopped, or drained. At one point, I didn’t have enough hands to keep it all going, so I yelled at Jordan to come stir some tomato paste so it didn’t burn. (Yelled at? Politely asked? You can ask him.) 

My lowest moment was while cooking the chorizo, a drop of oil splattered and hit me right above my eye. A close call, and quite painful. I had to laugh though. I was so sure it’d be a breeze! 

There are five separate elements that all happen on their own and come together at the end. 1. Tomato paste/garlic/spices, all sautéed in a pan until nice n’ toasty. 2. Baby broccoli, trimmed, chopped and coated by the tomato paste mixture. 3. Chorizo (or spicy Italian sausage), cases removed and cooked until fully browned. 4. Breadcrumbs, sautéed in a pan with oil, salt and pepper, until golden and crunchy. 5. Pasta with some saved cooking water.

For all of the hullabaloo, it was a nice meal. I like that I didn’t feel the need to make anything else to go with it, too. My only request would be for more tomato flavor. Though a full ¼ cup of tomato paste is used, it seemed to be lost by the time everything else was added. 

The next day, Jordan sheepishly asked if I would ever be willing to make this dish again. I asked why he seemed so hesitant. He said “because you seemed pretty upset while you were making it.” We both laughed. It’s true, I was flustered. Next time, I’ll just be a little more prepared. 

34 recipes cooked, 191 recipes to go.

Perfect Steak with Buttered Radish Toast by Alison Roman

What does a “perfect steak” mean to you? I’m not sure the word “perfect” is ubiquitous when it comes to describing food.  I think it’s more subjective. A perfect steak could be a lot of things to a lot of people. The more I think about it, the more I think that a steak is only truly perfect when it’s both excellently cooked and associated with a good memory. A steak, to me, is a celebratory food. Something I eat at a dinner party, a graduation, a wedding, an anniversary. Steaks are usually bound up in important events. The most perfect steak I’ve ever had was on my honeymoon. 

This particular “perfect steak” is a bone-in ribeye, seared in a sizzling hot cast iron, and topped with foaming butter, Gordon Ramsay style. I made this steak on a casual Friday for just Jordan and I.

And there were a few mishaps…

1. Alison politely warns that it may be prudent to temporarily disable one’s smoke alarm prior to making this recipe. Admittedly, I’m not sure how to disable my smoke alarm, so it stayed on. But oddly the alarm never went off, even though there was a LOT of smoke. This produced lots of coughing and some general concern about the effectiveness of our smoke alarm.

2. I followed Alison’s directions (6-8 minutes on each side on high heat), but I still got a solid burnt crust on one side of the meat. Thankfully we could easily cut the burnt bits off, but it was disappointing. I was so alarmed by the burnt crust, that I removed the steak from the pan to rest, and subsequently… 

3. Forgot the butter. The best part! I sat on the couch for about 5 minutes, letting the meat rest, when I suddenly sprang up and ran to the kitchen whilst shouting, “BUTTER!!!” Jordan was both concerned and confused. The pan was still super hot, so I was able to melt the butter and spoon it over the meat. What a close call! The meat went back on the cutting board to rest for yet another 10 minutes. 

Was this steak perfect to me? No. Could it be perfect to you? Absolutely. 

A note about Buttered Radish Toast. It was really nice! Something I would never have thought to combine - bread, radishes, butter, anchovies, capers, parsley. What a fun, funky side to a buttery piece of meat! That’s really all I have to say about it - such fun! 

Do you have a perfect steak? I’d love to know all about it. 

33 recipes cooked, 192 to go.