Citrus

This is an essential, basic, slightly sweet Thai sauce (the Vietnamese nuoc cham is almost identical) used as a dressing for vegetables, noodles, meats, and fish and as a dipping sauce for almost any tidbit of food. Addictive, if you ask me. (Try it with plain grilled shrimp and you’ll see.) Many people make this blazingly hot; my version is much tamer. If you add five, or even ten, small Thai chiles, you won’t be breaking with tradition. See page 500 for information on Asian fish sauces like nam pla, page 185 for a description of dried shrimp.

A complex, multipurpose sauce that is good enough to eat with a spoon; adjust the proportions to your taste once you get used to it. Serve it warm, with Grilled Satay (page 101), Fried Satay (page 100), Spring Rolls (page 38), or simply rice crackers, sold at many Asian and health food markets, or other crackers. See page 500 for information on Asian fish sauces like nam pla.

Used widely for spring rolls, this also tastes great with plain grilled meat or chicken or spooned over lightly steamed vegetables. You can substitute soy sauce for the nuoc mam (usually called nam pla in this book and described on page 500, but in any case Southeast Asian fish sauce) if you prefer.

Morocco’s oranges are renowned for their distinctive sweetness, but they’re not common here. Use good California or Florida navels or clementines (you’ll need six or eight) instead. Removing the thin membranes from the individual segments is an optional refinement.

A superrefreshing salad, great on hot summer days. If you have a mandoline, use it here, since the fennel is best when cut into thin slices. This salad can be made more substantial with cooked scallops, shrimp, or crabmeat and is also delicious with grapefruit. Peel the fruit over a bowl to catch the juices, then cut the segments between the membranes.

This common, versatile sauce is usually served with grilled fish or vegetables or with shabu-shabu, but it turns up everywhere and can be used in many ways. It keeps indefinitely—a friend of mine insists it’s best after months in the refrigerator; certainly it’s no worse. You can buy yuzu juice frozen or—sometimes—fresh at Japanese specialty markets; it has a unique flavor but close enough to lemon and lime that the combination is a good substitute. You can also get bonito flakes at Japanese markets. If you are serving this as a dipping sauce at the table, garnish with finely chopped scallions or chives.

The peppery bite of radishes is the featured player in this crunchy salad, which is served all over the Arab world in one form or another. Salting the radishes first improves both flavor and texture, but if you’re pressed for time, just salt the salad as you normally would.

Most closely associated with Greece, this is seen throughout the Eastern Mediterranean, and it remains a standard. It works equally well with whole eggs or yolks, but it is far prettier when you use yolks only. It’s a simple sauce, not meant to be especially elegant, but quite flavorful. Perfect with steamed green vegetables.

Serve this raitalike dressing with any Middle Eastern kebab or kofte (pages 354–356), just as a drizzle, or with any grilled meat, poultry, or fish. If you have a source for fresh yogurt, this is the place to use it. Many times this is made with a teaspoon or more of minced garlic. Obviously, that changes its character greatly, but some people cannot live without it. Good either way.

Preserved lemons are a staple of North African cuisine that are called for in two recipes in this book, Onion and Saffron Chicken (page 295) and Roast Pepper Salad with Tomatoes and Preserved Lemon (page 193). But you can add them to almost any tagine—chicken, fish, or lamb—with excellent results. In fact, if you have a batch of these on hand, you may find yourself incorporating them into dishes that have nothing to do with their land of origin, things like Sautéed Scallops with Garlic (page 211), or as an adjunct to the fresh lemon in the meunière recipe on page 240. I’d had mixed luck with preserving lemons over the years and, while I can’t quite account for why that was, I can say I’ve worked out a way around it: treat preserved lemons like a “quick” or refrigerator pickle. The spices listed here are optional—feel free to omit them, change their quantities, or add to them to taste. They’re included to round out the sweet lemony high note and salty, acidic tang that characterizes the flavor of the preserved lemons.

A great place to use leftovers and to improvise. Plenty of lime, raw onion, and cilantro are key; if you include them in abundance, the soup will be delicious and authentic. Though I have never seen it in Mexico, you could use vegetable stock here if you prefer.

This northern European sour soup makes a rich, wonderful, and full-bodied starter. The acidity of lemon complements the richness and near-sweetness of the stock, and the combination is simply amazing. For Greek egg-lemon soup, see the preceding recipe.

From the Mediterranean coast of Spain comes this distinctive sauce, whose flavors are reminiscent of bouillabaisse. Not surprisingly, it’s often served on grilled fish, but it is equally good on chicken and incredible over pork. If possible, use strong-tasting oranges—Valencias are a good choice—not overly sweet ones like navels. In Spain, the oranges used for this are very acidic, even bitter.

I saw these lovely red onions throughout the Yucatán and wondered why their color was so vivid. Turns out they’re pickled in beet juice (you can omit the beets if you like; in fact they add little flavor). These are a perfect condiment for plain grilled fish.

A tiny little side condiment served with grilled chicken or fish that can make any meal sing. It’s fine without any chile at all, but I like a touch. This is a very fragile dish; make it at the last minute and serve it all at once. It will go fast, believe me.

Powerfully delicious, this sauce is served throughout the Caribbean, often with grilled chicken but also over vegetables. Best made with the juice of sour oranges, but you won’t find those here; I use a combination of orange and lime juices.

If you are one of those people who think flan is too heavy, or you like a little acidity in your desserts, or you simply want a change from ordinary flan, this is for you.

Crème brûlée may seem mysterious, but it is actually quite straightforward and simple. Just remember two things: One, like almost all custards, this one is done before it appears to be; remove it from the oven when it is still jiggly. And two, brûlée means “burnt,” not browned. It’s important that some of the topping blacken; the best tastes of campfire-toasted marshmallows. Chefs, and many devoted home cooks, use a propane torch to melt and brown the sugar in the final step. If you have one lying around, give it a shot—just hold the flame so it touches the sugar, which will react quickly. Move the flame around so it touches all of the sugar; when the melted sugar begins to blacken, it’s done.

Rich, dark, and sweet, honey cake was originally a kind of pound cake made by people who could not afford refined sugar or flour (many old honey cake recipes use rye flour, not exactly what we think of as dessert). This is a light, more modern (at least twentieth-century) recipe, quite succulent. Some people stir raisins (about 1/2 cup) and/or chopped almonds or walnuts (also about 1/2 cup) into the batter just before baking. Others cut the loaves in half after baking and add a layer of jam, then reassemble. Personally, I like my honey cake plain.

Madeleines are a classic French sweet, a delightful spongy cookie in a convenient bite size. The longer the batter is chilled, the greater the chance that you will have the signature madeleine hump. Serve warm, please.