Mrs. Mosal’s White Fruitcake and Boiled Custard. (Rinne Allen)
In the foreword to “The Jackson Cookbook” (1971), Eudora Welty wrote that each Christmas she baked a white fruitcake from a recipe her mother had gotten from a friend.
“What took me so long to bake Mrs. Mosal’s fruitcake?” I wondered, as I chopped the candied cherries and pecans and reached to the back of the cabinet for the bottle of whiskey. I have adapted the recipe only slightly, keeping the red and green cherries but using fewer of them. What you get is a lovely and festive fruitcake drenched in bourbon, and after one bite, it will change your mind about fruitcake. Slice and serve with boiled custard.
Fruitcake has many faces. In “Mrs. Porter’s New Southern Cookery-Book” (1871), Mary Elizabeth Porter mentions several kinds of fruitcakes: light (white), like this one, or dark (black), as well as Yankee (with butter and white sugar) or Confederate (with lard and molasses). Sally White fruitcake has coconut and almonds, and Japanese fruit cake isn’t really a fruitcake at all but more of a unique layer cake with a citrus and coconut filling popular in the Deep South.
Fruitcake making was once an annual affair, just like winterizing your house or putting chains on the tires of the car to prepare for snow days ahead. If baked and soaked in bourbon at Thanksgiving, the fruitcake would be ready for slicing by Christmas.
Plan ahead: Bake this cake several days to weeks before serving so it can soak in the liquor.
Prep Time: 40 to 45 minutes Bake Time: About 2 hours
Serves 8 to 10
Soft butter and flour for prepping the pan (see Note)
1 pound mixed dried fruit of your choice (currants, raisins, dried apricots, dried cherries, or red and green candied cherries)
2 cups (228 grams) pecan halves or chopped pecans
2 cups (240 grams) all-purpose flour, divided
12 tablespoons (1 1/2 sticks/170 grams) unsalted butter, at room temperature
1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar
3 large eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
1/2 cup bourbon or brandy, plus more for soaking the cake
Heat the oven to 250°F, with a rack in the middle. Grease and flour a 9-by-5-inch loaf pan.
Chop the fruit into small, uniform pieces, 1/4 to 1/2 inch in size. Place in a small bowl. Chop the pecans into the same size pieces and place in a separate bowl. Toss the fruit with 1/2 cup of the flour. Set aside.
Place the butter and sugar in a large bowl and beat with an electric mixer on medium speed until light and fluffy, about 3 minutes. Scrape down the sides of the bowl. With the machine running, add the eggs, one at a time, and beat on low until incorporated. Add the vanilla and beat until blended.
Whisk the baking powder and nutmeg into the remaining 1 1/2 cups flour. Add the flour mixture alternately with the bourbon or brandy to the butter mixture, mixing on low until just blended. Fold in the fruit and pecans. Turn into the prepared pan.
Bake until the cake is firm and very lightly brown, about 2 hours. The interior temperature should be 200°F on an instant-read thermometer. Remove from the oven and, while hot, drizzle over additional bourbon or brandy. Let the cake cool in the pan for 30 minutes. Run a knife around the edges of the pan, then invert the cake once and then again so it cools right side up on the rack. Let cool completely before serving, about 1 hour.
To store, wrap in clean cheesecloth. Place in a metal tin and store covered in a cool place for up to a month. Each week, pour another 1/4 cup bourbon or brandy over the cake, if desired.
Note: Back when my mother and grandmother baked fruitcakes, they would grease the loaf or tube pans with butter and then line them with brown paper. I remember seeing the paper peeled off the sides of the baked fruitcake and my mother telling me it was to protect the cake from overbaking and keep the edges soft.
Eudora Welty (1909–2001), American novelist, wrote about small town life in the Mississippi delta, 1962. (Everett Collection Inc/Alamy Stock Photo)
Boiled Custard
I grew up with boiled custard on Christmas Eve, served in punch cups with fruitcake and pound cake. It was a Middle Tennessee holiday tradition, a gentler version of eggnog, and you can make it without any alcohol, as I am sure my Presbyterian grandmother did.
You’re not going to find it in every Southern cookbook because it is so regional. But you will find it in Tennessee and Mississippi cookbooks, and the recipe I settled on is from “Being Dead Is No Excuse” (2005) by Gayden Metcalfe and Charlotte Hays. They call it Bourbon Boiled Custard, but as I said, not everyone puts bourbon in it. But if they do, it’s gonna be good, especially with Mrs. Mosal’s White Fruitcake, baba au rhum, Christmas black cake, and festive cookies.
Prep: 20 to 25 minutes Cook: 10 to 14 minutes Chill: At least 4 hours
Serves 8
1 cup (200 grams) granulated sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
4 large eggs
Big pinch of salt
3 cups whole milk
1 cup heavy cream
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1/4 cup bourbon (optional)
Place the sugar and flour in a large, heavy saucepan or in the top of a double boiler (see Note). Whisk in the eggs and the salt until smooth.
Place the milk in a separate saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium heat, letting bubbles form around the edges of the pan, 3 to 4 minutes. Remove from the heat and stir in the cream.
Ladle 1/2 cup at a time of the warm milk mixture into the egg mixture and whisk to combine. Place the pan with the eggs over low heat or over simmering water in the double boiler. Stir with a flat spatula until the mixture creates steam and thickens enough to coat a spoon, 10 to 14 minutes, or 170 to 175°F on an instant-read thermometer.
Remove the pan from the heat and pour the custard into a glass bowl. Stir in the vanilla and bourbon, if desired. Place in the refrigerator to chill for at least 4 hours. Serve as a beverage in small cups or as a sauce.
Note: If you have a heavy copper pan for making sauces, it’s perfect for this recipe because it’s thick and will protect the eggs from heating too quickly. But if you do not, use a double boiler—or what’s known as a bain-marie—where you place a bowl or insert on top of a saucepan filled with simmering water.
The trick is to keep the water at a simmer, not a boil, and to make sure the water is not touching the bottom of the bowl or the insert holding the custard. It takes a little longer to thicken with the double boiler, but every pan and stove is different. You are looking for a just-thickened custard that coats the spoon. It will thicken more as it cools.
Recipe reprinted from “Baking in the American South: 200 Recipes and Their Untold Stories” by Anne Byrn. Copyright 2024 by Anne Byrn. Photographs 2024 by Rinne Allen. Used by permission of Harper Celebrate.
Mrs. Mosal’s White Fruitcake and Boiled Custard. (Rinne Allen)
Southern baking, writes veteran cookbook author Anne Byrn, is “quite possibly the first and finest style of baking America has ever known.” She makes the case for it in her latest tome of a cookbook, “Baking in the American South: 200 Recipes and Their Untold Stories.”
A fifth-generation Southerner, Byrn looked far beyond her home state of Tennessee. She researched each of the 14 Southern states, interviewed locals, and dug into library archives to find the best recipes and stories, both present and past. “I took a big-picture, step-back look at the South and considered how railroads, poverty, isolation, slavery, migration, and many other factors affected what people baked,” she said. “It was an ongoing project for more than three years. It consumed me!”
Anne Byrn is a best-selling cookbook author and the former food editor of The Atlanta Journal- Constitution and The Tennessean. (Draper James)
There was also plenty of another kind of consumption: the rigorous testing and tweaking of historical recipes for modern home cooks. “What was considered delicious in the 1930s might seem spartan today,” she noted. Part of the challenge was finding modern equivalents for old ingredients and translating measurements—or lack thereof. “Grandmother likely had her own flour scoop and knew how she measured a cup, level or rounded, or possibly she didn’t measure at all!”
Her perseverance was rewarded. The final collection, which includes entire chapters on cornbreads and biscuits, and sweets from obscure regional pies to famous Christmas cakes, tells a story of Southern baking, tradition, and culture. The recipes’ stories are woven into the lives of generations of Americans. Byrn shared three gems just in time for the holiday season.
(Harper Celebrate)
How to Bake Like a Southern Grandmother
Anne Byrn shares five timeless tips from bakers past:
Repeat favorites, especially for the holidays. People remember recipes that are repeated annually. And grandmothers were good about that.
Bake with your senses, using touch and your sense of smell to determine if a cake is done.
Let little people comeinto the kitchen and watch and help.
Don’t scrimp on ingredients. I was told stories of baking during the war years and using precious white sugar. I was told about how people of Appalachia would save money to bake a cake to bring to a holiday supper. People have scrimped and saved in order to bake something nice for the people they love. You should, too.
Tell the story about the recipe. Pass on family stories so they will be remembered.
(Rinne Allen)
My Christmas Family Tradition
Byrn and her grown children have a Christmas tradition of getting together to decorate sugar cookies and take family photos, “the tackier the sweater or apron the better,” she said. Some details have changed over the years: “Our mugs of cocoa have gravitated to flutes of bubbly.” Others are constant: her grandmother’s crescent cookies, punch cups of boiled custard (an old-time Tennessee specialty), and freshly baked yeast and sweet rolls, all putting a Southern stamp on their festivities.
An Indonesian feast at cooking instructor Shandra Woworuntu’s
home in Queens, New York, including tofu and egg omelets, corn and shrimp fritters, and an
assortment of Indonesian crackers and candy. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
We arrive at Shandra Woworuntu’s home in Queens, New York, on a Sunday afternoon, six strangers on another stranger’s doorstep, buzzing with nervous excitement. At 1 p.m. sharp, the door cracks open to reveal a shy teenage boy with scruffy black hair, wearing a T-shirt and shorts. He ushers us inside. We slip off our shoes and make small talk in the hall. Then a woman’s—undoubtedly a mother’s—shrill command from somewhere above us summons our greeter upstairs—something about guests and chairs. As he bounds away, we exchange glances and chuckles. We know we’re in for something special.
We’ve come for a cooking class—but no starchy chef’s whites nor gleaming industrial stovetops await us here. Woworuntu is a proud member of the League of Kitchens, a cooking school unlike any other: Its instructors are immigrant grandmothers and mothers from around the world; its classrooms are the instructors’ homes across New York. Students can venture to Staten Island to learn Lebanese cooking; Brooklyn to break into Bangladeshi; and here, Queens, to indulge in Indonesian. Live online classes let home cooks around the world visit from afar.
Lisa Kyung Gross, who founded the school in 2014, was intentional about both the teachers and the setting.
The daughter of a Hungarian Jewish New Yorker father and Korean immigrant mother, Gross grew up eating traditional Korean dishes her grandmother cooked from scratch. But whenever she tried to help in the kitchen, she was shooed away by many a well-meaning immigrant parent’s refrain: “Don’t worry about cooking. Studying is more important,” her grandmother said.
She died before Gross could ask for her recipes.
Gross dreamt of finding another Korean grandmother to cook with in her home, to learn her family recipes—but then she thought, why stop at Korean?
Lisa Kyung Gross founded the League of Kitchens in 2014. (Kristen Teig)
She found two immigrant women, from Lebanon and Bangladesh, to teach cooking classes on their traditional cuisines. She envisioned an experience “that was not only about amazing cooking and eating, but also about creating an opportunity for meaningful cross-cultural learning, connection, and exchange,” she said.
She knew that she wanted her teachers to be home cooks, not restaurant chefs, because “in most places around the world, the fullest expression of a cuisine isn’t in a restaurant—it’s in the home,” she said. “Most culinary traditions have been oral traditions passed down between women in the home.”
She also wanted the classes to be held in those most intimate spaces. “When you see their cooking tools and how they store their spices, and you’re eating the food on their traditional dishware, being taught how you eat it, it’s such a deeper cultural experience,” she said.
For Gross, who’d felt disconnected from her own heritage, “it felt healing,” she said.
(Kristen Teig)
Kitchen Ambassadors
A decade in, the League of Kitchens has 14 instructors, from Argentinian to Uzbek. Gross’s requirements are rigorous. She estimates she’s interviewed 300 to 400 people and done 75 in-home cooking auditions to find their winning team.
“We’re really looking for people who are not only good home cooks, but exceptional home cooks,” she said. These are women who are known in their communities for their food, who “can cook for 40 people with their eyes closed,” and who possess deep knowledge of their traditional cuisine.
They are also, importantly, warm and dynamic teachers and hosts, passionate about sharing their stories with others.
I discover as much as we walk up the stairs of Woworuntu’s home and finally meet our host—as vibrant as the dazzling, multi-colored spread of food she’s already prepared. A “snack,” she says of the veritable meal, giggling.
Woworuntu is bubbly and high-spirited, punctuating most sentences with a joyful cackle of a laugh. She’s excited to introduce us to the rich and varied cuisine of Indonesia and its 17,000 islands. “Indonesia is not just Bali and Jakarta,” she says. Today we’re eating dishes from East Java, where she grew up. The people there love to party, she says, and the food matches their spirit. “You will experience spicy, salty, sour, sweet. All the flavors come together.”
As we dig in, we learn about each other: a married couple who lives in the neighborhood and wanted to try something new; a young UI/UX designer who loves to cook and is attending her third League of Kitchens class; a pair of newlyweds about to go to Indonesia for their honeymoon.
Woworuntu with one of her two backyard lime trees, from which she harvests both fragrant leaves and fruit. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
We also learn about Woworuntu and the dark story hidden behind her warm smile. After losing her job as a financial bank analyst and trader in Indonesia, she came to the United States in 2001 at age 25, thinking she was getting a job in hospitality. It was a trap: She was taken at the airport and sold into sex trafficking. She escaped—twice—and was instrumental in convicting her captors, only to spend the next three years living on the streets of New York. She’s since dedicated her life to giving trafficking survivors the support she didn’t have by founding a nonprofit, Mentari, through which she teaches cooking classes to help survivors find work. She traveled the world speaking and consulting with governments and NGOs, including as a member of the first U.S. Advisory Council on Human Trafficking in 2015.
“Cooking is my healing,” Woworuntu says. Food also played a role in helping other survivors. “I used to sit with the victims, give them tea, and talk, giving them food and getting to know them.” That opens up the conversation to dig “beneath the surface of this person,” she says.
She brings that philosophy to her classes, too.
“‘How do I become a blessing for people?’” she asks herself. “It [takes] courage to come to my table without knowing who I am, who will be [there]. Food is a platform for people to speak, to get connected, to share. I think it’s just amazing how they open up.”
Cultural Immersion
It helps that she is a generous teacher and animated storyteller, welcoming us into the fold of her family and culture. We meet her husband, Randy, a retired police officer, and her 17-year-old son, Nick, our greeter—and her (paid!) dishwasher and trusty assistant.
Woworuntu introduces ingredients paired with folklore and childhood stories, or expert kitchen tips. She measures garlic and shallots by handfuls—“how my mom and grandma taught me,” she says—and passes them into our hands so we can feel the weight. She lets us taste some truly special items: fragrant lime leaves and juicy white ginger from her backyard; smoked coconut sugar and kopi luwak (civet coffee) from recent travels to Indonesia. To help slice through a block of tamarind pulp for us to try, she swiftly brings a hammer down onto her chef’s knife, grinning all the while, until the dense, sticky fruit yields.
She’s also a blazing-fast cook. As we don our aprons, she bounces between showing us our next tasks, tending multiple pans on the stove, and putting out our fires (once nearly an actual one) without breaking a sweat.
A resourceful cook, Woworuntu uses a hammer to help her slice through a block of tamarind pulp prepared for her by her mother. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
We are far less dexterous. But our teacher is cheerful and encouraging, even when we cut the garlic the wrong way and spill gobs of half-cooked omelet onto her stove: “Don’t worry, don’t worry!” she sings, unfazed as the flames leap up from the oil.
We bond as we cook, cheering each other’s triumphant omelet flips and reaching over to save wobbly bowls from disaster.
“How many chiles should we add?” Woworuntu asks us, mixing batter for fritters. “Maybe 15?” We glance at each other, mumble unconvincing “Sure”s. “Ten, then,” she relents. We collectively exhale.
When we fall unprompted into an assembly line to roll and fill klepon, balls of pandan mochi stuffed with coconut sugar and rolled in coconut shavings, Woworuntu can’t stop giggling and snapping photos.
Three hours later, we finally sit down for our feast: corn and shrimp fritters, perfumed with lime leaf and fried to a golden crisp; cucumbers dipped in bumbu kacang, a sweet-and-savory peanut sauce I want to eat by the spoonful; and plate-sized egg and tofu omelets, loaded with bean sprouts, a second kind of peanut sauce, and fried shallots, all served with rice and crackers. For dessert, we’ve made caramelized bananas topped with condensed milk, chocolate sprinkles, and shredded mozzarella (don’t knock it ’til you try it); and the klepon, crowded on giant platters like snowball cookies in pastel green. A student remarks that she now understands why our welcome spread was a “snack.”
“I like to feed people,” Woworuntu later tells me. “Because my grandma used to feed people.” Her family owned several food businesses in Indonesia, and from a young age she learned to help cook traditional dishes for their many employees.
“I think I got it from family culture,” she continues. “They believe if you feed people, one day, if [your family’s future generation] needs food, someone will feed them.”
It extends beyond the table, too. “I think if you share kindness with other people, it’s contagious.”
Students assemble klepon, sweet rice cakes flavored with pandan and stuffed with coconut sugar. (Samira Bouaou for American Essence)
Breaking Bread, Building Bridges
Woworuntu sends us off with bursting stomachs, Tupperware full of leftovers, and yet more gifts: precious lime leaves and cucumbers from her garden, apples from her second home in upstate New York, and even an invitation to join her there on her next family escape.
For the newlyweds, she ducks into a room and emerges with a vibrant Indonesian fabric sash for the bride to wear on their trip. “Are you sure?” she asks, eyes wide. Yes, Woworuntu insists, pushing it into her hands and telling them to let her know if they need anything else. “We’ll text you,” the husband says with a smile.
Gross says these scenes are common at the end of classes. “Everyone’s hugging, everyone’s exchanging numbers, people feel that the instructors are like their new favorite auntie,” she said. “There’s something really magical that happens on an emotional level of connection.”
The friendships formed can last long after. Damira Inatullaeva, the Uzbek instructor, recalled one student who took an online class and mailed her a painting of hands making Uzbek dumplings. Another student decided to travel to Uzbekistan, and they met up in Inatullaeva’s hometown of Samarkand.
“Before the class,” Inatullaeva marveled, “many of my students didn’t even know what Uzbekistan was.”
After spending time in an instructor’s home, she said, “you will think that our world is very different, very colorful, [with] a lot of different tastes.”
She’s experienced that firsthand: She loves taking other League of Kitchens classes herself, as many instructors do.
“I love Nepali momos, I love Argentinian alfajores, I love Greek salad and spanakopita,” Inatullaeva said. Her favorite is New York pizza.
So while she’s proud of her heritage, she stops short of calling Uzbek cuisine the best. “All the cuisines of the world, they are unique. I discovered that here in New York,” she said.
Uzbekistan kebab. (Kristen Teig)
She recalled that when she first came to the United States, she resolved not to cook Uzbek food—only “American food.”After 10 years in America—nine of which she’s spent teaching for the League of Kitchens—she’s revised her resolution.
“I want my Uzbek cuisine to also be part of American cuisine,” she said. “This is my dream.”
The rich tapestry that is America continues to be woven; Gross sees that as something to champion. “Our instructors, they are representatives of their cultures, but they’re also New Yorkers. They’re Americans,” she said. “They value very deeply preserving their traditions and recipes, but they also go out to eat Thai food, and love pizza, and cook varied cuisines in their homes. They interact with other people from other cultures, their lives are rich with many cultures, and the best things coexist.”
For Gross, fostering these cross-cultural connections is the most powerful part of the League of Kitchens.
“All the time we hear from students who say, ‘This part of the world that felt abstract and distant now feels personal and meaningful,’” she said.
“That is the great hope of what we do: create peace and love and connection between people who are different, through storytelling, through sharing, through food.”
Get Cooking
The League of Kitchens offers cooking workshops in-person in the New York area (2.5 hours for $175, 4.5 hours for $220) and online (2.5 hours, $60 per device). In-person classes include a welcome snack or lunch, hands-on cooking instruction, and a shared meal. Online classes include live, interactive cooking instruction and a virtual dinner party; a list of ingredients and equipment is provided in advance. All students receive a packet of the instructor’s family recipes and background information. LeagueOfKitchens.com
For a kitchen companion to keep closer at hand, Lisa Kyung Gross and the school’s instructors have published “The League of Kitchens Cookbook: Brilliant Tips, Secret Methods, and Favorite Family Recipes From Around the World” (November 2024). Gross’s warm encouragement guides readers through recipes detailed enough to be mini cooking lessons, while instructor profiles and anecdotes add deeper meaning to every dish.
Lisa Gross (center, in green) with the instructors of the League of Kitchens. (Kristen Teig)
Kitchen Secrets
For Lisa Kyung Gross, running the League of Kitchens has been “the best culinary school you could imagine,” she said. She shared some of her top takeaways from their instructors.
Use the best ingredients you can get. “Your food will only taste as good as the quality of your ingredients,” Gross said. Many instructors emphasize using in-season produce and shop at several different places to get exactly what they want.
Freshly toast and grind your own spices. Gross has noticed this makes an especially big difference in flavor for cumin and coriander. She recommends toasting the seeds in a completely dry pan over the lowest heat possible until they’re aromatic and crisp (cumin should be easily broken with a fingernail; coriander should almost shatter between your molars). Let them cool to room temperature before grinding in a spice mill or coffee grinder (one not used for coffee).
Pay attention to the little things. Here lies the difference between “good food and great food,” Gross said: the nuances and tricks that come naturally to a home cook with years of experience. Removing the seeds from grape tomatoes prevents watery guacamole; the contrast between paper-thin red onions and bigger-than-you’d-think tomato wedges makes an ultra-satisfying Greek salad; breaking down chicken into smaller-than-you’d-think pieces exposes more bone marrow and lends extra flavor to an Afghan curry. The delicious is in the details.
Cook with love. Every instructor prescribes this most important ingredient. This means “cooking with intention, with attention, with care,” Gross said. “If you’re grumpy, don’t cook,” added Shandra Woworuntu. “You have to be kind to the food.” For Damira Inatullaeva, it was her grandmother’s most important kitchen advice: “Don’t forget to think good thoughts about the people for whom you’re cooking.”
Chef Geoffrey Zakarian
runs restaurants,
frequently appears
on TV, and has his
own line of food and
kitchen products. (Aaron Lockwood)
These days, place settings at your dinner table might look like this: a knife, fork, spoon—and cell phone. You might watch television as you eat.
You’re missing the key to a good meal, says renowned chef Geoffrey Zakarian: family.
Mr. Zakarian learned this lesson at a young age. He grew up in Worcester, Massachusetts, with a Polish American mother and Armenian American father.
“Being Middle Eastern, all we did was cook,” he said. “At breakfast, we’re talking about lunch with our mouths full. At lunch, we’re talking about dinner with our mouths full. It was a never-ending circle.”
Mr. Zakarian saw that a meal was about more than just good food. It was the glue that bonded his family.
“It created a shared devotion around the table,” he said. His love of food and its effect on family eventually led to his calling as a chef.
(Aaron Lockwood)
Fighting Hunger in the City
Mr. Zakarian is not only a prolific chef and restaurateur—whose ventures have included restaurants in New York, Connecticut, Los Angeles, and Florida, where he now lives—but also a long-standing television personality, known for his appearances on the Food Network as an Iron Chef, a recurring judge on “Chopped,” and a co-host on “The Kitchen.”
He’s also worked for years with City Harvest, a New York food rescue organization that has distributed an incredible 80 million pounds of food this year to New Yorkers in need. He’s served as chairman of the NGO’s Food Council since 2014.
City Harvest rescues much of its food because of something that might surprise you: expiration dates. “This would not be possible unless a terrible legislation for expiration dates was created. That created a false foundation where we have to throw food out [after its sell-by date] and can’t sell it,” Mr. Zakarian said. “City Harvest came along and said, ‘We’ll take it, and, in less than 24 hours, we can distribute it.’”
When asked how much of the “expired” food the charity gets is still edible, the chef has a stunning answer: “One hundred percent.”
City Harvest receives donations of surplus food from nearly 2,000 businesses, including farms, grocers, restaurants, wholesalers, and manufacturers. But Mr. Zakarian makes sure to distribute healthy food, shopping as carefully as he would for his own family.
Mr.Zakarian attends a City Harvest event in New York City, June 19, 2018. (Getty Images for City Harvest)
“Nothing with high fructose corn syrup. We’re very picky [about] what we take. Fifty percent of what we give away are fresh vegetables,” he said.
City Harvest trucks then deliver the food free of charge to more than 400 food pantries, soup kitchens, and other community food programs across the city. “It’s a very fulfilling process for everyone,” he said. “If you talk to any of the drivers, they’re so happy with what they do. They get paid to make people happy and live better; they give away food all day. What a great way to live.”
The organization holds several fundraisers throughout the year, including an annual fall food tasting that will be held on October 29 this year, at The Glasshouse in New York. Last year’s event raised enough to feed 4 million people.
The Next Generation
As a father of three, Mr. Zakarian has taken his own childhood experience of sharing a meal at the table and passed down the tradition. On any day he’s home, he makes it a point to cook breakfast for daughters Anna and Madeline and son George.
They’ve picked up Dad’s love of cooking. Anna and Madeline published a cookbook called “The Family That Cooks Together” in 2020, when they were 12 and 14, respectively. They also helped start a Junior Food Council for City Harvest that year.
Want to teach your kids to cook? Mr. Zakarian says it only takes one thing.
“Smells. This is why there’s a failure in modern cuisine, that minimalist cuisine: If nothing has a smell, it’s not memorable. Every memory you have of food is the smell.”
Chef Geoffrey Zakarian with his family. (Courtesy of Geoffrey Zakarian)
Mr. Zakarian says nothing draws a kid into the kitchen more than the aroma of something delicious. “You don’t have to ask kids to do anything. They’ll smell something, come by, and say, ‘What’s that, Mom?’ And she’ll say, ‘Well here, try it.’ I’ll say, ‘Do you want to help?’ ‘Sure.’ It’s not forcing them to do anything. It’s the memory of the smells and the clanging of pots and pans.”
Spreading the Joy
He’s also passionate about bringing those memories to other families. His cookware line, launched under Zakarian Hospitality, is designed to “make life better for the average person at home,” he said. He doesn’t focus on obscure items you might use once every 10 years, but basic, good-quality cooking tools you’ll need every day.
His television appearances aim to do the same. “I love these shows because they show people how to nourish their families,” he said. “When people watch a competition show, they love the competition, but at the end of the day, it is captivating their memory with things they want to try.” He calls it “nourishment of the stomach, but also nourishment of the soul.”
As a chef, Mr. Zakarian focuses on what he calls the Mediterranean basket, the diet from Greece and Italy. At his restaurants, “I make menus for food that I enjoy,” he said. “I just try to make food yummy for myself, and if I like it, I would say that 99 percent of my customers will like it.”
But whether he’s cooking for customers or his kids at home, his philosophy is the same.
“If you have everyone sitting around the table, that’s the real joy, that’s where everything happens—all the glances, the looks, the nuanced conversation that comes out,” he said. “If you can get them to the table, that’s the real reward.”
9 Questions for Geoffrey Zakarian
Comfort food? Steak frites.
Most beloved kitchen tool? Paring knife.
3 ingredients you can’t live without? Sea salt, chardonnay vinegar, anchovies.
Underrated ingredient? Miso.
Go-to easy but impressive dish to cook for someone? Spaghetti with lemon.
Daily wellness rituals? Work out five times a week. Don’t skip breakfast. Eat grass-fed beef, full-fat yogurt, fruits, berries. Big fan of honey and dates instead of sugar.
Favorite hobby when you’re not cooking? Golf.
Best advice for home cooks? Start learning to cook with breakfast. Eat your mistakes.
We enjoy this cold-weather soup every year, often by the fire. For parties, we prepare the soup ahead of time, and then we put on a big pot for guests to help themselves. This keeps the mess in the kitchen low and gives us something yummy to sneak off with and eat.
Serves 4
4 tablespoons unmelted butter
1 large butternut squash, peeled and cubed (about 4 cups)
1 medium yellow onion, chopped
2 tart apples, peeled, cored, and cubed
1 tablespoon Madras curry powder
1/4 cup all-purpose flour
3 cups chicken broth
1/2 cup half-and-half
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup toasted pine nuts, for garnish
Recommended Tools
Immersion blender or regular blender
Melt the butter in a large soup or stockpot over medium heat. Add the squash, onion, apples, and curry powder and sauté for 5 minutes.
Add the flour, stirring well to combine. Add the broth, bring to a simmer, and simmer for 30 minutes, or until the squash is very tender. Let cool for a few minutes.
With an immersion blender, puree the soup in the pot until smooth. Alternatively, carefully puree in batches in a regular blender. Stir in the half-and-half.
Reheat soup gently if necessary, and season with salt and pepper. Garnish with toasted pine nuts and serve.
Recipe Notes
Pine nuts can be toasted in a pan on the stovetop or roasted on a sheet pan in a 325-degree-F oven for 12 minutes. Give a little shake as they cook. Watch them carefully, because they can burn quickly!
If using a regular blender, be careful with hot liquids.
This is the Zakarian TV dinner! Whenever there’s something fun to watch, we make a batch of chili and all gather in the living room. This is the absolute only time we’re allowed to eat dinner in front of the TV, so chili holds an extra special place in our hearts.
Serves 8
For Chili
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
3 pounds ground pork
2 to 3 tablespoons pancetta or bacon, cut into small pieces
Kosher salt
Freshly ground black pepper
2 large onions, chopped (about 3 cups)
6 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 bunches scallions (white and green parts), chopped (about 2 cups)
2 tablespoons tomato paste
1/4 cup chili powder
1/4 cup ground cumin
1 1/2 cups apple cider
2 (28-ounce) cans whole tomatoes with juice (fire-roasted, preferably), crushed by hand
2 (15.5-ounce) cans small black or white beans, drained and rinsed
2 cups chicken stock
2 tablespoons green Tabasco
For Garnish
1 avocado, pitted, peeled, and chopped, for garnish
1/2 cup chopped cilantro, for garnish
4 radishes, sliced thin, for garnish
Shredded Mexican cheese, for garnish
Lime wedges, for garnish
Recommended Tools
Wide-bottomed Dutch oven or large pot
Wooden or silicon spurtle, or a wooden spoon
Ladle
Heat the olive oil in a wide-bottomed Dutch oven or large soup pot over medium-high heat. Add the pork and cook, stirring and scraping the pan bottom with a spurtle, until browned and cooked through, letting the liquid cook out. This will take 10 to 15 minutes. Caution: Do not rush through this step; it’s crucial. Add the pancetta or bacon and cook with the pork for 1 to 2 minutes. Season with pepper, about 1 teaspoon.
Reduce the heat to medium. Add the onions, garlic, and scallions and cook until wilted, about 5 minutes. Make a space in the pan and drop in the tomato paste. Let the paste toast for 1 minute and then stir it into the pork mixture. Sprinkle in the chili powder and cumin and cook and stir until fragrant, about 2 minutes.
Pour in the cider, rigorously scraping the bottom of the pan with the spurtle to get the brown bits released and incorporated. Cook until the liquid is almost reduced away, 3 to 5 minutes. Add the tomatoes, beans, and stock, then season with the Tabasco as well as about 2 tablespoons salt and 1 tablespoon pepper. Adjust the heat so the chili is gently simmering and cook, uncovered, until the chili is thick and full of character, about 1 1/2 hours.
Ladle the chili into bowls and serve garnished with avocado, cilantro, radishes, Mexican cheese, and lime wedges.
During the holidays, our grandmother Marie cooks traditional Middle Eastern dishes for our large extended Lebanese family, much to everyone’s delight. There are always leftover pieces of raw lamb she doesn’t need, so over the years, she started frying them with pine nuts and onions that she’d then scramble together with eggs for breakfast the next morning. As soon as the dish hits the table, we jump to get it on our plates. Because we enjoy this meal so much, we now shop for lamb at all times of the year just to make the breakfast “leftover dish” for ourselves!
The picture shows traditional Syrian bread, which can be hard to find, but regular pita works just as well to scoop up those delicious eggs.
Serves 4 to 6
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3/4 pound ground lamb
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 1/4 teaspoons kosher salt, plus more for seasoning
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/4 cup pine nuts, toasted
6 large eggs
2 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/4 cup coarsely chopped Italian parsley
Warm pita bread, for serving
Recommended Tools
Cast iron skillet
silicone spatula or wooden spoon
Heat the olive oil in a large skillet (preferably cast iron) over medium heat. Add the onions and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Add the lamb, cinnamon, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, until the lamb is browned and cooked through, about 10 minutes. Add the pine nuts.
Meanwhile, in a small mixing bowl, whisk the eggs and season with salt and pepper. When lamb is fully cooked, push the mixture to the edge of the pan. Add the butter to the center of the pan and allow to melt. Pour in the eggs. Using a silicone spatula or wooden spoon, stir the eggs in large circles, allowing large curds to form. Once the eggs are almost cooked, incorporate the lamb mixture into the eggs and remove from the heat.
Divide the eggs among plates, garnish with parsley, and serve with warm pita bread.
The children tell me that they could eat this every day, so it’s something we have at least weekly, even in the heat of the summer. This is a much lighter variation of beef pho, and my mother’s secret is to always have some black cardamom on hand. If you were out of all your spices, this is truly the only one you would need for a good bowl of pho ga. I also use dried jujubes and daikon for a natural and medicinal sweetener.
You can substitute zucchini noodles or homemade tagliatelle for the rice noodles. For increased nutrient density and an extra crunch without affecting the flavor profile of the soup, I quickly blanch some bok choy and cut it up for the family to enjoy.
Serves 4 to 6
For the Soup
10 cups spring water, or more as needed
1/2 daikon, peeled and quartered (optional)
10 dried jujube apples or 1 (4-ounce) Fuji apple
1 (4- to 5-pound) pasture-raised chicken
5 star anise pods
3 whole cloves
1 cinnamon stick
2 tablespoons (36 g) black cardamom seeds
1 tablespoon coriander seeds
1 tablespoon fennel seeds
1 large onion, halved
1 (4-inch) piece fresh ginger, halved
1 tablespoon sea salt
5 tablespoons fish sauce or fermented anchovy sauce
3 tablespoons maple sugar or coconut sugar (optional)
1/2 small yellow or red onion, very thinly sliced, or pickled red onions
4 to 6 Thai basil sprigs
4 to 6 mint sprigs
Bean sprouts
Lime wedges
Fresh Vietnamese culantro or sawtooth (optional)
Bird’s eye chiles, sliced (optional)
Hoisin sauce
Sriracha or sambal oelek
In a large pot, combine the water, daikon (if using), and jujube apples and bring to a boil. Add the chicken, plus more water if needed to cover the chicken, and return to a boil.
Meanwhile, in a small skillet, combine the star anise, cloves, cinnamon, black cardamom seeds, coriander seeds, and fennel seeds and toast over high heat for 3 to 4 minutes. Transfer the toasted spices to a spice bag or tea strainer. (Alternatively, you can put the spices directly in the pot of broth and strain them out before serving.)
To char the onion and ginger, turn a gas stove burner to high heat or a grill to medium-high. Using tongs, carefully place the onion and ginger directly on the burner or grill grates. Allow them to cook undisturbed for a few minutes, until the bottom is charred and blackened. Use the tongs to flip the onion and ginger to char the other side. Once charred, remove the onion and ginger from the heat and allow to cool slightly. Using your fingers or a knife, peel off the blackened outer layers of the onion and ginger and discard. (Alternatively, you can place the onion and ginger on a rimmed baking sheet and broil them in the oven. Keep an eye on them so they don’t burn!)
Add the spice bag, onion, and ginger to the broth. Simmer for 1 hour, occasionally skimming off the scum that rises to the top.
Remove the chicken from the pot and pierce through the thigh with a chopstick or fork to check if the juices run clear. If not, return it to the pot to simmer for a while more, until fully cooked. Set aside to cool.
Remove the daikon, apples, spice bag (or whole spices), onion, and ginger from the broth. Season the broth with the salt, fish sauce, and sugar, if using.
Remove the chicken meat from the bones and cut it into 1/2-inch pieces for easy handling with chopsticks. Alternatively, you can hand-tear the chicken pieces and add them directly to the bowls.
Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the bok choy and blanch for 1 to 2 minutes. Drain the bok choy and cut into bite-size pieces.
Cook the rice noodles according to the package instructions until chewy. Rinse under cold running water and drain.
To serve, divide the noodles into each serving bowl and top with chicken meat and bok choy. Ladle in the hot broth and top with your choice of garnishes. Offer hoisin sauce and sriracha or sambal oelek at the table.
Store leftovers in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 4 days or in the freezer for up to 6 months; if freezing, make sure to leave at least 1 inch headspace in your jars.
Time Hacks
You can start with chicken bone broth and simmer for 1 hour with the spices, onion, and ginger and serve with chicken meat.
Alternatively, use the carcass from a rotisserie chicken to make the broth, then serve the meat with the soup.
Vietnamese American homesteader Sophia Nguyen Eng with her husband, Tim, and her two daughters, Emily and Natalie, at their farm in eastern Tennessee. (Neeli Brisky)
Born and raised in Silicon Valley, Sophia Nguyen Eng was poised for success in the technology world.
She was good at what she did—growth marketing campaigns for startups and Fortune 500 companies—and was well on her way up the corporate ladder. She founded an organization, Women in Growth, to support other women working in the tech space. Hers was a resume that would make any aspiring professional envious.
Then the birth of her oldest daughter, Emily, in 2011 inspired her to reach new heights—not in tech, but in the kitchen. It’s the beginning of this unusual and fascinating tale of how an ambitious American family traded the boardroom for a farm.
Ms. Eng goes by the philosophy of returning back to the earth what comes from the ground. (Fiona Bryne)
Reaching for Ancient Wisdom
Ms. Eng’s journey began at the grocery store, where the selection of baby foods looked gray and unappetizing. A first-generation Vietnamese American who wasn’t accustomed to cooking fruit, she decided to research how to make her own applesauce for Emily.
A line in a cookbook gave her pause. Organic is best for babies, it said, because their bodies cannot tolerate or process pesticides and herbicides.
“At what point can her body process it?” Ms. Eng mused. “Or are we doing it wrong, and should we be changing the way we think about food?”
It was then that she remembered the yellow book on nutrition gifted to her by a fellow military family when her husband, Tim, was an officer in the U.S. Army. The family lived on a homestead, had a dairy cow, made their own medicinal tinctures, and homeschooled their eight children. They often shared wisdom with the couple.
“She was telling me, ‘You’ve got to try this grass-fed raw milk,’” Ms. Eng recalled, laughing at the memory. “I thought, ‘Oh no. This is how I’m going to die.’”
But the responsibility of raising a child, and her own intuition, were driving her to seek out the truth about food. Suddenly, she felt that knowing the habits of this odd but healthy and happy family was vital to her own. The new mother was older and wiser, and she knew that different didn’t equate with detriment. Not to mention her firsthand experience: Growing up, she was teased for the homemade—and sometimes pungent—ethnic food in her brown bag lunches, while peers devoured processed food from brightly colored packages. Back then, she was envious of the vending machine snacks in their lunch boxes.
Ms. Eng as a young toddler with her mom, in 1984. (Bang Pham)
Written in 1995 by Sally Fallon Morell, the cookbook is based on Weston A. Price’s 11 dietary principles that emphasize eating real, unprocessed traditional foods. Price, a Canadian dentist, traveled the world in the 1930s, studying isolated indigenous cultures that had not yet been industrialized. He found a strong correlation between their traditional diets and better dental and overall health. The common characteristics from his findings, known as the Wise Traditions principles, include no refined ingredients; choosing traditional animal fats over industrialized seed oils; enjoying lacto-fermented condiments and beverages; and balancing nutrient-dense foods from both land and sea animals, including organ meats, eggs, raw dairy, and fish.
Like others before her, Ms. Eng was captivated by his work. The book gelled with her experiences with healing that came on the heels of dietary changes. In one instance, her husband’s fiercely itchy eczema disappeared when they changed their meat source from supermarket beef to grass-fed and grass-finished beef from a local farm.
It also resonated with her heritage: the rich Vietnamese flavors and traditions that influenced her parents’ wholesome, nutrient-dense cooking and sparked her own lifelong interest in nutrition. She recalled something that her grandfather, who spoke rarely, told her as a child: “Eat to live. Do not live to eat.” So began a journey following a trail of breadcrumbs that would lead her back to her roots.
“I know for a lot of families, Christmas means a roast, but in my neighborhood, Ebenezer Scrooge wouldn’t be giving out a grand turkey. He’d be giving out tamales,” said Danny Trejo. “To me, Christmas has always meant a full table of tamales.”
The legendary “Machete” star might be most recognizable from his villainous, tough-guy roles on-screen—but he also makes a mean chef. Food and hospitality have always played a major role in the actor-turned-entrepreneur’s life, and Mr. Trejo now has a growing restaurant empire that spans multiple locations of Trejo’s Tacos, Trejo’s Cantina, and Trejo’s Coffee and Donuts in Los Angeles; and two cookbooks, “Trejo’s Tacos” and “Trejo’s Cantina.” He shared a recipe from his latest.
“If you’ve never made tamales because you think they’re difficult, this recipe will change your mind,” he writes. “With just an hour of prep, you’ll have two dozen fluffy, amazing tamales to eat for dinner, lunch the next day, with leftovers to freeze and eat down the road.” His recipe uses a classic cheese and chile filling, but he says it works well with other fillings, too: Try chicken or jackfruit tinga, or beef birria.
(Hernan Rodriguez)
Super-Easy Tamales
Makes 30 tamales
30 dried corn husks
1 1/2 cups olive oil
10 cups (2 pounds) masa harina, such as King Arthur
2 (10-ounce) cans roasted chiles, such as Hatch, roughly chopped
Soak the corn husks in a large bowl filled with water until soft, about 1 hour. Place a few cans of beans on top to keep them submerged.
In another large bowl, combine the olive oil, masa harina, baking powder, salt, and broth. Mix with your hands until a pliable dough forms. Knead until smooth, 3 to 5 minutes.
Place a corn husk on a cutting board with the wide end toward you. Using a large spoon, spread 1/4 cup of dough in the center. Shape it into a rough round about 4 inches in diameter. Place 2 tablespoons of cheese lengthwise in the center of the dough. Sprinkle 1 tablespoon of chiles on top of the cheese.
Lift the two sides of the corn husk in toward the center like a book so the two sides of masa meet and cover the filling; then, holding the excess corn husk together, fold and wrap it to one side around the tamale. Fold the top and bottom ends over the tamale and turn it over to hold the folded sides down. Repeat until you have about 30 tamales.
In a large pot fitted with a steamer basket, add enough water to just come up to the level of the steamer basket. Working in batches, arrange the tamales vertically in the steamer basket and turn the heat to medium. Once the water starts to steam, cover the basket and cook until the tamales are fluffy and tender and the cheese is melted, from 30 minutes to 1 hour, depending on how many you cook at a time. The tamales are super tender when they come out of the basket, but will firm up as they sit. Let them cool for 30 minutes before serving. You can also let the tamales completely cool and freeze for up to 1 month.
(Penguin Random House, LLC)
Reprinted with permission from “Trejo’s Cantina” by Danny Trejo with Hugh Carvey, copyright 2023. Photographs by Larchmont Hospitality Group LLC. Published by Clarkson Potter, a division of Penguin Random House, LLC.
My family loves this dish. The pork is relatively low-fat for meat, and the pickled peperoncino peppers give the whole thing a bit of spicy kick. You can prepare this dish with rib pork chops, as called for in this recipe, or loin pork chops, which look like T-bones and are often less expensive. The one important thing to pay attention to is the size of the chops: Make sure they are all about the same size, so they take the same time to cook.
I really like pickled Tuscan peperoncini. I use them in an antipasto, in sandwiches, to make spicy pasta sauces, and I especially love to cook them with pork or chicken. They are a greenish-yellow color, about 1 to 1 1/2 inches long, usually pickled whole with the stem on. You can find them in the Italian or Greek section of the grocery store, usually in a long cylindrical glass bottle.
Serves 4
4 bone-in pork rib chops, 1 inch thick
Kosher salt
All-purpose flour, for dredging
3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
8 pickled Tuscan peperoncini, plus 2 tablespoons brine from the jar
1 large red onion, cut into 8 wedges, left attached at the root end
3 sprigs fresh thyme
1 pound mixed mushrooms (such as cremini, shiitake, button), thickly sliced or quartered
1/2 cup dry white wine
1 cup low-sodium chicken stock
1/4 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley
Season the pork chops with 1/2 teaspoon salt. Spread some flour on a plate, and dredge the chops on both sides. Heat a large cast-iron skillet or low Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the olive oil. When the oil is hot, add the chops, and brown on one side, about 3 minutes. Flip, and brown the second side, 2 to 3 minutes more. Remove them to a plate.
Add the pickled peperoncini and brine. Let them sizzle for a minute; then add the red onion wedges and thyme sprigs and brown the onions on both cut sides, about 3 minutes. Add the mushrooms, and stir to coat them in the pan juices. Season with 1 teaspoon salt. Once the mushrooms have begun to wilt, add the white wine, and simmer to reduce it by half. Pour in the stock, and return the liquid to a simmer. Arrange the chops on top of the mushroom mixture, and cover. Adjust the heat to simmering, and simmer until the chops are just cooked through, about 10 minutes.
Uncover, and remove the chops to a platter or plates. Bring the sauce to a boil to reduce and thicken it slightly, about 1 minute. Stir the parsley into the sauce, then pour the sauce over the chops to serve.
(Courtesy of Kristina Cho/Mooncakes and Milk Bread)
These Chinese sausage and cilantro pancakes are a deviation from the beloved classic green onion pancake. I would take a plateful of crispy green onion pancakes topped with a big spoonful of chili oil over a stack of buttermilk pancakes any day. They should be salty, crispy, and a little greasy (in a good way). Some people like them thin and crunchy, bordering on cracker territory, while others prefer them thick and doughy. In my world, the perfect pancake is light and flaky on the outer rings and progressively doughier and chew- ier toward the center. That chewy center nugget of dough is the best piece to dunk into a generous amount of chili oil.
Thin layers of unleavened dough are rolled up with sesame oil and chopped fillings to create a quick lamination of sorts to create all those layers. The Chinese sausage renders into crunchy bits of sweet and salty pork, and the cilantro brings a welcome freshness. The combination is so delicious, complex, and textually more exciting than the classic green onion pancake.
Don’t stop at Chinese sausage and cilantro though—consider filling your pancakes with other tender herbs such as basil, dill, and tarragon, and maybe swap out the Chinese sausage for crisp bacon or crunchy fried garlic.
Makes 6
300g (2 ½ cups) allpurpose flour
½ teaspoon coarse salt
170g (¾ cup) warm water
¼ cup canola or other neutral flavored oil, plus extra for brushing
3 Chinese sausages, finely chopped
2 tablespoons toasted sesame oil
1 cup fresh cilantro leaves and tender stems, finely chopped
In a medium bowl, combine the flour, salt, and warm water. Mix with a pair of chopsticks or flexible spatula until a shaggy dough forms. Knead with your hands until you form a smooth ball, 6 to 8 minutes. Lightly brush a medium bowl with canola oil. Transfer the dough to the bowl, turn to coat, and cover with plastic wrap. Rest at room temperature for at least 30 minutes, or up to 8 hours. (The longer the dough rests at room temperature, the flakier the pancakes will be.)
In a medium skillet over medium-high heat, cook the sausage, stirring occasionally, until the fat renders and sausage is crispy, 3 to 4 minutes. Transfer the sausage to a bowl to cool completely.
On a lightly floured surface, divide the dough into six equal pieces, preferably with a digital scale. Lightly brush a wooden cutting board with canola oil. Roll one piece of dough into a roughly 6 x 10-inch rectangle. Brush the dough with some sesame oil and sprinkle some sausage and cilantro evenly over the surface. Starting at a long edge, tightly roll up the dough into a 10-inch-long rope, pressing out trapped air. Starting at one end, form the rope into a coil shape, tucking the opposite end underneath at the end. Set aside and repeat with remaining dough, sesame oil, sausage, and cilantro to form six pancakes. (Brush the cutting board with more canola oil as needed.) When you’ve formed the last pancake, cover the coils with a kitchen towel and allow them to rest for 15 minutes. (Don’t be tempted to skip this step, as the pancakes will not roll out as easily without a proper rest.)
Working with one piece at a time, gently flatten each coil with the palm of your hand, then roll into a 6-inch round. Place on a parchment paper–lined baking sheet. If the pancake bursts in some places, don’t panic! That’s natural! It will still cook just fine. In a heavy-bottomed skillet, heat the ¼ cup canola oil over medium-high until shimmering. Cook one pancake in the oil until the underside is golden brown, 1 to 2 minutes, then flip and cook the other side until golden brown, 1 to 2 minutes more. Place the pancake on a baking sheet fitted with a wire rack. Repeat with the remaining pancakes and serve. (The pancakes are best eaten soon after frying.)
Uncooked pancakes can be stored in the freezer for up to 3 months. Sandwich the pancakes between 7-inch squares of parchment paper, then place the stack in a resealable plastic bag and freeze. Do not thaw the pancakes before cooking and frying as you would fresh pancakes.
Cooked pancakes can be refrigerated in an airtight container for up to 3 days. Reheat the pancakes on a baking sheet in a 400-degree oven until hot, 8 to 10 minutes.
