Cook's Illustrated

My parents used to tend a highly productive asparagus patch at the edge of our garden until one day a new neighbor moved in next door. As part of the sale, they checked property lines, and our beloved patch of “grass” changed addresses overnight. This corrective surveying had the unfortunate effect of pushing me to crime. Unable to get fresh asparagus at home, I ventured into a few of my neighbors’ yards to share in their bounties. It’s not my proudest memory, but it does speak loudly about my infatuation with this herbaceous perennial. Especially compared with other green vegetables: Let’s just say I wasn’t bending morals to harvest broccoli. Asparagus’s green-and-purple tips emerging from soil are one of the earliest edible indicators of spring, bested only by rhubarb here in…

Fill Spice Jars Without a Hitch When Warren Kitzmann of Minneapolis, Minn., used a funnel to help fill small jars with bagged bulk spices, he found that the spices didn’t flow well through the narrow neck of the funnel. Now he does the job with a disposable pastry bag, the bottom cut to just fit into the openings of the jars. The larger channel of the bag makes the filling process much smoother; plus, there’s no spice spillage and the bag is reusable. Keep a Stash of Pasta Water After boiling pasta, J. McAuliffe of Grand Blanc, Mich., reduces the cooking water to concentrate the starch and then freezes the water into cubes. The starchy ice is perfect for adding body to sauces and soups—and for the occasions when he forgets to reserve…

The joys of stir-fried beef and broccoli enhanced with a jolt of dark, saline-sweet oyster sauce can’t be overstated. Whether the vegetable is the standard variety or the Chinese type, gai lan, the trio comes together seamlessly, producing a savory, mineral-y synergy that belies its simplicity. Like many such long-standing favorites, beef and broccoli is thought to have originated in the mid-1800s when Chinese workers migrated from the Pearl River Delta to coastal California. We don’t know precisely when the dish emerged or exactly what form it took—documentation of the food these workers prepared is virtually nonexistent—but it presumably followed the trajectory of similar staples: Nascent recipes catered to Chinese tastes but shifted toward the Western palate over time. To wit: A once vegetable-forward stir-fry of gai lan, beef, and oyster…

Book a table at nearly any of the seaside restaurants of Portugal’s Algarve region, the country’s sandy and rugged southernmost coast, and it won’t be long before you witness a signature local spectacle: a server bringing a hammered copper clamshell-shaped pot to a table; unsnapping its latches; and lifting its top to unveil a hearty, steaming stew. This unique vessel and the dishes cooked and served in it go by the same name: cataplana. The origins of the pot are somewhat hazy—some say fishermen used cataplanas as lunch boxes of sorts, taking them out on their boats to store their catches and then transferring them right to the fire when it came time to cook—but it is easy to understand the stew’s lasting appeal: It’s at once simple, one-pot fare…

To make carciofialla giudia, the fried artichokes that Roman Jews have prepared for centuries during the thistle’s spring harvest, cooks start by plucking the tough bracts off a bunch of very fresh blooms. Next, they trim and strip the stalks of their fibrous skin and carve the blossoms to expose their inner cone of tender, chartreuse leaves. Then they deep-fry the artichokes a few at a time—twice. Once to soften up the vegetable’s dense heart, and again to make the petals unfurl and crisp. It’s a lot of ceremony for a simple primo, but according to Joyce Goldstein, chef and author of several books, including Cucina Ebraica: Flavors of the Italian Jewish Kitchen (1998), the fuss was intentional for Renaissance-era Jews. When they were banished to the ghetto along the Tiber…

As I spooned sizzling, red-tinged butter over my awaiting plate of yogurt and a wobbly poached egg, painting rusty swirls across the stark white canvas, the voice of Turkish culinary expert Filiz Hösükoğlu echoed in my head. “When you see the colors yellow, white, and red, it looks so simple,” Hösükoğlu told me when I asked her to describe çılbır (pronounced “CHILL-burr”), a hot meze and light meal cooked in homes all over Turkey. “But when you eat, the result is not so simple.” “It’s like a good friend: It fits all days.”–Filiz Hösükoğlu, Turkish culinary expert The moment I broke into the egg, allowing its golden yolk to ooze across the plate, and then scooped and took a bite, I understood exactly what Hösükoğlu meant. Çılbır is a beloved, homey dish…