At New York City’s Carbone—and its younger Las Vegas outpost in Aria Resort—Berkshire pork spare ribs from Heritage Foods are brushed with a sweet, garlic glaze, finished over a wood fire, then topped with a mixture of fresh and pickled chiles. “I love this dish because it’s completely non-traditional to the Italian-American menu,” says chef Mario Carbone. “It’s a curveball that we throw, but somehow, once it hits the table, it looks perfectly at home.” 

Fresh cherry peppers come into season in late summer and often can be found at farmers markets and Italian grocery stores. (If you can’t track them down, though, thinly sliced green jalapeños will get the job done.) Pickled cherry peppers are available year-round in well-stocked supermarkets and online. The individual components of this recipe can be made a day or more ahead of time, and the final step is a quick and easy one, making Carbone’s cherry pepper ribs an impressive flex for outdoor entertaining. At his restaurants, the ribs are served over a bed of coleslaw, but any crunchy fresh salad would make a fine accompaniment. — Kat Craddock

Note: Slow cooking the meat in a layer of plastic wrap seals in its flavor and moisture, mimicking the effect of sous vide cooking. However, if you prefer not to cook in plastic, you may also omit this layer and bake only aluminum foil. We tested a plastic-free version and found the ribs still came out tender and juicy. 

The post Carbone’s Cherry Pepper Ribs appeared first on Saveur.

This recipe is brought to you by SAVEUR Cookbook Club, our passionate community of food-loving readers from around the globe celebrating our favorite authors and recipes. Join us as we cook through cookbooks new and old, and share your food pics and vids on social media with the hashtags #SAVEURCookbookClub and #EatTheWorld.

New potatoes will roast to a fudgy texture, like little balls of gnocchi. Score them deeply, toast rack style, and they will crisp nicely, too.

Reprinted with permission from A Cook’s Book: The Essential Nigel Slater by Nigel Slater, copyright © 2023. Published by Ten Speed Press, an imprint of Penguin Random House.

The post Roasted New Potatoes with Creamed Spinach and Crispy Garlic appeared first on Saveur.

Welcome to SAVEUR’s column on making the most of local produce according to contributing editor Fatima Khawaja. Here you’ll find creative, unfussy meal ideas plus plenty of cooking advice—like what to do with that bumper crop of zucchini or how to store delicate heirloom tomatoes. Follow along, and you’ll learn how to turn the season’s bounty into easy plant-based meals.

Showcasing vegetables at their very best all comes down to doing the bare minimum to let fresh, seasonal ingredients shine. In this recipe, roasted parsnips’ earthy sweetness sings alongside salty feta and sharp onions. It’s the ideal side dish to pair with hearty winter stews and roasts. Take care not to overcook this lovely root, to best allow the ingredients’ distinct textures to play together in every bite.

The post Roasted Parsnips and Onions with Sumac and Feta appeared first on Saveur.

The holidays call for big, bold roasts and braises. Whether you opt to stuff a bird, glaze a ham, or wrestle with an unwieldy leg of lamb, there’s no better time to splurge on a memorable main. Here are our favorite celebratory dishes from around the globe—from Georgian roast chicken to no-fuss beef stew to rib-sticking Hungarian goulash.

Leg of Lamb with Herb-Garlic Crust

This festive lamb roast recipe from the late, great food writer Johnny Apple conjures up the era when people knew their butcher by name. Get the recipe >

Kalbi-Jjim (Kimchi- and Red Wine-Braised Short Ribs)

This autumn stew recipe from Gage & Tollner chef Sohui Kim is a nod to classic kalbi-jjim (or galbi jjim) while also applying French technique, which often involves braising meat in wine to introduce depth of flavor. Says Kim, “I’ve come to firmly believe that red wine and soy sauce can and should coexist—just like the unexpected assortment of dishes and people that make their way to the table at Thanksgiving and somehow meld in the warmth of togetherness.” Get the recipe >

Baked Broccoli Polenta with Roasted Mushrooms

Vegetarians know better than anyone that Thanksgiving dinner is all about the accompaniments. This recipe from writer Julia Sherman is the marriage of two brilliantly simple but satisfying side dishes—crispy pan-fried polenta and cheesy roasted broccoli. Gild the lily by topping the dish with savory roasted mushrooms and you’ve got a plant-based main course that even the most hardened carnivores will love. Get the recipe >

Sumac Roast Chicken with Lemon and Garlic

Cookbook author Suzanne Zeidy cooks this juicy chicken—rubbed all over in bracing, floral sumac—in a rotisserie, but a grill or oven yields equally delicious results. Get the recipe >

Roasted Fresh Ham with Orange Glaze

Fresh uncured ham makes a wonderful holiday roast: tender and marbled but not fatty. Oranges, with their clean, citrusy spark, are an excellent foil for the pork’s richness. Get the recipe >

Foda à Moda de Monção (Portuguese Lamb with Bacon and Saffron Rice)

The recipe for this traditional Portuguese dish from the Vinho Verde region comes to us from winemaker Joana Santiago. The meaty dish was originally cooked in a wood-fired oven, then finished and served in a terra cotta “torto” roaster conveniently shaped in such a way that the leg rests directly over the rice. This allows heat to circulate all around it while still letting its flavorful juices drip into the saffron-scented rice below. Consider the old-school terra cotta roaster an optional flourish for this festive roast. Get the recipe >

Pernil Asado con Mojo (Cuban Citrus-Marinated Pork Shoulder)

This pork shoulder recipe is an adaptation of a celebratory Cuban dish made with a whole suckling pig. An overnight marinate in garlicky mojo and a generous fat cap ensures that the slow-roasted meat cooks up tender and juicy every time. Get the recipe >

Bò Kho (Vietnamese-Style Beef Stew with Lemongrass, Ginger, and Garlic)

Our chief content officer, Kate Berry, and her mother, Kim Nguyen, often make this comforting and aromatic stew to celebrate festive occasions. Over the years, Nguyen has adapted the traditional Vietnamese recipe to her own tastes and to the ingredients available to her in Orange County, California. Adaptations aside, the two women, both avid gardeners, never skimp on the classic accompaniments—a bountiful mix of fresh herbs, scallion, and lime. Get the recipe >

Georgian Roast Chicken With Bazhe Sauce

Bazhe is a velvety, coriander-scented walnut sauce that’s a staple of Georgian home cooking. In Georgia you’ll often find it served chilled as a sidekick to cold boiled chicken, but we love it even more alongside a freshly roasted bird. The heat draws out the spices’ bouquet and the walnuts’ fragrant oils. Dribble walnut oil over the sauce for extra decadence. Get the recipe >

Rogan Josh (Kashmiri Chile–Braised Lamb)

Smoky red Kashmiri chile powder and ghee are the foundations of this festive lamb shank recipe from Ahdoos Hotel in Srinagar, Kashmir. Get the recipe >

Fire-Roasted Duck & Pheasant with Red Currant Jelly

Fred Morin and Dave McMillan of Joe Beef in Montreal cook a mix of birds over flames and embers, using hooks and chains to suspend and rotate them (different-size birds will cook at different speeds). “The spin, the way the fat drips down, all combines to make a wonderfully burnished bird,” says McMillan. Ambitious home cooks can hang birds using twine or wire over a backyard fire, or simply roast birds on a rack set in a roasting pan in the (indoor) oven. Get the recipe >

Quail Civet

Dainty game birds cook to fall-off-the-bone perfection with sherry and aromatics in this lighter civet variation. Get the recipe >

Spanish Almond Chicken with Saffron-Wine Sauce

Simmered with garlic and spices, pollo en salsa de almendras is one of Iberia’s great unsung comfort foods. The paprika oil drizzled on top at the very end adds not only gorgeous crimson color but a campfire-y smokiness that knits the flavors together. Get the recipe >

Spice-Rubbed Venison Loin with Red Wine Sauce

Good venison is buttery and beefy, hardly gamey at all. Because the loin is so lean, it is best cooked over a steady push of medium-high heat—not high heat, which creates a bull’s-eye effect. To help the outside caramelize, chef and cookbook author Amy Thielen adds malted milk powder to the spice rub, which also adds a subtle, nutty richness to the final sauce. Get the recipe >

Honey-Glazed Roast Pork with Apples

Normans use apples and cider in many savory preparations—with game, poultry, even fish. In this classic pork dish from Jean-François Guillouet-Huard, of Domaine Michel Huard, it’s important to use a slightly tart variety so the end result isn’t too sweet. Get the recipe >

Piccolo Pete’s Prime Rib

Prime rib is a beloved steakhouse specialty. One of our favorite versions comes from the now-defunct Piccolo Pete’s, a Nebraska restaurant where the meat was rubbed with Italian spices and blasted with high heat to form a flavorful crust. Get the recipe >

Venison Civet

Transport yourself to the Pyrenees by making this rustic Catalan game stew flavored with fruity red wine, chocolate, and fresh herbs. Get the recipe >

Efo Riro (Nigerian-Style Chicken Stew with Greens, Spinach, and Iru)

In the language of the Yoruba people of Western Nigeria, efo riro means “stirred leaf,” referencing the bitter shoko leaf it’s often made with. (But don’t be discouraged if you can’t find it—spinach makes a suitable substitute.) Get the recipe >

Georgian Beef Kharcho

Kharcho is a catch-all term for spicy Georgian beef stew. Some versions are brothy and flecked with rice, while others, like this one served at Salobie Bia in Tbilisi, are ultra-thick and all about the ground walnuts and spices. Get the recipe >

Braised Beef Stew with Garlic Cream

A silky garlic cream adds welcome zing to this dish that hails from Chile. We love spreading leftover sauce on sandwiches and wraps. Get the recipe >

Hungarian Goulash

Hungarian sweet paprika confers a singularly deep, rich color and flavor to this classic beef stew. We love serving it with rye bread, sour cream, and torn dill fronds. Get the recipe >

Juniper Berry-Crusted Rack of Venison with Mostarda

A sweet-and-sour pear-berry mostarda makes a perfect sidekick to this lean yet flavorful roast. Get the recipe >

Spiced Honey-Glazed Spiral Ham

Though spiral-cut ham comes fully cooked, a low, slow roast gets the juices flowing and caramelizes its sticky, spiced glaze. This recipe from Thomas Keller’s Bouchon Bistro scented with cinnamon and clove is a holiday family-meal favorite. Get the recipe >

The post Our Most Show-Stopping Holiday Roasts and Braises appeared first on Saveur.

I love to cook roasts for my family and friends. As a chef, I like to surprise my guests with different textures and tastes, and I often find that a simple, family-sized protein is the perfect canvas for experimentation. In England, where I live, the concept of the “roast” can mean many things. In the winter, the term might refer to a grand and pastry-wrapped beef Wellington or pot roast. Come springtime, the Sunday roast might instead be a leg of lamb. But in the fall, in my house and so many others’, the Sunday roast is a simple roast chicken.

Roast chicken also happens to be frequently served for lunch in schools throughout much of the country. Slow and steady, the roasting method lends itself well to feeding a crowd of hungry kids. Those bland and overcooked cafeteria birds never much resonated with my daughter Reet, though, and until recently, she would not eat our home-roasted chickens. For her, I developed this juicy and exceptionally flavorful recipe. 

I find that crispy sweet potatoes work nicely with this autumn dish, but if you prefer, parsnips or butternut squash are wonderful too. Served alongside a fresh green salad, this succulent bird makes a well-balanced and affordable family Sunday supper. 

Note that I started testing this dish using the tandoor in my Bristol restaurant kitchen. The traditional South Asian oven cooks very quickly and results in juicy meat with a wonderfully smoky flavor. If you would like to approximate this method, remove the skin before adding the spice paste and roast the bird using indirect heat over a covered charcoal or wood-fired grill.

The post Spicy Maple Roasted Chicken with Sweet Potato Oven Fries appeared first on Saveur.

That time of year has arrived, when I haul my vintage 1940s electric roaster out of storage and crank it on for the annual holiday turkey roast. The generations of home cooks in my family who did so before me are long gone, but that old Nesco Roastryte keeps going, re-anchoring me to this season from which I’ve occasionally disconnected when loss or upheaval intervened. Each time its red light blinks on, I’m a little more grateful. 

“Years and years of turkeys in that roaster,” my father-in-law Kevin Hennessy recently recalled. “I don’t think we ever had to repair it.”

The Milwaukee-based National Enameling and Stamping Company released the first iteration of its portable electric roaster oven in 1931—which was then toted around rural parts of the state by the Wisconsin Electrical Company to promote the use of electricity in homes, which until then relied on wood-burning stoves. (Today, the snappier-named Nesco makes all manner of slow cookers and pressure cookers, meat grinders and dehydrators, and a sleek line of porcelain-walled roasters that scarcely resemble those early models.) 

My family’s Roastryte—a hulking, enameled-steel cooker whose manufacture date we unscientifically placed sometime in the 1940s—has endured through four generations and counting. My husband Sean’s late grandmother, a no-nonsense Irish American named Pat Hennessy, probably inherited the roaster from her mother Margaret McGuire. Pat in turn passed down the roaster to her son Kevin and his wife Betsy (my husband’s parents) when they took up the mantle of hosting Thanksgiving at their suburban Chicago home, with scarcely enough oven space for Betsy’s legendary pies. She would, therefore, balance the cooker on a card table in the den, amidst baskets heaped with her knitting supplies and stacks of Kevin’s historical-nonfiction reads that spilled over from the bookcase. Sometimes, when living-room space was scarce, the roaster was relegated to the basement—the bird’s delicious, muted aromas wafting up the rickety staircase.

The first time I laid eyes on the Roastryte, I’d brought my parents and sister over to my future in-laws’ home for our first Thanksgiving together. Sweating anxiously through my collared polyester dress, I perched on the couch opposite the roaster, its windowed lid beading with condensation while a 20-pound turkey sizzled away inside. Though the living room was furnished with reminders that this was not a place for cooking, this disembodied oven with its chipped facade industriously subverted that order. Something about that heartened me. I’d later come to associate that image with the roaster’s genially subversive then-owner Betsy, whose snowman turtleneck and sweater-vest sets belied a deceptively progressive core. 

A few years later, barely three weeks after Thanksgiving in 2009, Betsy died of ovarian cancer, and Sean and I inherited the Roastryte somewhere in an unending fog of grief. We shoved it into a storage locker while trying to survive a holiday season that, for us, held only pain and loss. 

In 2012 after Kevin remarried, and Sean and I bought our first place on Chicago’s northwest side, it was our turn to host a newly knitted-together family for Thanksgiving dinner, served on Betsy’s toile-patterned china. Oven space was scant, owing to my overwrought lineup of appetizers and sides, so we hauled out the Roastryte and set it on a wooden end table in the office, its edges looming precariously above the newly re-carpeted floor. 

When I cracked the appliance’s lid to check the turkey’s temperature an hour later, Betsy materialized in my mind amid the rush of steam to hover approvingly over my shoulder in her favorite frilly apron. She cheerfully recounted one year when the baster misfired and sprayed the carpet instead of the turkey. 

Unsure if that story was real or imagined, I felt comforted all the same, my shoulders relaxing a few inches—new carpet be damned! The cooker belonged wherever it was, roasting the centerpiece of a holiday feast. And in the end, the bird came out flawlessly—the skin golden and crackly, the meat miraculously moist. The rest of the dinner, however, flopped spectacularly. Someone didn’t like the wine; someone else had too much and decided to bring up politics. Or was it religion? 

The following year, Sean and I flew to Palm Springs for a steakhouse Thanksgiving of prime rib and ice-cold martinis. For a few more seasons, the roaster lay dormant as we spent holidays away from home—skipping one Christmas, gifts and all, to fly to Austria with my sister and brother-in-law; driving up to Taos, New Mexico, another Thanksgiving to grill stuffed chickens. But inevitably, Sean and I would return from these trips with a hankering for a stuffed holiday turkey and plug in the roaster for a late-January feast. Its light would kick on to register its approval at another year of burnt turkey fat decorating its already well-seasoned interior.

On the Roastryte’s lustrous gold temperature panel is a whole host of suggested temperatures for the many dishes one might cook in the appliance: 275 degrees Fahrenheit for baked beans; 325 for poultry, custard; 375 for onions, cakes, and fish (my favorite tier); 400 for cookies and apples. Each year that we bring the roaster out, I announce that this time I will cook something other than turkey in it. But I never do. 

When I asked Kevin if previous Roastryte owners ever used it for, say, a pork roast or cobbler, he replied decisively: “Roaster was used only for turkeys. It had a turkey funk in it.”

As another holiday season descends, the roaster again hibernates in a storage unit some 1,500 miles away from its longtime Chicago home, along with the rest of the life that Sean and I uprooted to Southern New Mexico this past fall. We’ll haul it out just in time for Christmas, but our new high-desert home, buried in boxes, isn’t quite up to hosting yet. 

This year, it’s my sister’s turn to convene her first-ever holiday feast on the good talavera china in her yellow adobe house in Las Cruces, New Mexico. My parents will pass through en route to Tucson, and there will be stuffed turkey, of course. She’s worried there’s not enough oven space, but I’m not.

The post The Chipped Plug-In Roaster That Anchors My Holidays appeared first on Saveur.

There used to be a time when all people did with their Thanksgiving turkeys was roast them in a pan. Sure, there was the annual round of timorous self-questioning beforehand: Should I stuff the bird, and with what? Did I tie the legs last year or leave them untrussed? Should I brine it? How will I know when it’s done roasting?

Roasting turkey has its moments of doubt for sure, like how to treat a large-breasted bird versus a heritage one (the answer: rely on thermometers not clocks), and we’ve all suffered through the occasional turkey so overcooked that no amount of gravy could save it. But when done right, it can be a masterpiece of nostalgia and deliciousness. And I miss the simpler days, before all the fuss of spatchcocking and brining, when all you had to do on Thanksgiving was put a damned turkey in the oven.

In culinary school, we were taught the simple, universal principles of perfect roasting: shape the meat so that the parts get cooked as evenly as possible, get a nice brown crust on the outside using a targeted amount of high heat, and keep air evenly circulating all around the meat at all times. We didn’t rely on recipes—we took temperature (the sweet spot is pulling the meat out around 145° for most roasts) or checked the color of running juices in the thickest parts to determine doneness (for turkey, they should be relatively clear, not too pink). We learned to salt by instinct. And we basted the meat, well, if or when it looked like it needed to be basted. Point being: roasting is about instinct. If you trust yourself, there’s really not much that can go wrong.

Because even the best roast turkeys are usually still just pretty good, I’ve let my friends and family talk me into a thousand different turkey cooking methods. Probably like you, I’ve flipped through decades of magazine articles—and even written some myself—touting new turkey ideas and flavorings. I’ve survived novel-length family email chains, all seeking to answer the question “How should we do our turkey this year?”

One year, we confited the legs and roasted the breasts separately (probably my favorite of the experiments). More than once we’ve deep-fried our turkey in a vat of peanut oil in a gadget invented specifically for deep-frying turkeys. We’ve wet-brined in giant tubs. We’ve injected flavorings into our turkey with a syringe. I’ve roasted a bird partially upside down, and slow-grilled a turkey over indirect heat from coals. I’ve never had a turkey cooked underground, but I’m sure someone has, and that person would be glad to tell you all about how just okay it was. I’ve had smoked turkey. And a bird sous vide in parts. But never have I ever had a turkey that really blew me away.

Our Complete Guide to the Best Thanksgiving Recipes

That’s because turkey is just never going to be the king of meats. Even the blandest Butterballs versions have at least some gamey flavor, and even the plumpest don’t have quite enough fat to keep the disproportionate amounts of meat juicy or yield many decadent pickings beyond that bronzed, paper-thin shell of crispy skin (as good as it may be).

To me (and I’m not alone), simply salting and roasting is and always will be the easiest, most classic, and least absurd way to get crispy, deeply browned skin, and meat that’s not water-logged or so salty it tastes like it came from the ocean (read: wet-brined). So slap some salt on the skin, give it a day to dry off in the fridge, and then, guys, just put the damned turkey in the oven.

Here are my methods to a simple but iconic roasted bird:

Pre-Salt Generously

Even I have been guilty of calling this method “dry brining” before—mostly because that name makes salting a turkey sound like an adequate and valid defense against the die-hard wet briners out there, bless their patient souls. But, as brining has everything to do with soaking in salty liquid (which I think creates unnaturally spongy meat), we should really just call this step pre-salting.

One day before cooking, pat the fresh or fully defrosted bird dry with paper towels and salt and pepper it very well all over. Refrigerate it, uncovered and breast side up, for a full day, letting any excess moisture from the skin evaporate.

Add Fat if You Want To

Because turkey breast is especially lean, I like to rub softened fat beneath the skin just before roasting. It melts and gives the meat extra flavor, richness, and moisture. Duck fat is wonderful for this, and it fortifies the poultry flavors, but unsalted butter works well, too. You really don’t need to baste the meat with more fat as it cooks. A combination of low-heat and high-heat roasting helps render then crisp the skin.

Don’t Bother Trussing

Part of the blame for dry white meat turkey actually falls on the legs: Because they take longer to cook through, by the time they are done, the breast may be overcooked. The meat in the fold between the thigh and the breast can be some of the last meat to finish cooking when trussed. Trussing prevents air from circulating around and between the legs, which can cause them to take even longer to cook.

I don’t tuck the wings either, but if you’re cooking a massive bird (above 15 pounds), you may want to tent them part of the way through with foil to prevent the tips from burning.

Stuff—But Not With Stuffing

Especially if you’re not trussing the legs, adding some aromatics into the cavity of the bird seems to help slow the cooking process and prevent dried-out white meat. I fill mine with a combination of halved lemons and shallots, cut heads of garlic, and bushels of herbs. (If desired, after your turkey is done roasting, you can squeeze out the roasted garlic cloves and whisk them into your gravy for added flavoring.)

Heat From Low to High

For forever, I started my bird on high heat to kick-start the browning of the skin, then lowered it to roast slowly the remainder of the way. This works well enough. But the best crispy skin I’ve ever achieved came from starting off at low temperature (usually 350°), when the skin can more fully render onto the meat, and then finishing the turkey on higher heat (around 425°).

And Don’t Worry About Basting

Basting or brushing the bird with the juices and drippings from the pan presents several problems. For one, it distributes more moisture onto the top skin of the bird, preventing the outermost layer from getting crispy. But secondly, it slowly steals from the pan juices that can and should later become your gravy. In this particular recipe, you do not need to baste in order to achieve crispy bronze skin. But if you insist, baste with rendered duck fat or from a fresh cup of olive oil instead.

The post The Best Way to Roast a Thanksgiving Turkey is to Stop Worrying About It appeared first on Saveur.

Presenting a whole turkey to the holiday table has its advantages: most notably the Instagrammable drama and a priceless opportunity to impress the in-laws. But while they have their fans those Rockwell roasts are so often a dry and chewy disappointment, not to mention that filling the oven for hours while coordinating a multicourse family dinner is inefficient, stressful, and unnecessary. At this year’s Thanksgiving, I’ll be taking a cue from the restaurant world and cooking my turkey in pieces.

Butchering a turkey (or any poultry for that matter) is simple once you get the hang of it, and all you really need is a sharp paring knife to nimbly carve it away from the carcass; this great video from Chef Jacques Pépin shows us how it’s done with a chicken and the technique for breaking down a turkey is identical.

There are plenty of reasons to cut your bird into primal cuts before roasting. If you chose to use them, brines and marinades need only a few hours to penetrate the smaller pieces. Then, once they’re in the oven, you can temp the legs and breast separately. This allows the meat to brown and cook more evenly: just pull the individual pieces out onto a platter as the skin crisps and the meat reaches a perfect, juicy 165°.

The deconstructed bird is ideal for last-minute dinners as well as extra-large groups. It cooks in less than half the time of whole roasting – as little as an hour for smaller turkeys – and it frees up more space in the oven, giving you more control over the rest of the meal. Use that extra time and space to cook two or three turkeys at once, or max out your servingware on fresh bread, extra side dishes and desserts.

Get the recipe for Fast and Easy Turkey in Parts

Breaking the turkey down ahead of time also gives you the opportunity to get ahead on gravy prep by freeing up most of the bones in advance. Simmer the carcass with aromatic vegetables for a big batch of turkey stock, which can be used to make a pro pan gravy, a dish of dressing and even day-after dishes like turkey noodle soup or turkey breakfast hash.

The post Roast Your Thanksgiving Turkey in Parts for the Fastest, Juiciest Bird appeared first on Saveur.

You don’t need to go all out with a lobster and steak dinner to get the best of both the land and sea. On Ireland’s Dingle peninsula, lamb is the ultimate surf-and-turf just by itself. These happy little sheep lambs are munching all day on grass that is kissed by a salty sea breeze that sweeps across the peninsula, adding a distinct salty flavor to the meat. Mark Murphy, head of the Dingle Cookery School, goes an extra step, adding local seaweed, which is rich not just in salt but also umami, like tomato and parmesan.

This crust involves pulsing seaweed in a food processor until powdery with bread crumbs, celery leaves, and some salt and pepper. But you can try adding seaweed to whatever spice rub or meat crust you like. Just a couple minutes in the processor and voila: the surf portion of your meal is ready to go.

If you find yourself with leftover seaweed, there’s still plenty you can do with it. Make your own kimbap, or throw it in a salad.

The post Roast Meat With a Seaweed Crust for the Ultimate Surf-n-Turf appeared first on Saveur.

We’ll tell you upfront: these potatoes are going to take time. Probably about three hours. And you should resist the urge to rush them, because as with all good things, they’re worth the wait. So grab a book or turn on the TV and kick back for a few hours as you wait for your yams to bubble and caramelize into the best sweet potatoes of your life, care of Philadelphia chef Michael Solomonov.

First, rub the sweet potatoes with olive oil, salt, pepper, and dill seeds until they’re evenly coated. Then arrange them on a foil-lined baking sheet and start the low, slow cooking at 275°. The slow-cook will convert more starches into sugars and caramelize more of those sugars for deeper browned flavor. Lastly, broil them for an extra dose of leopard-spotting, whip up a garlic-labneh sauce, and snip on some chives.

If you’re crunched for time, we have other ways to sate that sweet potato craving. Drench them in miso or give them a faster roasting, or layer them onto a vegetable sandwich with plenty of salsa. But do give this one a shot; it may be your new favorite thing too.

Get the recipe for Slow-Roasted Sweet Potatoes »

The post How We’re Making All Our Baked Potatoes From Now On appeared first on Saveur.