Andrew Carmellini

When I worked in Gray Kunz's kitchens at Lespinasse, there was an honest-to-God Swiss princess living at the St. Regis Hotel. Her name was Princess Doria, and every night, she would phone down to the kitchen and tell us what she wanted to eat for dinner. In the beginning, Gray would cook for her himself: he was Swiss, she was Swiss, it was a whole Swiss thing going on. But after a while, he got tired of taking her calls, and the job devolved to me and the sous chefs. Every night, that phone would ring, and I would say, "Good evening, Princess," and she would tell me what she wanted to eat that night. Princess Doria wasn't into super-fancy creative cooking: her thing was refined-but-homey. Some- times, for example, it would be a roastpintadefor two: I would plate the breast for her, and the thighs for her cat. So I developed some dishes that were just for her. I named them after her: Salad Doria, Chicken Doria. And sometimes on cold winter nights, she would call down and say, "Andrew, I would like some Soup Doria tonight, please." Time passed. I left Lespinasse to travel and cook in France. When I got back to New York, I helped open Le Cirque 2000 in the Palace Hotel. We'd been up and running about two weeks when the kitchen phone rang by my station one night, right in the middle of the busiest part of service. I heard a familiar voice say, in French-accented tones, "Andrew?" Princess Doria on the line. She'd moved on to the Palace right behind me, and she would be pleased, she said, if I would send up some Soup Doria for her. This soup is just Princess Doria's style. It's really apotage—a French minestrone, a chunky winter vegetable soup. I like to sprinkle Parmesan cheese on top and serve it with some crusty, crunchy French bread.

Grits are one of the most iconic Southern foods around—so, being a red-blooded Northern boy, I thought I'd mess with them. I'm not totally unqualified, since grits aren't all that different from Italian dishes like risotto and polenta—but when I started thinking about how to brighten them up and make them a little more lively, I ended up over in the American Southwest. Go figure. Cooking time and liquid-to-grits ratios will be different depending on the type of grits you use, so make sure you check the directions on the box for that. These amounts are for Anson Mills Carolina Whole Hominy Quick Grits, which I like a lot.

My life is all about banging things out, getting things done, moving fast—but sometimes a detour from the fast lane can be a good thing, even for me. Years ago, Gwen and I were on our way home from a road trip to the Canadian Maritimes when we were forced off the highway by some epic construction. We ended up on a wandering road that took us through a charming series of dying industrial towns. There was not much to see... and definitely nothing to eat. But then, in Fall River, Massachusetts, right at the border of Rhode Island, we stumbled across culinary gold: an old gas station converted into a root beer stand. The owner, a retired A&W root beer guy, was behind the counter; all he served was root beer in frosted glasses. Our root beer came with a long lecture about chilling the glass, not the root beer itself (that kills the taste). We sat at a broken-down old picnic table and sipped. I'm all about root beer, and that roadside glassful was the best I ever tasted. This recipe is my stab at bringing that taste to cake—because the only thing better than root beer is root beer plus cake. There's a mad-scientist component to this recipe: when you whisk the baking soda into the molasses and root beer, there's going to be some crazy bubbling up going on, straight out of sci-fi. Don't worry: it's completely normal.

The ricotta needs to drain overnight for this recipe, so begin one day ahead. Grade B maple syrup has a deeper flavor than Grade A; it's available at Trader Joe's and specialty foods stores, and from vermontcountrystore.com.

Surprisingly, it takes half a gallon of milk to get 1 1/2 cups of fresh ricotta. You'll need a double batch to have enough for the gnocchi. For the moistest, lightest consistency, let the curds drain only aslong as specified.

Many wild-mushroom combinations work; buy three to four varieties. Chanterelle, oyster, maitake (hen-of-the-woods), brown beech, stemmed shiitake, and black trumpet mushrooms would all be delicious.

These dessert soufflés are light and satisfying. The vermouth really brings the sauce together.

卢克·奥斯特罗姆是一个伟大的厨师。我们一起工作for a long time; we've spent long nights drinking and talking food; we even traveled through Italy together. He knows his stuff, no doubt. So when he tells me we should try something, I usually listen. But when he started going on about orzo in our opening-menu-planning sessions, I was less than enthusiastic. He loved it when he was a kid, he said. It was so soul-satisfying and delicious, he said. It would make a great side dish on our menu, he said. But I wasn't buying it. I thought orzo was the kind of comfort food you fed to children and invalids: too bland, too soft, too ... boring. Boy, was I wrong. Luke's take on orzo can definitely qualify as comfort food: it's hearty, warm, and delicious, the kind of thing you can't stop eating. But it's also grown-up and complex: the wild mushrooms give it a rich earthiness, and the orzo has a great mouth-feel. It's sort of like the mushroom risotto of your dreams—only it's way easier. It's a great match with poultry or meat; but as far as I'm concerned, ain't nothing wrong with sitting down to a big heaping bowlful of this stuff all on its own, topped with a handful of Parmigiano-Reggiano.