The Balthazar Cookbook : My Personal Cooking School

I arrived in the United States from Soviet Russia in 1989, at age 11, at the end of a particularly frigid February—the same year, incidentally, that Taylor Swift was born. Since my family came from a country where foreign influences, particularly those of the “imperialist American aggressor,” were banned, I didn’t grow up with a well-worn copy of Julia Child’s Mastering the Art of French Cooking or its American-cuisine counterparts, The Fanny Farmer Cookbook and Joy of Cooking .

In the ’90s, while in high school and then college, I taught myself to cook largely by trial. Error, as well as from magazine and newspaper recipe clippings— Gourmet (RIP!), Bon Appétit , Saveur , the Boston Globe , and The New York Times —and it wasn’t until after I graduated from college that I kicked off buying cookbooks for myself. In the hands of Hanson and Nasr—who left the group in 2014 and at present run the well-reviewed upscale bistro Frenchette—Balthazar, with its reliable brasserie repertoire, like duck confit, escargots, steak frites, tarte tatin, and many other French comfort-food classics, was an instant hit. For me, the book turned out to be much more than just a cookbook; it became, in a way, my cookery school, teaching me recipes and foundational techniques.

I was in my early 20s, two years into what turned into a decade-long career in finance, working long hours and deeply unhappy (though unaware as to the source of my misery). Eight years later, I would jettison my well-paying career and use most of my savings to become a cookbook writer and method developer, but at the time, I didn’t have any inkling of what was to come.

Over the last 15 years, I have cooked through about two-thirds of the book—60 recipes in total—and in doing so learned not just how to cook certain recipes, but as well valuable techniques. I found out that caramelizing onions does not take 20 minutes, as many recipes incorrectly tell you, but almost an hour; to make them you need patience and time.

I made my first duck confit after buying quarts of dear duck fat—the expense was well worth it in the end, and I couldn’t believe just how easy it was to make. With just salt, fresh herbs, and spices, cure the duck legs for about a day and a half in the fridge; then cook them in a 225-degree oven for three hours.

If you’re lucky, you can wind up with even more duck fat than you kicked off with (depending on how fatty the legs are), which basically means that you can make confit over and over. And if you’re like me, you will then use the duck fat for cookery eggs, potatoes, or roasting vegetables.

When preparation sautéed skate, flounder, or other thin fillets of white fish with brown butter, haricots verts. Hazelnuts, I discovered that brown butter makes just about everything better, and that if I hit it with splash of white wine vinegar at the end, I will create an emulsion so ethereal, it will make your dinner guests feel as if they’re dining in a fancy restaurant. This technique, I went on to realize, works well for just about any protein: fish, steak, lamb, even pork. Instead of vinegar, you can use an acid of your choice, such as lemon juice, in the case of sole meunière, which I as well learned to make using the book.

I’ve used the base of Balthazar’s lemon confit as a cheater’s preserved lemon method for years, and while it’s not exactly a lemons-to-lemons comparison, it’s a great and attainable substitute for when you’re in a pinch. I follow the recipe in the book, with a few adjustments: I replace the vinegar with a tablespoon of kosher salt and cook the lemon pieces for about 10 minutes instead of 20.

At the time of the book’s publication, in 2003, the book’s playful, insouciant tone in method writing was new and bold. Years later, when I became a cookbook writer and then a cookbook editor (currently back to writing them again), I always held that method. Its writing in the foreground of my mind, always marveling at how witty and not precious the tone was.

Recipes and techniques aside, perhaps the most key takeaway from the book for me was learning to be patient. Duck confit, caramelized onions, and stock take time to come together, but mercifully, the preparation is by and large hands-off, so you’re not standing at the stove for hours.