This recipe is a mash-up of two classic and simple olive oil–centric dishes: Italian spaghetti aglio e olio (pasta with garlic, chiles, and olive oil) and Spanish gambas al ajillo (a tapa of shrimp quickly cooked in olive oil, also with garlic and chiles). Both dishes highlight the aroma-grabbing qualities of oil. Many of the grassy, fruity, nutty, cheesy, spicy, and funky aromas that we love dissolve much more readily in oil than in water. Infusing an oil with rich flavor helps carry these aromas throughout a dish.

For this recipe I up the ante on that oil infusion by first cooking the shrimp shells in the oil. Shrimp shells are rich in glutamates and free nucleotides (which add meaty depth), as well as volatile polyunsaturated fatty acids, which generate fresh, delicate flavors when cooked. To keep those flavorful volatile compounds in the dish (instead of swirling around the kitchen), I do the infusion over medium heat for just 10 minutes. The result is deep, roasted shrimp flavor and a rich orange hue. I add garlic and chiles to the oil before gently cooking the shrimp in it. All of that gets tossed with spaghetti, parsley, and a touch of lemon juice for a simple weeknight dinner that packs a ton of flavor with just a few ingredients. To learn more about the science behind cooking oils, read our feature story, Striking Oil.

Photography by Steve Klise
Food Styling by Marie Piraino

Roasted garlic is a great way to deliver rich garlic flavor with a more chilled-out vibe than the hard-core raw stuff. See, the vampire-killing pungent aroma of raw garlic is the result of a compound called allicin, which is produced when garlic’s cell walls are damaged and an enzyme called alliinase gets together with a compound called alliin. Don’t worry if that’s allalittleconfusing. The important thing is that we can temper the harsh bite of garlic by heating whole cloves to above 140 degrees F/60 degrees C, which deactivates the alliinase (no enzyme means no sharp garlic bite). If we heat the whole cloves to even higher temperatures, we get rich-tasting Maillard browning.

For this dressing, I use a hybrid roasting-confit method for whole garlic heads. Slow-roasting garlic brings out nutty sweetness. Submerging the garlic in oil while it roasts achieves better browning and results in a flavorful garlic-infused oil. I cook the garlic in a blend of vegetable oil and extra-virgin olive oil in an oven set to 375 degrees F/191 degrees C, much higher than a traditional low-and-slow confit (which usually calls for a 250-degree F/121-degree C oven). Once roasted, the cloves and oil quickly come together into a rich, creamy dressing boosted by white wine vinegar and a touch of tahini and miso for nuttiness and umami. The result is a delicious (and unintentionally vegan!) alternative to Caesar dressing that is great on salad greens, roasted broccoli, and grilled chicken or steak. Or just mop it up with bread. It’s alli-yum. Learn more about the science of cooking oils in our feature story, Striking Oil.

Photography by Steve Klise
Food Styling by Marie Piraino

For me, one of the most gratifying experiences as a cook is working with a completely new ingredient and coming up with something delicious. After discovering that store-bought coconut butter—a concentrated, jarred puree of dried coconut meat—could be slowly browned to produce a tahini-like paste with the intense flavors of toasted coconut and toffee, I knew I had to use it in a cookie. Here I achieve the crisp-chewy texture of a good sugar cookie and the toffee-like flavor of my favorite chocolate chip cookie. Without using butter. Or eggs. Or even vanilla. In fact, this vegan cookie contains only six ingredients (plus a little water). With very little to stand in its way, the browned coconut butter flavor is front and center. This cookie is craggy and crispy at the edges, chewy in the center, and bursting with toffee-like toasted coconut flavor. I’m not even a cookie person, and I’d eat this one by the dozen (even if my job didn’t already require me to do that). To learn more about the science of coconut oil (and other cooking oils), check out our feature story, Striking Oil.
Photography by Steve Klise
Food Styling by Marie Piraino

Anyone who has heated a few pats of butter in a skillet past the point of sputtering and foaming knows the intense aroma, flavor, and pleasure of browned butter. The milk solids that drop to the bottom of the skillet when the butter’s emulsion breaks undergo the Maillard reaction and produce hundreds of new flavor compounds. There is nothing quite like browned butter. Or is there? Coconut butter, essentially a puree of coconut flesh, is a rich mixture of coconut oil, starch, protein, and sugars teeming with fresh coconut flavor. While playing around with different coconut products, I stumbled upon a simple process for making something just as complex as browned butter. By slowly browning coconut butter over a low flame, I produced something with the caramelized complexity of dulce de leche, the consistency and texture of tahini, and the intense flavor of toasted coconut. Oh, and did I mention it’s vegan? My browned coconut butter is perfect as a spread on toast (“new”tella?) and as a nutty, toasty addition to hummus-like dips and curries that include coconut milk. Perhaps most important of all, it’s the perfect base for my Chewy Browned Coconut Butter Cookies (also vegan!). To learn more about the science of coconut oil (and other cooking oils) check out our feature story, Striking Oil.

Photography by Steve Klise
Food Styling by Marie Piraino

Olive oil and dairy are a rad combo. The grassy, peppery notes of good extra-virgin olive oil pair perfectly with the rich, unctuous flavor of an oozy burrata or a bowl of freshly made ricotta. Add ice cream to that list. It may sound like an odd combination, but extra-virgin olive oil ice cream is pretty amazing stuff—creamy and sweet, with a hint of savory grassiness and a pleasant back of the throat burn to balance its refreshing chill. But you can’t just stream olive oil into a regular ice cream base and expect success. When I added enough olive oil to a classic base that I could actually taste it, the incredibly high fat content led to a pasty, gummy ice cream. I found that I needed to ditch almost all the milkfat in the base (save for the small amount found in the whole milk) by subbing in water for the heavy cream. That move let me add a full ¾ cup (168 grams) of olive oil, producing a deeply flavored ice cream with great texture. To reinforce the olive oil’s peppery notes, I added a little freshly ground pepper to the mix, giving this ice cream the look of classic vanilla bean ice cream. To learn about the science behind extra-virgin olive oil (and other cooking oils), check out our feature story, Striking Oil.
Photography by Steve Klise
Food Styling by Marie Piraino

Grilled zucchini often falls victim to both under-seasoning and overcooking. Try to address the former, by cutting the zucchini into thin planks that can be seasoned more thoroughly, you end up exacerbating the latter, as thinner pieces overcook in a flash. To achieve well-seasoned, crisp-tender zucchini, we ditched the planks, halved the zucchini lengthwise, and mixed up a brine. Seriously. Meat normally gets all the brining love, but a 45-minute soak in a saltwater solution produces incredibly well-seasoned zucchini. During brining, salt diffuses from an area of greater salt concentration (our 10-percent-salt brine) to an area of lesser concentration (our soon-to-be-delicious zucchini).
I then quickly grill the zucchini to pick up great char and smoky flavor, without turning it to mush. Once it comes off the grill, I pair the zucchini with a punchy riff on Italian salsa verde, packed with refreshing herbs, garlic and red pepper flakes for heat, and capers and vinegar for an acidic bite.  

Photography by Steve Klise

Sichuan cuisine may be famous for its use of fiery chili oil, but the ingredient that makes Sichuan dishes unique—everything from Chongqing chicken to mapo tofu—isn’t a spicy chile. And despite their name, Sichuan peppercorns aren’t even peppercorns. They’re actually the dried seed husks from a small Chinese citrus tree called the prickly ash. And instead of the burn we get from the capsaicin in chiles, Sichuan peppercorns contribute a unique tingling or buzzing sensation in the mouth, not unlike how it feels to sip a carbonated beverage. The tingling is caused by a pungent compound called sanshool, which acts on receptors in the mouth that usually respond to touch. Spicy and numbing Sichuan chili oil is known as má là, as it combines Sichuan peppercorns (má) and chiles (là). I wanted to bring that numbing heat to a brunch cocktail, the Bloody Mary. A good Bloody is all about balancing sweet, spicy, and savory elements in a drink that keeps you coming back for more. The classic source of umami in a Bloody Mary is Worcestershire sauce, which gets its savoriness from anchovies. Here I replace it with two potent sources of meatiness: oyster sauce and broad bean chili paste. And to deliver the mouth-numbing effects of Sichuan peppercorns, I infuse just enough of them into the vodka to create a slow-building mouth (and if you have more than one, head) buzz. Day drinking just got a lot more fun. 

Learn more about the science of spiciness in our latest feature story, Hurts So Good.

Photography by Kevin White
Food Styling by Catrine Kelty

I’ve had Nashville Hot Chicken only once. Packed to the brim with cayenne pepper, this Tennessee fried chicken specialty goes on my short list of foods that have had me in tears, desperately reaching for a glass of milk. But it was worth the pain for incredibly crunchy, juicy fried chicken. The real star of Nashville Hot Chicken is the spicy oil (or lard) that gets lacquered onto the craggy crust after the chicken comes out of the fryer. Unlike buffalo sauce, which contains lots of water that quickly sogs out fried wings, the oil adds flavor without compromising crunch. For this recipe I take that brilliant technique and combine it with the rich flavors of Mexican mole—roasted chiles, chocolate, cinnamon, cumin—for an intense, dark chile oil that I brush onto the crunchy crust after frying.

Now for that crunchy crust. To ramp up the crisp and crunch factor, I use a blend of all-purpose flour and potato starch (the secret ingredient in Japanese fried dishes such as chicken karaage) in the coating. Due to its unique composition, potato starch forms a dense, brittle exterior when fried. After dredging the chicken, I let it sit uncovered in the refrigerator to allow the starches to hydrate so that the coating is thick and cohesive, not crumbly and dusty. This chicken is spicy and packed with deep, satisfying flavor, but it won’t melt your face off. In fact, you’ll probably go back for seconds.

Learn more about the science of spiciness in our feature story, Hurts So Good.

Photography by Kevin White
Food Styling by Catrine Kelty

This simple-to-make ginger-scallion sauce, common in Chinese Hainan cuisine, is a great addition to your kitchen arsenal—and it’s good on everything. The sauce draws floral spice from a healthy amount of fresh ginger, which gets its kick from a compound called gingerol. Gingerol is far milder than the capsaicin in chiles. But when ginger is dried, that gingerol turns into shogaol, which is twice as spicy as gingerol. For that reason, I add a little ground ginger and white pepper (which contains the spicy compound piperine) to boost background heat. (Gingerol-purpose sauce?! These puns are writing themselves.) Traditionally this condiment is served with poached chicken or head-on salt and pepper shrimp (both fantastic dishes), but it goes well with pretty much anything. Toss it with hand-pulled (or store-bought) noodles as an alternative to chili oil vinaigrette or use it to dress grilled vegetables (bok choy!), meat, or fish. 

Learn more about the science of spiciness in our feature story, Hurts So Good.

Photography by Kevin White
Food Styling by Catrine Kelty

Most Bloody Marys have plenty of capsaicin burn from hot sauce but fall flat when it comes to the sinus-clearing heat we get from horseradish. I remedy that problem here by replacing timid jarred prepared horseradish with the Chuck Norris roundhouse kick of freshly grated horseradish. Horseradish heat dissipates fairly quickly once grated, so the prepared stuff can never compete with fresh. To add another layer of heady heat, I include Chinese mustard powder, as both mustard and horseradish (along with wasabi) get their eye-watering sting from the same compound, allyl isothiocyanate. But this drink isn’t all bite; it’s also an umami bomb with fish sauce, Worcestershire sauce, and Old Bay in the mix. Lemon juice brings everything into balance with some fresh acidity.

Learn more about the science of spiciness in our feature story, Hurts So Good.

Photography by Kevin White
Food Styling by Catrine Kelty