When I visited Guadalajara, I spent two whole days asking around and traveling to find the best jericallas possible. I came across a lot of misguided information and dead ends, but eventually, persistence and curiosity paid off. I found a little shop with an eggshell-colored metal wall and a tiny opening that allowed you to peek at the rectangular black oven and endless trays of individual glasses, small and large, filled with the yellowish custard. The owner didn’t share the recipe; however, she did say that although cornstarch is often used to stabilize it (and she admitted to using it when the price of eggs goes up), the best ones are made without it. Jericalla is one of my favorite desserts. It’s most commonly found in the state of Jalisco, and some say the name derives from the Valencian city of Jérica, where the recipe was brought by Spanish settlers in the eighteenth century. It is similar to flan but lighter (it can’t be unmolded), is flavored with canela, has a dark toasty sheet on top, and is eaten directly from the cooking vessel. This recipe does not refrigerate well because the topping becomes very unappealing, so it should be eaten the day you make it and at room temperature or briefly chilled.
This pasta has some really big energy about it. It’s so extra, it’s the type of thing you should be eating in your bikini while drinking a magnum of rosé, not in Hebden Bridge (or wherever you live), but on a beach on Mykonos.
Among the top tier of sauces is Indonesian satay sauce, because it is the embodiment of joy and life. In fact, this sauce is also trustworthy and highly respectful of whatever it comes into contact with—perhaps it is, in fact, the perfect friend?
Turn humble onions into this thrifty yet luxe pasta dinner.
I should address the awkward truth that I don’t use butter here but cream instead. You could, if you’re a stickler for tradition (and not a heretic like me), add a big slab of butter to the finished curry.
Caramelized onions, melty Gruyère, and a deeply savory broth deliver the kind of comfort that doesn’t need improving.
A dash of cocoa powder adds depth and richness to the broth of this easy turkey chili.
This is what I call a fridge-eater recipe. The key here is getting a nice sear on the sausage and cooking the tomato down until it coats the sausage and vegetables well.
This classic 15-minute sauce is your secret weapon for homemade mac and cheese, chowder, lasagna, and more.