European

My mother and father were both good cooks, and both of them had definite opinions about how things should be done in the kitchen. But this dish was my father's—his alone—so my mother never said a word about it. I like to call it the "tripe of my father," aita being the Basque word for "father." It is a rustic family-style dish that satisfies the appetite and nourishes the soul. As you cook honeycomb tripe, it will throw off a lot of liquid, which eliminates the need for stock and flavors the sauce. Like most braises, this tastes even better the next day.

No need to call your local pizza joint. Thanks to prepared dough and bottled roasted red peppers, making your own calzones can be easy and far more satisfying.

This comforting dish marries the simplicity of meatloaf with the flavor and depth of a French pâté. Leftover slices naturally make terrific sandwiches, but they're also wonderful panfried in olive oil.

A classic Greek soup that's thickened with eggs and spiked with lemon. Add some shredded rotisserie chicken and call it a meal.

Tonkatsu—deep-fried breaded pork—is a European-inspired dish that evolved during the late 19th century in Japan. Here, the pork is pounded thin and simply panfried. Pickled carrots offer a cool bite.

Your subconscious will register "early spring" with this combination of double-thick lamb chops and earthy, grassy Swiss chard. Perfect for Easter dinner, the dish is heightened by the tang of Dijon mustard and the subtle sweetness of plump golden raisins.

A fluffy soufflé, redolent with garlic, the darling of Provence, will suit the occasion, not to mention the meat itself. Since it's baked in a wide gratin, there's enough irresistible crust and ethereal interior for everyone to get a nice serving of both.

Simple savory tarts abound in Provence. A particular favorite includes slow-cooked onions, mellow and nearly as sweet as marmalade, punctuated with hints of the herbs that grow wild all over the region—in this case, fennel. Cooks are known to vary their crusts depending on the affair, from short, buttery versions to pizzalike yeast crusts; the latter is used here to keep the tart light.

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are excerpted from Diane Kochilas's book Meze: Small Plates to Savor and Share from the Mediterranean Table. Kochilas also shared some helpful cooking tips exclusively with Epicurious, which we've added at the bottom of the page. To read more about Kochilas and Greek cuisine, click here. Giant beans in some form or another are never absent from Greek meze menus. The key to making this dish taste as good as possible is to use high-quality roasted sweet peppers preserved in extra virgin olive oil. I usually make my own oil, and have them on hand. All you need to do is roast the peppers whole under the broiler, let them cool, peel them, and store them in a container in the fridge covered with good olive oil. You can pour a few tablespoons of the pepper-infused oil into the baking dish for added flavor. As for the beans themselves, the trick is to get the texture right. Giant beans need first to be soaked, then boiled, and finally baked. Once done, they should be soft, almost buttery, without being baked to the point that they fall apart.

Editor's note: The recipe and introductory text below are excerpted from Diane Kochilas's book Meze: Small Plates to Savor and Share from the Mediterranean Table. Kochilas also shared some helpful cooking tips exclusively with Epicurious, which we've added at the bottom of the page. To read more about Kochilas and Greek cuisine, click here. There is this great bustling taverna in one of the northern Athenian suburbs near where we live, and this is the house special, so much so that the chef refused to give me a recipe for it. So, I deconstructed it myself only to re-create it pretty much intact. The tomatoes, cream, and ouzo make a great sauce. You could easily make a quantity and serve it over pasta. It would look and taste good with squid-ink linguine.

Luisa Marelli Valazza's interpretation of a classic Italian peasant soup at her three-Michelin-starred restaurant, Al Sorriso in Piedmont, is hands-down stunning. It's a hearty and rustic showstopper: thick and creamy fresh pea soup with tiny gnocchetti made from raisin pumpernickel bread. Great on a cold and rainy spring evening (fresh pea season). Luisa said it was three simple steps, but it's a little more than that . . .