You never have to worry about broken gravy again. Or lumpy gravy or wan, watery gravy. Frankly, you don’t have to worry about serving any bland, textureless, or colorless meal ever again, either. Because at virtually all times, Cal Peternell’s 4-ingredient marvel sauce will be within reach.
Unlike other herby sauces you’ve known—pestos and pistous and anchovy-leaning salsa verdes—this one trades in a few of its auxiliary ingredients for one clever, clarifying step.
Peternell takes the rougher of winter herbs—prickly rosemary and furry-skinned sage, who aren’t usually at home in a raw sauce—and fries them crisp. As he explains, “Frying herb leaves before mixing them in allows them to be their whole spiky selves, adding a polite thorniness, giving sweet parsley a kind, crunchy kick.”
His manner of doing so has all sorts of advantages over what you might think when you’re told: “fry”—in his way, you’ll pour only a shallow pool of oil 3/4-inch deep, rather than a whole pot. You won’t need to rig a thermometer, and you can just use your regular olive oil if you like. And it will all happen fast, engaging all senses as the oil burbles and blooms, the leaves buckle, and your house starts to smell like you’ve just rotisseried a Christmas tree.
Frying herb leaves before mixing them in allows them to be their whole spiky selves, adding a polite thorniness, giving sweet parsley a kind, crunchy kick.
Cal Peternell
This move is a great trick for adding crunch, intrigue, and a gentle woodsy perfume to fresh pastas and roast meats and you-name-its (and will make you look quite fancy in the process), but here you’ll crumble the leaves straight into a slurry of chopped parsley, garlic, and more olive oil.
Not only do you likely already have all these ingredients laying around, but you probably needed to use that half-bunch of rosemary or wilting sage up quick. They’ll live a longer life this way, adding electric color and crunch beyond their prime to whatever you might want to spoon the sauce over.
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The uses and variations are almost literally endless. Grilled steaks, pots of beans, bowls of ricotta, fistfuls of bread. “The day after Thanksgiving," Peternell wrote to me, "I like to poach an egg, set it in a hot spoonful of leftover buttercup squash, and eat it with fried herb salsa. If last night's fog is still hanging dark, I might stir something spicy, crushed chilis or harissa, into the salsa to brighten things up.”
And of course the turkey’s a good candidate, whether the gravy makes it to the table or not.
garlic clove, pounded to a paste with a pinch of salt
1/3
cup finely chopped parsley
1/3
cup good olive oil
1/3
cup crumbled fried herbs (recipe follows)
1
garlic clove, pounded to a paste with a pinch of salt
1/3
cup finely chopped parsley
1/3
cup good olive oil
1/3
cup crumbled fried herbs (recipe follows)
Fried Herbs
Cooking oil, vegetable or olive
Leaves from 1 bunch rosemary, sage, or savory (or a mixture), patted dry if necessary to avoid spits and splatters
Salt
Cooking oil, vegetable or olive
Leaves from 1 bunch rosemary, sage, or savory (or a mixture), patted dry if necessary to avoid spits and splatters
Salt
Photos by Bobbi Lin
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This article was originally published in November 2016.
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I'm an ex-economist, lifelong-Californian who moved to New York to work in food media in 2007, before returning to the land of Dutch Crunch bread and tri-tip barbecues in 2020. Dodgy career choices aside, I can't help but apply the rational tendencies of my former life to things like: recipe tweaking, digging up obscure facts about pizza, and deciding how many pastries to put in my purse for "later."
Sorry for any confusion, Deborah—the clarifying step mentioned in the second paragraph is about frying the herbs for the sauce to make them crisp and deepen the flavor, rather than chopping them up fresh. Let us know if you have any gravy questions, though—or try out the Food52 Hotline to get answers from the broader Food52 community https://food52.com/hotline
I made this tonight, for use tomorrow, and I'm debating whether or not to even offer it to the close family/friends who will be my guests. I followed the recipe and used fresh parsley bought today, and just-picked rosemary & sage from my garden (both in excellent condition, thanks to mild Texas weather). The result was disappointing - oily, dull, and not as flavorful as I'd hoped. Adding capers and some lemon juice brightened it, but probably not enough. Unless it improves overnight, I'll probably toss it.
Austincook, I'm very sorry to hear it disappointed—it is quite subtle, but amenable to tweaks like adding more garlic, salt, acid or anchovy, like a traditional salsa verde.
Why are people suddenly registering on this site only to seemingly instigate conflict? Anyway, the appearance of this is similar to a fresh herb sauce I've used from Martha Stewart for years, but I'm curious how frying some of the herbs will change the taste. I took "spiky" and "thorniness" to imply a textural impact more than a flavor one, but that's just my impression. We love fried sage in our family so I look forward to trying this soon.
Heat deepens the flavor in many leafy herbs. I'm toying with the idea of taking this one off-road, using curry leaves (my plant is growing like crazy these days) and cilantro. One typically fries fresh curry leaves either in a hot dry skillet, or in hot oil, to bring out the flavor . . . . . ;o)
As a word-loving foodie and curious cook, I appreciate the description. I'd say that "their whole spiky selves" could be translated as "the entire herb with the pungency intact"; and "polite thorniness" may mean "a taste that carries a punch, but a subtle one, not too hard." A "kind, crunchy kick" is, most likely, very similar to the above-mentioned phrase, but with a crunch. Happy cooking!
I didn't ask about the word "woodsy" as I'd grown accustomed to that concept over the years. But try to describe that to anyone asking - I can't do it! I'll get used to these terms too, if I keep reading them. A lot of descriptions I pick up through context, and 'osmosis'. You did a decent job. Thank you!
Hi Heidi, thanks for your interpretation—I love it! It's funny—I read it a bit differently, thinking more about the texture and sturdiness of wintry herbs like rosemary, but that's what I find so fun and inspiring about poetic food descriptions from writers like Cal Peternell.
Have a problem with the phrasing: "..their whole spiky selves.... polite thorniness, a kind, crunchy kick.” I don't intend any nastiness or sarcasm, I'm just saying that when I read this, a sense of bewilderedness sets in. Translation/clarification anyone?
hhmmm... the only fact that would call for 'a sense of bewilderedness ' is the election of Trump...BTW: the ghost writer of Trump's book says that the president elect's vocabulary is 200 words...
#1 - I meant to use the word 'bewilderment'. #2 - What does the ghost writer of Trump's book have to do with the subject we're talking about in this thread?
Jessica, I started with the recipe for Cacciucco from Saveur online. Years later it has changed somewhat in our house, but the same dish has variations in Liguria too. I think it originated in Genoa and around the Cinque Terra. The first one I ate was in Santa Margarita. It is a very hearty dish, full of flavour. I never cook the fish or shellfish as long as the Saveur recipe specified, it would be a travesty.
the name of the region is 'Cinque Terre'...not 'terra...Santa Margherita, not Margarita...Margherita: Italian, Margarita: Spanish. Cinque Terre refers to five fishing communities, five small towns...singular: terra, plural: terre.
This is exactly the same as the beginning of our favourite LIgurian fish stew, so that's another use for this beauty (and a little chopped chilli). It also makes a great base for end of season glut of green beans or runner beans, just add anchovy. Genius!
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