Meet The Team / Bruce Watson

Ripe summer tomatoes. Photo: The Ewan, Flickr.

In this weekly series, home cook Bruce Watson works his way through a decades-old family cookbook, adapting the best recipes exclusively for Slashfood.

When I was a kid, the end of the summer brought with it a painful, unpleasant tradition. Every August, when the farmers' market was filled with tomatoes, my parents would buy a few bushels, and the whole family would spend a couple of days blanching, peeling and processing the fruits. Every time, the process resulted in clothing and skin that reeked of tomatoes, fingers that stung and a freezer full of watery tomato sauce that we would defrost throughout the year.

As an adult, I have continued the tradition, although I make my sauce in the fall, when cooking pleasantly warms and perfumes the house, rather than turning it into a sweatbox. I also prefer using canned tomatoes, rather than fresh ones: In addition to sparing my fingers from burns, they produce a sauce that is richer, more flavorful and has a better texture than my parents' marinara. On the other hand, I still use my mom's recipe, which she learned from her Italian godmother, although I add a little bit of red wine vinegar, which gives the sauce more depth. Ultimately, it's a spicy, fennel-accented marinara that freezes well, tastes delicious and is inexpensive to make.

Get the recipe for all-purpose marinara after the jump.

Fresh Summer Limes. Photo: Flickr, Darwin Bell

In this weekly series, home cook Bruce Watson works his way through a decades-old family cookbook, adapting the best recipes exclusively for Slashfood.

Back in the early 1980s, when my Aunt Evie was putting together our family cookbook, my mother volunteered a recipe on my behalf. Titled "Brucie's Microwave Cheesecakes," it stood alongside my cousin Teddy's "Sesame Street Cookies" and my cousin Cathy's "Oven Fried Chicken," evidence that, at age 8, I was already a kitchen prodigy. However, it was all a lie: My recipe was stolen from the "Sunset Microwave Cookbook."

Years later, I found out that my cousins' recipes were also reprinted from various sources. In the meantime, however, I felt like a plagiarist and was always careful to point out that it wasn't my recipe, but rather one that I made a lot. Even so, there was something about my culinary larceny -- intentional or not -- that rubbed me the wrong way.

Recently, as I was working my way through various family dishes, I decided to give this one another shot. While the recipe that follows owes much of its inspiration to the fine folks at "Sunset," the ingredients, preparation method and taste are definitely my own, and I take full responsibility for all of the above!

Get the recipe for lime cheesecake tarts after the jump!

My 'Bete Rouge': Red Wine. Photo by bhollar/Flickr

This last weekend, much to our dismay, my wife and I drank our first $300 bottle of wine.

Our neighborhood in the Bronx is not blessed with an overabundance of great restaurants, so we have learned to turn a blind eye to the shortcomings of our local dives. For example, one of our favorite places has outstanding food and is beautifully decorated, but also has incredibly aggressive waiters who endlessly try to upsell us. Still, in the grand scheme of things, we've decided that pushy waiters are the kind of thing that we can overlook, particularly when the restaurant makes the kind of adoration-worthy pizzas that are its stock-in-trade.

Last weekend, a few old college friends were in town for a visit, so we took them there. After we ordered a couple of appetizers and three of the restaurant's distinctive gourmet pizzas, my wife picked a reasonably priced Italian red that seemed like a good bet to accompany our meal. A few minutes later, the waiter returned to double check on our order. My wife, who was dealing with our daughter at the time, glanced at the wine he pointed to, noted the name, and replied that, yes, it was the one we wanted.

Beautiful fresh leeks. Photo by LollyKnit/Flickr

In this weekly series, home cook Bruce Watson works his way through a decades-old family cookbook, adapting the best recipes exclusively for Slashfood.

My father loved to cook, but few of the recipes in his regular repertoire could really be described as "gourmet." The major exception was his vichyssoise, a cold potato-and-leek soup that he would pull out when the weather got hot and he was in the mood for something refreshing.

Of course, "refreshing" is a relative term; after eating a bowl of his rich, cream-laden soup, I would usually feel like I'd covered my lips in a thick layer of grease. While my version could hardly be described as "low fat," it uses a fraction of the heavy cream that his required and is a lot lighter on the palate. Best of all, it really lets the flavor of the leeks and potatoes shine through. Although this requires a lot of advance time, it refrigerates beautifully and makes a great summer soup!

Get the recipe for vichyssoise after the jump!

Photo: jmurawski/Flickr

In this weekly series, home cook Bruce Watson works his way through a decades-old family cookbook, adapting the best recipes exclusively for Slashfood.

In the mid-1970s, when my mother put "Margaret's Hot Crab Dip" in our family cookbook, the recipe seemed exciting and somewhat exotic. After all, the simple combination of crab, scallion and cream cheese was basically a reverse engineering of the kind of appetizers that upscale restaurants were serving in Maryland and Washington, D.C. at the time, and its simple-yet-spicy flavor made it a hit at parties.

However, years later, when a girlfriend took me to meet her family in South Carolina, it took all of about 10 seconds to convert me to the wonders of chilled Carolina crab dip. This was lucky, as it seemed like every restaurant carried the stuff and passed it out with every meal. My girlfriend's mother's recipe changed depending upon the day, the amount of crab on hand, and whether or not I was taking notes. What follows is a pretty close approximation of her concoction.

Get the recipe for South Carolina-style crab dip after the jump.