A whole roast chicken with crisp golden-brown skin in a cast-iron skillet, with lemon halves and thyme sprigs beside it.

Sunday dinner

Dry-Brined High-Heat Roast Chicken

Skin so crisp you can hear it from the next room, meat that stays juicy, and pan juices worth arm-wrestling over. Salt it the night before, crank the oven, and carve fast. The crispy bits vanish the second you turn your back.

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the ones I’d teach you first

On the calendar

Thanksgiving, the whole table

The whole table, bird to pie. 75 recipes, one long, loud, happy day, and zero store-bought rolls. (Tina, we know.)

Plan the table

By the night you’re having

A kitchen with too many people in it.

Somebody stirring something that doesn’t need stirring, somebody “testing” everything, a dog who knows exactly where to stand. That’s the kitchen these recipes come from. Every one here is a way of setting that table again.

Pull up a chair.

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The Sunday letter

One recipe a week. One story. No coupons.

Sunday morning, in your inbox: the recipe I’m making that week, the story that goes with it, and nothing else. Leave whenever you like. I won’t take it personally. (I will, but quietly.)

Just the letter. Your address goes nowhere else.