The Eat Like a Man Guide to Feeding a Crowd: How to Cook for Family, Friends, and Spontaneous Parties

Late Morning

EDWARD LEE’S

Waffles and Eggs with Chicken Sausage and Green Chile Gravy 14

JOHN FITZSIMONS’S

West Point Pancakes 17

FRANCINE MAROUKIAN AND TONY AIAZZI’S

Johnnycakes 20

LEE BAILEY’S

Corn Fritters 22

FRANCINE MAROUKIAN AND TONY AIAZZI’S

Hangtown Fry 23

MICHAEL LEVITON’S

Breakfast Burritos 24

FRANCINE MAROUKIAN AND TONY AIAZZI’S

Fried Taylor Pork Roll, Egg, and Cheese Sandwiches 26

CHRIS DIMINNO’S

Sautéed Wild Mushrooms with Eggs 28

MIKE LATA’S

Breakfast Casserole with Sausage, Leeks, and Gruyère 31

Waffles and Eggs with Chicken Sausage and Green Chile Gravy

This is reinvented chicken and waffles—a classic Southern soul-food dish that has been a favorite of mine ever since I moved to Louisville. It’s not an early-morning dish, but it is perfect for that not-quite-lunchtime meal when maybe you’ve had one too many bourbon cocktails the night before (my initial inspiration). The original version involves fried chicken dumped on top of waffles—a little extreme for a first meal of the day. I wanted to bring the dish full circle back to an identifiable breakfast (hence the eggs), but it had to retain its Southern roots (hence the gravy). Finally, I adore a little spice in the morning to wake up the spirit, but not so much as to ruin the rest of my day. Green chiles in a can are the perfect moderate choice, especially when your previous evening wasn’t so moderate. Just be sure to make a few extra waffles—in my experience, there’s always one person who hogs them all.

SERVES

16

LEVEL of DIFFICULTY

4 tsp peanut oil or corn oil

2 lb/910 g raw chicken sausage (seasoned simply), removed from casings and crumbled

6 oz/170 g thick slab bacon, finely diced

1 yellow onion, diced

4 garlic cloves, minced

¹/2 cup/60 g all-purpose flour

3 cups/720 ml milk

1¹/4 cups/300 ml buttermilk

Four 4-oz/113-g cans chopped green chiles

3 tsp coarse salt

2 tsp freshly ground black pepper

1 tsp paprika

16 large eggs

16 home-style waffles (your favorite homemade, or even store-bought frozen and defrosted ones are fine)*

¹/2 cup/110 g unsalted butter, melted

1 small bag pork rinds

1 bunch scallions, green parts only, coarsely chopped

1. Position one rack in the middle and one rack in the lower third of the oven and preheat to 375°F/190°C. Find two deep, ovenproof skillets that are about 12 in/30.5 cm wide. Make sure neither has a plastic handle that will melt in the oven. (If it does, throw it away and buy yourself a better skillet.)

2. Heat 2 tsp of the oil in each skillet over high heat until very hot. Add half of the sausage and half of the bacon to each and lower the heat to medium. Cook, stirring and breaking up any clumps with a spoon, until the meats are nicely browned, 5 to 7 minutes. Add half the onion and garlic to each skillet and cook, stirring, until the aromatics begin to brown, 3 to 5 minutes. Lower the heat a little more. Working with one skillet at a time, sprinkle in ¹/4 cup/30 g of the flour, stirring constantly, to make a quick roux. Keep stirring until the sausage is well coated and the flour has absorbed the pan fat, 2 to 3 minutes. (Watch the roux with an eagle eye, as it will burn quickly. As soon as the mixture turns a light amber color, immediately take it off the heat and keep stirring, because the hot pan will continue to cook the roux.)

3. When you’re done cooking the roux in both pans, return them to medium-low heat. To each skillet, add 1¹/2 cups/360 ml milk, ¹/2 cup/120 ml buttermilk, half of the chiles, 1¹/2 tsp salt, 1 tsp pepper, and ¹/2 tsp paprika. Stir constantly until the gravy flows from your spoon in a steady stream, not clumps, about 8 minutes. (The gravy will look sort of shiny when the flour is cooked out.)

4. Turn off the heat and crack 8 eggs over the surface of the gravy in each skillet. (Crack the eggs close to the surface to keep the yolks intact.) Drizzle 2 tbsp buttermilk evenly over the surface of the eggs in each pan. Transfer both skillets to the middle rack in the oven.

5. Working quickly, arrange the waffles on a baking sheet and drizzle the melted butter over them. Slip the waffles onto the lower rack and bake along with the eggs. The eggs are done when the whites turn opaque and the yolks are set but still runny inside, 12 to 18 minutes. (Keep a good watch, as the yolks can quickly overcook. The cooking time for your eggs will vary depending upon your oven.) The waffles should be perfectly toasted at the same time the eggs are ready.

6. Cut the waffles on the diagonal to make four small triangles out of each and pile them on a platter. As a last bit of culinary genius, grab the pork rinds and crush them right in the bag until evenly crumbled. Sprinkle this right over the eggs, along with the chopped scallions and a little salt and coarsely ground pepper.

7. To serve, put the hot skillets on a folded kitchen towel or trivets in the center of the table, with a serving spoon and the waffle points alongside. Tell your eaters to take a waffle point or three and scoop an egg and lots of the gravy on top.

* Frozen waffles should be defrosted first or they will steam instead of crisping.

West Point Pancakes

The secret to the pancake recipe used at West Point is the combination of cake flour for maximum fluff and bread flour for an extra boost of protein. It’s so good, you may want to make the full 8,000-pancake batch, which takes 1,440 eggs and 390 pounds of flour. Or try this.

SERVES

6

LEVEL of DIFFICULTY

WET INGREDIENTS

2 cups/480 ml buttermilk

1¹/2 cups/360 ml whole milk

4 large eggs

2 tbsp vanilla extract

DRY INGREDIENTS

5 cups/635 g cake flour

³/4 cup/90 g bread flour

¹/2 cup/100 g sugar

2 tbsp baking powder

¹/4 cup/55 g butter, melted

Vegetable oil for cooking

1. Measure all the Wet Ingredients into a bowl and mix with a fork or a hand mixer until the mixture is all one color.

2. Measure all the Dry Ingredients into a separate bowl. Mix well with a fork.

3. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet. Mix gently with a fork, scraping down the sides of the bowl. Leave some lumps.

4. Mix in the butter thoroughly.

5. Heat a large, nonstick skillet or flat griddle over medium-high heat. When the pan is really hot—a drop of water should sizzle immediately on contact—oil lightly with vegetable oil. Ladle out about ¹/3-cup/75-ml portions of the batter, and spread out the batter. Cook until the bottoms are golden brown and the bubbles on top burst, then flip and cook on the other side for about 2 minutes.

6. Serve hot off the griddle and ladle on the next batch.

How to Feed an Actual Army

TYLER CABOT

Pancakes for four thousand in the West Point mess hall? It’s like anything—just break it down into its simplest parts.

12:15 A.M.

It’s the type of tub you could lose a small child in. Waist-deep, wide as a hockey goal, and filled with pancake batter. There are two of them, 60 gallons each. The evening before, after the dinner shift, two men filled them up: 31¹/2 gallons of whole milk, 24 gallons of buttermilk, 180 pounds of eggs. Forty-two pounds of sugar, 390 pounds of flour, 6 gallons of shortening. And don’t forget the salt—2¹/4 pounds of salt. And 6 gallons of vanilla extract. It’s just after midnight now in the kitchen at West Point. A man named Wally, gray hair tucked under his white paper cook’s cap, adds 30 pounds of baking powder—it must go in closer to cooking time or the batter will ferment. He is methodical and trustworthy—been working this job for thirty-four years. He finishes at 2:30 A.M., four and a half hours before more than four thousand cadets will converge in the mess hall for breakfast. They’ll come all at once, and they’ll eat all at once. In under ten minutes. Wally has a lot of pancakes to cook.

3:30 A.M.

The kitchen extends beyond view in every direction, an industrial-steel landscape that could be the set of a gory horror film—deep fryers the size of minivans, dunk tanks of boiling water, mixers with paddles you could canoe with. John Fitzsimons, the food-service officer, watches over his team of sixteen cooks. He has worked at West Point for twenty-four years, sets the menu, orders all the food. He wears loose-fitting khakis, button-down shirts that balloon, and scuffed black leather shoes. He’s laconic, has a habit of looking down, as if always in private thought. Just simple, he says, explaining how he feeds the masses. We try to break it down to the simplest level.

There are advantages to feeding the U.S. Army. John knows exactly how many pancakes the cadets will eat. He knows how much butter, fat, and salt to use—Army calorie regulations. (All recipes are approved by a staff dietician.) There are no surprises, no uninvited guests. Just a task: Cook eight thousand pancakes in three hours. Just simple: Those 60-gallon tubs of batter are divided into 30-gallon bowls that are placed near the grills. The cooks then dunk and fill 1-gallon pitchers, off-loading the batter into the ¹/2-gallon pitchers they use to hand-pour each pancake, carefully laying them out in grids of forty-eight. Wally works methodically, left to right, first pouring a batch, then starting over at the beginning to flip. To serve by seven o’clock, Wally must flip three hundred pancakes per hour.

4:45 A.M.

As they come off the flattop, the pancakes are placed on serving dishes, fifteen per, then rushed over to the forty-eight double-oven-size warmers on the far end of the room. Each warmer has slots for ten trays of food, enough to feed ten tables of ten cadets. And each warmer has a numbered spot in the mess hall, so once the cadets arrive, the waiters will have to walk only a few feet to serve each table.

There is no yelling—no talking really. Just flipping and carrying. Clangs as trays slide into warmers, and metallic buckles as warmer doors are swung shut. Most of the cooks have been on the job for five, ten, even twenty years. Most wear pink earplugs.

5:30 A.M.

Darren, tasked today with loading the warming carts, tells John they’re full. Instantly, John calls it: Stop grilling. Spatulas down. The little remaining batter is wheeled away. Scrapers and huge hoses come out, and in twenty minutes the griddles and workspace are clean, the residue of eight thousand pancakes wiped away and washed down the drain.

6:00 A.M.

The waiters take over. They spill into the room, about two football fields wrapped in wood and stone walls lined with oil portraits of military figures draped in state and Revolutionary flags, and crowned with stained-glass windows that depict giant battles. There are 6 wings in all, each filled with tables of 10 for 465 in total, meticulously set with plates, glasses, coffee cups, silverware, and bottles of every condiment imaginable—syrup, ketchup, hot sauce, peanut butter, salad dressing, sugar. Having everything ready and at hand is key to the ten-minute breakfast.

6:57 A.M.

In they trickle, wearing boots, camo pants, and black fleece jackets. Many yawn, some carry notebooks. This is the same drill, the same mandatory breakfast every weekday. Underclassmen gather yogurt, milk, fruit, and Gatorade bars for the table from plastic rolling bins the size of playpens while upperclassmen wait bleary-eyed behind their chairs and the waiters stand ready at their assigned warming carts.

7:00 A.M.

It comes, loud and gruff and on time, as it has for decades:

"Attention. Take seats!"

There is no rush. No running. No fighting over syrup or silverware. The warmer doors swing open and, in seconds, the trays of pancakes and sausage emerge, warm and ready. The cadets eat determinedly, quietly, chewing slowly. Some pass on the pancakes in favor of cereal. One upperclassman passes on everything—he’s facedown on the table asleep. But it’s all orderly. Controlled and methodical chaos. About ten minutes after the cadets take their seats, most of the trays are empty, some sausage lingering, and the voice booms once more: "Cadets rest!"

And they are gone.

Johnnycakes

There’s no mistaking the sweet, pebbly punch of cornmeal. Just don’t tell a Rhode Islander that you’re making johnnycakes with anything other than the state’s signature white cornmeal, ground by a process that leaves the particles flat rather than granular. This recipe comes from Kenyon’s Grist Mill (kenyons gristmill.com) in Usquepaug, where they’ve been grinding it properly since 1886. The cakes are lighter and lacier than your typical flapjack, with a slightly crunchy crust that holds up nicely under a slathering of jam or a puddle of warm maple syrup.

SERVES

4

(makes about 24 silver-dollar-size cakes)

LEVEL of DIFFICULTY

1 cup/140 g finely ground white cornmeal

1 tsp sugar

¹/2 tsp salt

1¹/4 cups/300 ml boiling water

Bacon fat or unsalted butter for greasing the griddle

Warm maple syrup for serving

1. Heat a well-seasoned griddle over medium-high heat, or preheat an electric griddle to 380°F/193°C.

2. Combine the cornmeal, sugar, and salt in a heatproof mixing bowl with high sides. Gradually add the boiling water, stirring until the mixture is smooth and thick enough to plop off the spoon. (The goal is to scald the cornmeal with the boiling water, which essentially cooks it in the bowl.) Stir using the back of the spoon—smooth-side up, concave-side down—to eliminate splatters while you pour.

3. Test your griddle to make sure it’s the right medium-hot: a drop of water should skitter on the cooking surface. Grease it well with bacon fat. Drop the batter by table-spoonsful onto the griddle. Using the edge of the spoon, chop across the surface of the batter to release air. Let the johnnycakes sit until the edges begin to brown, about 6 minutes, then flip them and keep frying until the cakes are cooked through, about 6 minutes longer.

4. Transfer to warmed serving plates and serve hot with maple syrup.

TIP

This recipe can easily be doubled or tripled. Keep the finished johnnycakes warm in a low (200°F/95°C) oven while you fry up all the batter.

Corn Fritters

Doughnuts, beignets, zeppole, sopapillas—almost every cuisine has a fried-batter breakfast food, and in the American South they’re called fritters. Originally concocted by Afro-Caribbean slaves using American ingredients, this adaptation comes from the late Southern food writer Lee Bailey, who made two suggestions: The batter should be just thick enough that you must use a second spoon to urge it off the first, and your fritters must be small enough to cook all the way through without burning the exterior.

SERVES

6

(makes about 24 fritters)

LEVEL of DIFFICULTY

Peanut oil for frying

1 cup/140 g white cornmeal

¹/3 cup/40 g all-purpose flour

2 tsp baking powder

³/4 tsp salt

2 large eggs, lightly beaten

1 cup/240 ml creamed corn

4 to 6 tbsp/60 ml to 90 ml milk

Warm maple syrup for serving

1. Preheat the oven to 200°F/95°C.

2. Pour oil into a heavy saucepan to a depth of at least 3 in/7.5 cm but no more than halfway up the sides. Heat the oil over medium-high heat to 365° to 375°F/185° to 190°C. (A long-stemmed deep-frying thermometer is ideal here. If you don’t have one, just heat the oil until the surface shimmers and a drop of batter browns on contact.)

3. In a large bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, baking powder, and salt. In a small bowl, stir together the eggs and creamed corn, then mix into the dry ingredients. Stir in the milk, 2 to 3 tbsp at a time, until the batter is workable but quite thick (see recipe introduction).

4. Working in small batches, drop the batter by the spoonful into the hot oil and cook until lightly browned, 3 to 4 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the fritters to paper towels to drain. Keep warm in the oven while you make the rest of the fritters, adjusting the heat under the oil as needed to maintain a fairly consistent temperature. Transfer the fritters to warmed serving plates and serve with maple syrup.

Hangtown Fry

Popularized in the late 1800s by gold prospectors in Hangtown (which is in El Dorado County, California, and was originally named for the frequency of hangings that occurred there until it was renamed Placerville in 1854), this meal was a one-dish mixture of the most expensive ingredients new money could buy: oysters transported from the San Francisco Bay in barrels, bacon, and eggs. It’s still an extravagance of flavor, the luxurious richness of the eggs enhanced by the meaty, salty oysters and smoky bacon.

These simple, stunning omelets are perfect for a houseful of guests waking up at various times, with you manning the stove.

SERVES

10

LEVEL of DIFFICULTY

2 cups/280 g yellow cornmeal

2 cups/255 g all-purpose flour

Coarse salt and freshly ground black pepper

Peanut oil for frying

20 oysters, shucked and drained (see page 37) or high-quality jarred

20 thick strips bacon

20 large eggs

1. In a large, shallow bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, 2 tsp salt, and 1 tbsp pepper.

2. Pour the oil into a small, heavy saucepan to a depth of at least 3 in/7.5 cm but no more than halfway up the sides. Heat the oil over medium-high heat to 375°F/190°C. Dredge the oysters in the cornmeal mixture until well coated. Working in batches and using tongs, gently lower the oysters into the hot oil and fry, stirring once or twice, until crisp and golden, about 2 minutes. Using the tongs or a slotted spoon or skimmer, transfer to paper towels to drain, then place on a baking sheet in a low (200°F/93°C) oven to keep warm.

3. In a large skillet over medium-high heat, cook the bacon until crisp. Transfer to paper towels to drain, then crumble. Reserve the drippings in the pan.

4. For each omelet, in a 7-in/17-cm nonstick omelet pan or skillet, heat about 1 tbsp of the bacon drippings. In a small bowl, lightly beat 2 eggs, and season with salt and pepper. Add the eggs to the pan and stir until the eggs begin to thicken, about 1 minute. Add a small handful of the crumbled bacon and gently shake the pan back and forth to loosen the edges. Cook until the center of the omelet is set, 1 to 2 minutes. Tilt the skillet over a warmed plate and let the eggs roll out, flipping them over into an oval shape. Top with 2 fried oysters. Repeat until everyone has been served.

Breakfast Burritos

For