The Crain-Terzian Cooking Fakebook

Because of the pandemic, a lot of people out have suddenly been dropped into the challenge of having to cook for themselves. Peter and I keep in a binder the recipes that have made it into heavy rotation at our house—the recipes that have turned out to be worth it, in the trade-off between pleasure-in-eating and effort-in-preparation. I just put a bunch into a Word document for a friend, and it occurred to me why not share with the world. This isn’t haute cuisine! It’s just how Peter and I manage to get through the week, as vegetarians who also eat dairy and sometimes fish. The inadvertent domestic reveal here: Yeah, we don’t eat much pasta; it’s all farro salads with us, baby.

The first two pages are an easy-reference cheat sheet, mostly of oven temperatures and roasting times for lots of vegetables. (The secret of roasting vegetables, by the way, is to dry them in a clean dishtowel after you’ve rinsed and chopped them, but before tossing them in olive oil. This makes the oil cover them more comprehensively, so that they roast more evenly and are less likely to stick to the pan. That is my one piece of kitchen wisdom.) I grouped the recipes themselves according to type—egg dishes, farro salads, soups, fish, etc.—and within each type, from easier to more elaborate.

Here you go: the Crain-Terzian cooking fakebook.

Sardinia in Amsterdam

Dining table at Salvatorica, Amsterdam

Can we eat here? I wondered, yesterday evening, as Peter and I, on vacation in Amsterdam, walked past the large windows in the photograph above. A sign taped to the glass promised fresh pasta, but although we could see a large, inviting table, I didn’t see anyone eating at it, and it seemed possible that the establishment sold pasta for takeaway only.

We could definitely eat here, a young Italian woman assured me. She explained that the chef makes ravioli and other pasta in the space—he was milling fresh noodles at a long worktable behind her as she spoke—and that they do sell it for takeway, but that they had just decided to start letting people eat on the premises as well. Peter and I were on our way to a reservation elsewhere, but she translated for us extemporaneously from a list of their ravioli, which included one of provolone picante and lemon, and one made of the local Dutch white asparagus and ricotta, and gave us a card.

Today we returned for lunch. Three Dutch men were eating at the large table, but the young woman cleared some of her things off of a smaller, square table for us. “You’re our first customers,” she said, apologizing for the improvisation. After some discussion with the chef, she placed our table near a cabinet full of artichokes in oil and drew up two chairs. When she saw me admiring the artichokes, she opened the cabinet doors and invited me to take a picture, saying she had arranged them herself. She brought out a Sardinian textile and draped it over one of the open doors, to make the tableau even prettier.

Cabinet of oil-cured artichokes, Salvatorica, Amsterdam

The restaurant/ravioli factory is called Salvatorica, which, the young woman told us, is the name of the chef’s mother. It’s a typical Sardinian name, the woman said, and not only do she and the chef come from the island, but so do all the pasta’s ingredients—she pointed to bags of Italian flour behind refrigerator. The chef and his sister, she said, harvest the artichokes by hand.

Preparing an appetizer of artichokes, Salvatorica, Amsterdam

After offering to open a jar of the artichokes for us as an appetizer, the young woman ran through the kinds of ravioli again. A tomato sauce was available, though the chef recommended only olive oil for some of the flavors of ravioli. He had just made some tagliatelli, which he was preparing with artichokes and bottarga; Peter ordered that. I asked for ravioli with pumpkin and porcini, a Sardinian specialty, which came served with olive oil and parmesan.

Tagliatelli with bottarga and artichokes, Salvatorica, Amsterdam

Pumpkin and porcini ravioli, Salvatorica, Amsterdam

The food was as good as it looks in the photos. The pumpkin in the ravioli was sweet and ever so slightly tart; the shell of the ravioli melted in one’s mouth. The tagliatelli was fruity on account of the olive oil and rich on account of the bottarga, and it had a little bite thanks to a clove of garlic. We cleared our plates. Afterward, the young woman gave us a Sardinian dessert made out of yoghurt, a blackberry marmalade (prepared by the chef’s sister), and a topping of individual blackberries (picked by the chef’s mother). Then she took down from the top of a refrigerator and shared with us a hand-carved wooden bull’s mask from Sardinia, which the chef had recently been given as a groomsman’s present at a wedding.

As charming a lunch as I’ve ever had. Highly recommended!

Sardinian bull's mask

Salvatorica. Lijnbaansgracht 71 (at the corner of Anjelierstraat), Amsterdam. 020-758-06-19. Dining or takeout. I think they’re open from noon to 8pm, but I’m not 100% sure. They can’t take credit cards, so bring cash unless you have a Dutch bank card.

Making fresh pasta, Salvatorica, Amsterdam

Butternut squash, broccoli rabe, and farro salad

Butternut squash, broccoli rabe, and farro salad


4–5 servings


  • 1 small butternut squash
  • 1 clove garlic
  • olive oil
  • 3/4 cup farro
  • 1 lemon
  • honey
  • 1 bunch broccoli rate
  • ricotta
  • basil
  • salt
  • pepper


  1. Preheat the oven to 375 degrees.
  2. Peel a butternut squash, cut it in half, scrape out the seeds, and slice into bite-size pieces. Mince garlic in 1/2 tsp salt. Toss the squash and garlic in a few glugs of olive oil, spread on a baking sheet, and roast for 50 minutes, flipping the pieces with a spatula twice, so that they’ll brown evenly.
  3. In a saucepan, fry 3/4 cup farro in 1 1/2 tbsp olive oil for 3 to 4 minutes. Add 1 3/4 cup water and 1/4 tsp salt, and simmer, uncovered, for 17 minutes. Drain.
  4. For a dressing, stir vigorously 1 tsp lemon zest, 3 tbsp lemon juice, 1 tbsp honey, 6 tbsp olive oil, 1/2 tsp salt, and 1/4 tsp black pepper.
  5. Rinse and cut up a few leaves of basil.
  6. Rinse, trim, and dry broccoli rabe. Toss with a little salt and olive oil. Spread on a baking sheet, and broil on high for 2 minutes. Flip with a spatula and broil for another 2 minutes. When it’s cool enough, slice into bite-size pieces.
  7. In a large bowl, combine the drained farro, the butternut squash, and the broccoli rabe. Shake the dressing again and pour in half of it. Stir the salad and taste it, and add more dressing if desired. Serve in small bowls, adding to each bowl a spoonful or so of ricotta and a few leaves of basil.

(For a one-page PDF version, click here.)