Cookbook Club Recipe #1: Crunchy Roasted Chickpeas and Carrots with Mint, Yogurt, and Turkish Chili Butter (Patreon)

Who We Are (According to the First Cookbook Club Survey)

The results from the first Frienjis' Cookbook Club poll are in, and let me tell you: we’ve got a pretty seriously nerdy kitchen crew gathered here. Three hundred forty-seven of you filled out the survey (thank you!), and reading through your answers was equal parts inspiring, hilarious, and validating. You’re an adventurous, wildly curious bunch of cooks—people who like to understand the why behind a recipe and aren’t afraid to go off-script. You own jars and jars of umami bombs (soy sauce, fish sauce, MSG), plenty of chilies, something called "Johnny's Salt," modern ingredients like transglutaminase (AKA meat glue) and sodium citrate (AKA cheese-meltifier), and lots and lots and lots of hot sauce (you are my people).

Most of you are confident in the kitchen: 66% of you said so outright (and the rest are probably just being modest). Almost everyone here cooks at least three to four times a week, and nearly half of you are in the daily-cooking camp, which explains why your answers came in seasoned with experience (and probably a little leftover chili crisp). You’re also an exceptionally bold bunch: 87% of you rated yourselves a four or five on the adventurous scale, and not a single person said they’re “not adventurous.”

Only one solitary cook claimed to never deviate from a recipe (don't worry, I won't rat you out), which honestly feels like the kind of discipline that I could personally only muster on the clock. The rest of you? You’re tinkerers, testers, and taste-chasers—people who like to poke at the edges of a recipe until it bends to your will and know how to freestyle your way to a good meal.

A Few Delicious Data Points

Here’s what the data says about you as cooks—you’re confident, curious, and maybe just a little obsessed (in the best way):

Kitchen confidence: 66% of you call yourselves confident home cooks.

Cooking frequency: 94% of you cook at least 3–4 times a week; 42% of you cook daily.

Adventurousness: 87% of you rate yourselves a 4 or 5 on the adventurous scale—nobody chose 1.

Palate sensitivity: 44% of you say you have a “mostly sensitive” palate, but fewer than 10% of you are confident enough to claim a full 5/5—so you trust your taste, but you’re humble about it.

Testing dedication: 43% of you are willing to spend three or more hours testing a recipe (heroes!).

Notes & tweaks: Only 10 of you always take notes—everyone else wings it.

Ingredient loyalty: 64% of you said you’re very willing to buy specialty ingredients, and zero of you said “no way.”

Salt allegiance: This is a Diamond Crystal household by a landslide (64% of you said so).

The Global Frienji Network

This is truly an international kitchen. You’re cooking from every corner of the globe—Australia, Finland, Colombia, Austria, Thailand, Germany, the UK, Brazil, Canada, and plenty of spots in between. There’s a Frienji stirring a pot in Helsinki while another is firing up a grill in Bogotá. Someone’s roasting in Melbourne while another’s simmering soup in Schleswig-Holstein. One of you even splits time between Bali and elsewhere, which sounds like the best possible test kitchen arrangement.

It’s wild to imagine all of us cooking the same dish in different hemispheres, climates, and time zones—some in summer heat, some in snow (and hopefully all able to access the ingredients we want).

(The award for Best Hometown Name goes to our friend from Bundoran, known as "Ireland’s Premier Seaside Resort," which I assume smells of salt air, fish and chips, and perhaps a touch of children and vomit.)

Pantry Raids

What do you keep in your pantries? Soy sauce, fish sauce, MSG, mustard, yogurt, and “things in cans” dominated, but the outliers made it personal: pre-cooked bacon, fermented white pepper (pssst unless it specifically says "washed" or "deodorized" or "non-fermented," virtually all white pepper is fermented (just as all chicken sold in the U.S. since 1950 has no added hormones. The rest is marketing)), buttermilk powder, frozen elk meat, and enough Better Than Bouillon to fill a small warehouse.

You, like me, ought to get a dedicated hot sauce and Better Than Bouillon fridge in your bedroom closet.

Reading your food stories was a joy. So many began with necessity—learning to cook after moving out, having kids, or wanting to recreate flavors from home—and grew into full-blown creative obsessions. You talked about cooking as science, as love, as connection. You mentioned watching Alton Brown, reading The Food Lab (psst... you can get signed and personalized copies shipped in time for the holidays from The Book Larder) and wanting to understand why food behaves the way it does. That curiosity and generosity are exactly what this club is built on.

Where a Recipe Begins (and Never Ends)

So: we’ve confirmed that this is a community of fearless kitchen scientists armed with MSG, fish sauce, and opinions; and not the kind of folks who shy away from a specialty ingredient or two. I picked this first recipe precisely because of that. You told me you’re adventurous, curious, and up for a challenge, so we’re kicking things off with something that rewards those instincts: a dish that’s ultimately fast and easy and can be made with some common substitutions, but really rewards you for seeking out those specialty ingredients. In this case, sumac and either Aleppo or Urfa Biber chile from Turkey.

We often think about recipes as endpoints—fixed, immutable things that arrived on earth fully formed, like tablets from a mountaintop. But in truth, recipes are alive. They evolve, shift, and adapt, just like the people and places that cook them. Every recipe came from somewhere, and each one has the potential to branch in a hundred different directions. A recipe isn’t a monument; it’s a snapshot—a record of what one person was cooking in one kitchen at one point in time, with the ingredients, tools, and constraints they had.

What I want to explore in this book is that idea: if we study the past evolution and the core building blocks of a beloved recipe—why it works, what makes it satisfying, and how it’s adapted across generations and geographies—we start to see where it can go next. Once you understand a recipe’s DNA, you can begin to evolve it yourself, bending it toward your own tastes, needs, and the ingredients that surround you. That’s where real creativity and confidence in cooking come from—not just in following recipes, but in knowing how to make them your own.

Take today's recipe: Crunchy Roasted Chickpeas and Carrots with Mint, Yogurt, and Turkish Chili Butter.

I fell in love with the combination of yogurt, chili, mint, sumac, and cumin while eating my way through Istanbul years ago. Since then, I’ve used that mix in more meals than I can count. At its heart is a direct sensory contrast—the heat of the chili on your tongue against the cooling tang of yogurt. Once you find that balance, you realize that sour, fermented dairy and chili can pair beautifully with all kinds of other aromas and cuisines.

In The Wok, I explored the same idea in a cucumber salad with dill, yogurt, and chili crisp. I’ve made lamb meatballs on a bed of yogurt topped with Mexican-style salsa macha—same concept. Even a tortilla with hot salsa and cool sour cream, or a fiery vindaloo tempered by raita, follows the same script. (Pro tip: drizzle a little chili crisp over frozen yogurt sometime—it’ll change your life.)

This recipe starts with one of the purest expressions of that combination: Turkish çılbır, a dish of thick yogurt, poached eggs, and Aleppo chili butter. It’s simple, comforting, and perfect for tearing into with good bread.

To turn it into a heartier dish, I roast chunky carrots and chickpeas tossed with olive oil, salt, and crushed cumin until the carrots caramelize and the chickpeas turn dense and crunchy. Once they’ve cooled slightly, I toss them with thinly sliced red onion, fresh mint, cilantro (optional if you’re not a fan), a sprinkle of sumac for brightness, and Aleppo or Urfa Biber chili flakes—Aleppo when I want something light and fruity, Urfa when I’m craving something deeper and smokier.

As the salad cools, I make a quick chili butter by melting butter in a small skillet until it foams, then stirring in a pinch of ground Aleppo or Urfa Biber flakes (whichever one I already added to the vegetables—or both if I'm torn). Once the butter blushes deep red, I take it off the heat and let the chili steep for a minute or two so the flavors fully bloom.

To serve, I spread a layer of seasoned Greek yogurt or labneh on a plate—brightened with herbs, salt, and a squeeze of lemon—then spoon the roasted carrots and chickpeas on top. A drizzle of that warm chili butter ties everything together, pooling into the yogurt and streaking through the vegetables like a sauce.

It’s an incredibly flavorful salad whether served warm, at room temperature, or straight from the fridge—a make-ahead dish that feels special enough for a dinner party but easy enough for lunch any day of the week.

Recipe: Crunchy Roasted Chickpeas and Carrots with Mint, Yogurt, and Turkish Chili Butter

Every recipe I publish here is personally tested, tasted, and approved.

This salad takes inspiration from one of my favorite flavor contrasts: hot chili against cool, tangy yogurt. It started as a riff on Turkish çılbır—poached eggs over yogurt with Aleppo chili butter—and turned into a roasted carrot and chickpea dish that’s earthy, spicy, and refreshing all at once. It’s simple enough for a weekday lunch but special enough to serve at a dinner party.

What I love about this recipe:

Chunky carrots get tender and caramelized at the same time that canned chickpeas become dense and crunchy. Cumin and sumac add earthiness and tang.

Gently heating butter with Turkish chilies infuses it with gentle heat, lots of aroma, and a bright red color.

Yogurt with herbs and lemon lightens the flavor of the darkly roasted vegetables.

Yield: 4 servingsActive Time: 15 minutesTotal Time: 45 minutesNotes: Aleppo chili is a bright red, spicy, fruity dried chili and Urfa Biber is a deep red, lightly spicy, smoky chili. Both can be found imported from Turkey in a well-stocked local or mail-order spice shop.

If you leave out the roasted carrots and chickpeas, the yogurt and chili butter combination is fantastic as a base for many other dishes. Try serving a grilled lamb chop, steak, meatballs (maybe seasoned with cumin, mint, and chilies), or a seared chicken breast. Use it as a base for a poached egg. It's also great with fried or roasted potatoes (or even frozen french fries). It pays to make extra chili butter and seasoned yogurt.

If making ahead, store the salad, the seasoned yogurt, the herbs, and the chili oil separately until plating and serving.

Ingredients

For the roasted carrots & chickpeas

1 ½ pounds (680g) carrots, peeled and cut into chunky sticks or wedges

1 (15-ounce / 425g) can chickpeas, drained and rinsed.

2 tablespoons (30ml) olive oil

2 teaspoons (6g) cumin seeds, lightly crushed

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

For the herbed yogurt

¾ cup (180g) Greek yogurt or labneh

1 tablespoon (15ml) lemon juice, plus more to taste

1 tablespoon (15ml) olive oil

2 tablespoons each finely chopped fresh mint and cilantro (or more mint if skipping cilantro)

Salt, to taste

For the chili butter

2 tablespoons (45g) unsalted butter

1 teaspoon (3g) Aleppo or Urfa Biber chili flakes (use Aleppo for bright and fruity, Urfa for deep and smoky)

To finish

2 teaspoons (3g) ground sumac

1 tablespoon (15ml) lemon juice, plus more to taste

Half a small red onion, very thinly sliced

A big handful each of mint leaves and cilantro leaves and fine stems (or just mint if you prefer)

Method

Roast the vegetables:Adjust the oven rack to the center position and preheat the oven to 425°F (220°C). On a parchment- or foil-lined sheet pan, toss the carrots and chickpeas with olive oil, crushed cumin, salt, and pepper. Spread in a single layer and roast, stirring once or twice, until the carrots are tender and browned and the chickpeas are dense and lightly crunchy, about 25 minutes.

Meanwhile, make the yogurt base:In a bowl, stir together the yogurt, lemon juice, olive oil, mint, cilantro, and salt. Adjust acidity and salt to taste. Set aside.

Make the chili butter:Melt the butter in a small skillet over medium heat until foamy. Add the chili flakes and remove from heat. Swirl until fragrant and the butter turns deep red, about 30 second. Season to taste with salt and, if desired, skim off any foam from the top (it will look deeper red and clearer if you skim it, but it's not necessary). Set aside in a warm place until the vegetables are done.

Toss the salad:Let the roasted carrots and chickpeas cool slightly, then toss with the sumac, lemon juice, onion and herbs. Taste and adjust seasoning with more sumac, lemon juice, and salt to taste.

Assemble:Spread the yogurt over the base of a large serving platter, making a rim around the edge similar to a pizza crust. Spoon the roasted carrot and chickpea mixture into the middle of the yogurt. Drizzle everything with the warm chili butter (you can reheat it gently if it has solidified while waiting). Extra chili butter can be stored in a sealed container in the fridge for several weeks. Reheat on the stovetop or gently in the microwave to melt it again before use.

Here's the survey link for the first recipe after you've made it!

Here's the survey link for the first recipe after you've made it!