Copyright © 2024 by Al Roker Entertainment, Inc.

Food styling and recipe development by Courtney Roker Laga

Cover design by Dana Li. Cover photo and art copyright © by Amy Roth.

Cover copyright © 2024 by Hachette Book Group, Inc.

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First Edition: October 2024

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Food and lifestyle photos © by Amy Roth; family photos courtesy of the Roker family

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Roker, Al, 1954- author. | 1 Laga, Courtney Roker, aut

Title: Al Roker’s recipes to live by : easy, memory-making family dishes for every time of day and every occasion / Al Roker with Courtney Roker Laga.

Description: First edition. | New York : Legacy Lit, 2024. | Includes in

Identifiers: LCCN 2024008738 | ISBN 9781538740699 (hardback) | ISBN 9781538740705 (ebook)

Subjects:

Classification: LCC TX833.5 .R64 2024 | DDC 641.5/12—dc23/eng/20240304

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2024008738

ISBNs: 978-1-5387-4069-9 (paper over board), 978-1-5387-4070-5 (ebook)

E3-20240924-JV-NF-ORI

CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

INTRODUCTION

A Breakfast State of Mind

Salad Greens and Liquid Love

Handheld Delights: Burgers and Sandwiches

Dinner in Real Life

Sides to Share, Dishes to Pass

Next-Level Libations: Spirited and Non-Spirited

Memory-Making Desserts

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

DISCOVER MORE

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Cover

Table of Contents

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This book is dedicated to the memory of Isabel Roker and Ruth Roberts, whose food and love provided nourishment for the hearts and souls of our families’ lives, today and tomorrow.

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INTRODUCTION

Most of you probably know me because I’ve told you it’s going to rain or warned you that a severe storm is coming your way.

Sharing news about the weather is a big part of my life, but it’s only one part of my story. Food is the narrative that has shaped so much of who I am, and it’s the source of my warmest memories. All it takes is the simple smell of a sweet potato or chicken roasting and I go back in time. There I am, the slightly pudgy Albert Roker Jr., with the big Coke-bottle glasses. I’m about eight years old, standing next to my mother as she gets to work preparing dinner for her brood in a modest kitchen in Queens, New York. I can hear my brothers and sisters making a ruckus in the living room, but it’s quiet in the kitchen as my mom bustles around, taking ingredients out of the refrigerator. She pulls out a wooden cutting board and a knife from the drawer and starts chopping vegetables while I watch. There’s a rhythm to her work, and an effortlessness.

I’m still awed by how she could transform a simple pile of ingredients into one of the Roker clan’s favorite meals—chicken cacciatore or maybe shrimp and grits. I also marvel at how my mom managed to feed so many of us day after day. The core Roker clan, made up of me, my dad, and my brothers and sisters, was challenging enough, but there were also many days when extra chairs were pulled up to the table, when one of us brought home a friend (or two or three) or when an aunt or uncle dropped by. No matter how many mouths there were to feed, Mom always made it work.

My mother’s tools were modest. She had the most basic appliances, some simple pots and pans, and a decent knife or two. She did not have a six-burner stove, an oversized refrigerator, French casserole dishes, or professional-grade knives. I remember asking her, “Why don’t we get a dishwasher like the family down the street?” She turned and stared at me. “Why would I get a dishwasher when I have all you kids? You all are my dishwasher.”

My mom wasn’t focused on becoming the next Julia Child. Her cooking was a surefire means of gathering us together. That’s what mattered. Years later, when I had a family of my own, I understood why preparing food was so important to her. Food begets memories.

Whenever I made pancakes for breakfast or short ribs for a more elaborate dinner, our kitchen became the family gathering place. The kids walked by to grab snacks, or maybe sat on a stool and chatted with me for a while, or worked on homework, or sometimes just passed through to ask for money. These were the moments I tried to etch into my mind. Nick filling me in about a swim meet after I had made him a sandwich. Leila talking about how she hoped to live in Paris someday and how she couldn’t wait to eat in a real French bistro. Courtney helping me with dinner, as her skills for cooking showed up early on. My wife, Deborah, grabbing a quick bite before running off for an interview.

Food is the narrative that has shaped so much of who I am, and it’s the source of my warmest memories.

These memories are different from the big ones—weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, graduations—that go with celebratory dinners and elaborate cakes. They are easily cemented into our memories (iPhone cameras and about 900 pictures also help). But everyday events are important too—maybe even more important. If I wanted to be fully present and make precious memories of daily life with my family, all I needed to do was head to the kitchen.

Now my kids cook too. Courtney went on to culinary school. Nick is the king of sandwiches, and Leila makes a killer lemon meringue pie and has showed me the pleasure of eating “bowls.”

But what warms my heart the most is watching my children, who loved their grandmother’s cooking, embrace the recipes she carefully crafted in that little kitchen in Queens. To see them dig into oxtail stew or grab a big scoop of macaroni salad is my past finding a place in my present. Those cherished moments around the dinner table of my childhood have been reignited in my own home with my own children. To know that these recipes will make their way into the kitchens of yet another generation is magical, and I wonder if my mom knew this, as she gracefully prepared meal after meal.

At Courtney’s wedding rehearsal dinner

With Deborah, Courtney, and my parents, Al Sr. and Isabel, in Queens, New York

Vacationing with Deborah in Istanbul