Christmas gifts for Foodie

The zester every cook owns and every new cook is missing. Parmesan, lemon, garlic, nutmeg, done.

The pyramid salt flakes every restaurant finishes with, in the big tub. A year of the one ingredient that upgrades everything.

A probe with no wires that stays in the roast and texts the phone when it is done. The gift for the person who cooks the turkey.

Cafe-grade espresso in 3 seconds. The wedding gift the couple thanks you for monthly.

Variable temperature, gooseneck spout, holds the line. The pour-over kettle.

A wide blade for the big stuff: squash, cabbage, a whole bag of potatoes. Stocking stuffer money.

Twelve pounds of edge-grain maple. The board that stops the counter from being the board.

Freeze the bowl, pour in cream, twenty minutes later there is ice cream. No salt, no ice, no fuss.

Freeze a pint of anything, spin it into ice cream. The machine behind all those protein ice cream videos.

The one knife. German steel, a curved bolster that teaches the pinch grip, sharp out of the box.

Two squeeze bottles of Spanish olive oil, one for cooking and one for finishing. The bottles live on the stove.

A Le Creuset piece under sixty dollars that sits on the counter every day. Holds every spoon they own.

The chili crisp that goes on eggs, noodles, pizza and ice cream. Crunchy, numbing, and gone in a month.

The pantry overhaul gift. Press-button seal, modular sizes, dishwasher safe.

The rice cooker that cooks perfect rice and sings when it is done. The Zojirushi that families keep for twenty years.

Ceramic dripper, server, 100 filters. The starter set that lasts a decade.

The tilt-head mixer that sits on the counter for thirty years. Still the wedding gift to beat.

Sous vide for a steak that is exactly right every time. The small Anova that clips to any pot.

The hot sauce in the geometric bottle with truffle in it. The stocking stuffer for the person who puts hot sauce on everything.

The home espresso machine with the grinder built in. The one that actually replaces the coffee shop.

Basil, mint and lettuce on the counter in January, grown in water under a light. The herb garden that does not die.

Wood collar, hourglass glass. The pour-over that doubles as a kitchen object.

The thirty dollar skillet that will be in the family in a hundred years. Made in Tennessee, seasoned, ready for a steak.

Pre-seasoned, lifetime-grade. The kitchen gift that's still being used in 30 years.