Cookbooks

Worth It If you're anything like us, the first thing you think of when you hear "Turkish delight" is Edmund, the jerky younger brother from The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe who's plied with Turkish delight by the evil White Queen. We never really had this candy growing up, and so it has a bit of a magical association. How could something be so good that it would cause you to betray your family? Well, to be fair, the queen's Turkish delight was actually magical—we can't promise the same for this. But we can promise a delightfully soft and chewy sweet that's better than any store-bought version you've encountered. Rosewater is the traditional flavoring, and is available at many specialty and gourmet stores, but feel free to replace it with the same amount of whatever pure extract you like, such as orange or vanilla. Do note that this recipe requires expert timing (don't worry: that doesn't mean you have to be fast as lightning)—read it through a couple of times before you start! It's not a difficult recipe, but if you don't have a good idea of how everything gets put together before you begin, it's easy to bamboozle yourself in the middle. Be a good Scout and be prepared!

Moderate This is one of those candies we'll forget about for a while, and then when we eat one, we say to ourselves, "Hot dang! That's really good." It can be easy to forget sometimes, in this crazy mixed-up world, how pleasurable a simple combination like caramel, chocolate, and salt can be. If you've never had a real chocolate caramel, we'll spare you the attempt at describing the experience of eating one—just go ahead, make this, and find out for yourself. (Hint: it starts with a D and ends with an Elightful.) When we're feeling extra fancy, we like to reduce butter to 2 1/4 tablespoons and add 1 teaspoon black truffle oil. Yum!

WHAT: White wine infused with cardamom and star anise, as well as the more traditional triumvirate of cinnamon, ginger, and cloves, and amped up with pear brandy.
HOW: A slice of Asian pear is added to each drink as a garnish—the pear softens slightly as it absorbs the warm booze and makes for a yummy treat once you've sipped the last of the wine.
WHY WE LOVE IT: Like a delicate warm sangria, this drink is the perfect accompaniment to a cozy evening indoors.

Delicate, crumbly little thumbprints that are the perfect combination of sweet and savory—a cheese plate wrapped into one crunchy little morsel.

WHO: Midge lives in Boston and is a journalist specializing in travel. She says, "Cooking, especially baking, is my way of winding down after a long day." WHAT: A rich pudding that has just the right balance of bitter and sweet. HOW: Starting the water bath with cool water, rather than hot, cooks the pudding very gently, giving it the most incredibly silken, glossy structure. WHY WE LOVE IT: Puddings thickened with cornstarch make great comfort food, but Midge's luxurious caramel custard, which uses egg yolks as its only setting agent, elevates pudding to dinner party fare. As with any egg-enriched custard, the key is careful tempering. As for the caramel, be sure to brown it as far as your nerves allow. Midge says: "So far, one of the best parts about living in Boston is my proximity to Toscanini's burnt caramel ice cream. I'm not even that into ice cream, but this flavor, with its slight bitter edge to cut the richness, is cracklike. I attempted to capture it in a pudding, and after incinerating a lot of sugar, I think I finally got it."

NVA: Mangoes originated in India, but today they are loved in cuisines all over the world. The Sanskrit word for mango is amra, meaning "of the people." I think barbecue means "of the people" in America so I have united them here. Justin and I demonstrate this dish at mango festivals from time to time. The bonus: We always bring a bowl of it premade so that the guests can have a taste. That means the batch we make up on stage comes home. You'll be left with half of the BBQ sauce from this recipe, but you'll be pleased as you can use it on any kind of thing in the world that you might barbecue. It is outrageously good on a burger.

Southerners are especially clever about using up breads, raisins, and other dried fruits going stale. This frugal bread pudding—elegant enough for a party—is a case in point. The bread to use is firm-textured white bread (a.k.a. farm-style bread). I think raisin bread would be equally delicious though I've never tried it. And if I do, I'll omit the raisins or use half the amount called for. Tip: Only top-quality bourbon or sour mash whiskey will do for the sauce. Cheap brands lack flavor.

"Batido." This pretty little word is well known all over Latin America and to many in South Florida as well. A sweet and frothy fruit milkshake, it's as varied as the currently available fruits in season. Guanabana, mamey, atemoya, coconut, cherimoya, banana, tamarind and many others—all contributing their gorgeous colors and enticing fragrances! Put the pulp of any tropical fruit or fruits in an electric blender with a little ice, a splash of milk and hit the blend button. Moments later, in a frosty glass, a delicious, healthy, delectable fruit smoothy is waiting for you. The buttermilk is my own addition. If you like the tangyness of sour cream ice cream or crème fraîche you will like this as well. If not, you can omit the buttermilk and go the standard batido route. It's all good.

"Hey. Hey. I'm Frank, the Conch Salad Man. I'll sell you the world's best conch salad!" He was holding a huge white pickle bucket brimming with his conch salad. With no more explanation than that, he reached in and gave me a paper cup full. I tipped back a mixture of finely diced conch, tomatoes, red onions, Scotch bonnets, bell peppers, celery, citrus juices and herbs. The flavors of the sea were in there, too. Living in Key West was my culinary university; I never needed more formal training. The place was filled with honest, in-your-face flavors that came from the Cuban, Bahamian and African-American residents and wanderers who passed through. I didn't move to Key West to re-invent the cuisine—I came to find a home. In the process, I found a path to both. In this recipe, you will taste the foundation of each.

I can't believe I'd never heard of this recipe until I was halfway through writing this cookbook and then only because my good friend Fran McCullough, a primo New York cookbook editor now retired and living in the historic town of Hillsborough just north of Chapel Hill, e-mailed one morning full of enthusiasm: "Have you ever heard of Atlanta Brisket?" She'd eaten it for the first time the night before at some local "food do" and was blown away by its flavor and succulence. A quick online search turned up this shocker. Eli N. Evans, my across-the-hall Gramercy Park co-op neighbor for nearly 20 years, is an aficionado of Atlanta Brisket. Who knew? President Emeritus of The Charles H. Revson Foundation of New York and like me a born-and-bred Tar Heel, Eli is the author of three acclaimed books: The Provincials: A Personal History of Jews in the South, Judah P. Benjamin: The Jewish Confederate, and The Lonely Days Were Sundays: Reflections of a Jewish Southerner. The irony here is that I'd hand recipe "tests" across the hall to Eli and his family, never dreaming that he knew a thing about cooking.

If there's a way to bake a vegetable, trust a Southerner to find it. Who else, pray tell, would steam a head of cauliflower, sauce it, bread it, and bake it? Note: To save time, I nuke the cauliflower, adding no additional liquid. The drops of water clinging to the head after it's washed are quite enough. I simply put the cauliflower in a 2 1/2-quart microwave-safe casserole deep enough to accommodate it, one with a tight-fitting domed lid. I then center the covered casserole in my microwave oven, set the cook-time at 14 minutes, and hit HIGH (full power). My microwave oven is a 650-watter; newer models of higher wattage will do the job faster—perhaps twice as fast. But you will know your particular model's prowess better than I. If you choose to steam the cauliflower instead, allow 8 to 10 minutes in a covered saucepan over moderate heat or until crisp-tender—there should be about 3/4 inch of water in the pan. No steamer rack needed. While the cauliflower cooks, ready the sauce and bread crumb topping. That way no time wasted. Tip: For mellower flavor and smoother sauce, substitute freshly grated Parmigiano Reggiano cheese for the Cheddar our mothers and grandmothers would have used.

Pico de gallo, also known as salsa Mexicana, has become a common sight on tables in the U.S. and it's easy to see why. The mixture of raw, chopped ingredients improves just about any meal with its lively acidity, lip-tingling heat, and crisp texture. This version is a riff on the classic that swaps lemon for lime to great effect. Whenever I take a bite I have a heretical thought: This is so delicious that maybe we Mexicans should use only lemons!

This is the Mexican equivalent to the American grilled-cheese or turkey sandwich, an everyday treat you throw together with what's left in the fridge. In Mexico, that's beans, cheese, and salsa. Though molletes are available in restaurants, they're definitely best made at home, when you can make sure to properly butter and toast the bread, add the right amount of beans and cheese, then melt that queso under the broiler.

Virtually every tortería serves this torta, split hot dogs griddled and tucked inside bread. Instead of ketchup and relish, you dress your dog with all the typical torta condiments. Good old yellow American cheese provides another melty flavor and texture. It's not diet food, that's for sure, but it sure is delicious.

Another fantastic substitute for soupy beans, these pack a punch, which is just the thing for tortas. The chile powder should be reduced by half if serving these beans as a side dish.

Tapioca, like semolina, is one of those things that a school kitchen could have turned you off for life. I couldn't eat it for years, having been force-fed it at primary school aged six, with tinned jam, as it oozed like frogspawn out of the bowl and I wept and retched. For years I had the same malicious feeling toward beets and mashed potatoes, which were instant and came in lumpy granules. My teacher and I had a silent war every lunchtime; a war that eventually came to an end after my parents removed me from the school. Made to your own wont, in your own kitchen, tapioca is ambrosial, and worth being a grown-up for, as is semolina. This could also be a pudding, not a breakfast, just don't serve it with dog food–like tinned jam. Try a lovely homemade compote instead.

This is perfect to serve with some quinoa or wild rice as a main to a non-meat eater, or as a side with some roast chicken for the carnivorous. It's also good served warm the following day with a little grilled tofu added.

Editor's note: Use this gluten-free flour mixture to make Jeanne Sauvages' Spritz Cookies or Sufganiyot (Jelly Doughnuts).

The eight days of Hanukkah, the Jewish celebration of lights, honor the sacred lamp in the Holy Temple, which burned for eight days even though it only contained enough oil for one. Traditionally, many Hanukkah foods celebrate the oil in addition to the light. One of the most common is the jelly doughnut, known as sufganiyah. The word derives from the Hebrew word for "sponge," an apt description for the texture of the doughnuts. I think they are more accurately "pillowy."

This gluten-free spritz recipe makes about eight dozen. Yes, you read that right—eight dozen. And the cookies are quick to prepare and ideal for giving as gifts or bringing to cookie parties. You can serve the baked cookies plain or decorate them any number of ways. I like to slather melted chocolate between two cookies for an elegant sandwich cookie. It's also fun to drizzle melted chocolate over the tops. You can also sprinkle the cookies with colored sugar or decorate them with royal icing.