Vegetarian

Thin strips of soft-candied citrus peel enliven the flavor of desserts and look beautiful as garnishes for cakes, fruit compotes, sherbets, custards, and, especially, Champagne Gelée (page 114). Although it’s convenient to have a jar on hand to use on a whim, they’re quick and easy to make.

There’s no reason to ever buy candied orange peel since it’s so much better when you make it at home. I can’t bear throwing away anything remotely edible, so when I have rinds left over from juicing oranges or tangerines for sorbet, I always make a batch of candied peels and serve them alongside. Finely chopped bits of candied orange peel enliven a batch of cookies like Gingersnaps (page 199) and add an unexpected, but delicious, twist when tossed into a fruit dessert such as Apple-Blackberry Crisp (page 101). This candied orange peel is thicker and more substantial than Soft-Candied Citrus Peel (page 253). In addition to being used an an ingredient or garnish, it can be enjoyed on its own as a confection.

This very glossy, deeply colored sauce is especially good with Vanilla Ice Cream (page 143), but it also shines brightly alongside a fruit tart or a summer fruit galette.

This sauce bridges two seasons—it marries the citrus fruit of winter and spring’s rhubarb. Its delicate color and bright flavor makes it the ideal accompaniment to Ricotta Cheesecake with Orange and Aniseed (page 55).

Even when they’re in season, fresh apricots aren’t always easy to find, so I turn dried apricots that are available everywhere and at any time of the year into this delightfully tangy apricot sauce. I always use California dried apricots, which have a much deeper flavor than imported ones, and I highly recommend you do the same.

During the brief cherry season when fresh cherries are abundant (and inexpensive), I make as many batches of candied cherries as I can, as they keep beautifully in their syrup for months in the refrigerator. I’ll add a handful of candied cherries to a fruit crisp before baking, or drain them well and fold them into a batch of just-churned ice cream. They are particularly good spooned over lemon desserts, such as Tangy Lemon Frozen Yogurt (page 174) and Lemon Semifreddo (page 65), and are delicious used in place of the chocolate-covered peanuts in White Chocolate-Ginger Ice Cream (page 149). Or, if no one’s looking, I just pluck one from the jar and pop it into my mouth.

Although fresh raspberries are terrific in this sauce, frozen raspberries also work very well—especially good news when the berries aren’t in season. I can’t think of a lemony dessert that this sauce doesn’t complement.

This is my all-time favorite chocolate sauce and the one I’ve been making for almost three chocolate-filled decades. Don’t let the fact that it doesn’t contain any cream or butter make you think that this sauce is lacking in any way—it gets maximum intensity from ramped-up amounts of chocolate and cocoa powder. I do prefer to use Dutch-process cocoa powder here because of its stronger flavor and darker color, but you can use natural cocoa powder if that’s what you prefer or have on hand. Since it has no cream or butter, I don’t feel any guilt liberally pouring this sauce over desserts like Anise-Orange Ice Cream Profiteroles (page 172) or a wedge of Pear Tart with Brown Butter, Rum, and Pecans (page 91).

One day while cooking some blueberries, it occurred to me that the sharp taste of a sizable shot of gin would nicely complement the berries, so I reached for the bottle and poured some in. Gin’s herbaceous flavor does indeed marry nicely with blueberries—it can hardly be tasted once cooked, but somehow it just rounds out the blueberry notes. Now, whenever I cook with blueberries, a bit of gin finds its way into the mix.

For those who like their chocolate sauce rich and thick, this sauce has more body than the Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce (page 243), courtesy of a modest amount of cream. It is particularly appealing when served side by side or gently swirled with White Chocolate Sauce (below) as an accompaniment to wedges of chocolate cake.

Mangoes, like most tropical fruits, will tip you off to their ripeness with their aroma. A good, ripe mango has a heady, syrupy scent, and when you hold it in your hand, it should feel slightly soft and a bit too heavy for its size. Although the plump, sweeter varieties, such as Hayden and Tommy Atkins, are the most tempting, slender and wrinkly Champagne or Manila mangoes that you might come across will surprise you with their gentle nuances. Depending on which variety you choose to use in this sauce, start with the smaller amount of sugar and add more if necessary. A spoonful of mango sauce is a nice complement to Coconut and Tropical Fruit Trifle (page 70) or scoops of Toasted Coconut Sherbet (page 152) nestled in cookie cups made with Sesame-Orange Almond Tuiles (page 212).

I make this sauce with blood oranges when they’re available because I like the deep, vivid color their juice adds. One of my favorite and simplest of desserts is a platter of chilled navel and blood orange slices scribbled with this tangy-sweet sauce and sprinkled with chopped pistachios. But this sauce is also good drizzled over a neat slab of Gâteau Victoire (page 32) or a serving of Ricotta Cheesecake with Orange and Aniseed (page 55).

This thin sauce with a fiery personality adds a direct hit of liquor, tempered by caramel, to any dessert that it’s drizzled over. I particularly like it made with Armagnac, Cognac’s rowdy cousin, and paired with Creamy Rice Pudding (page 138). If you wish, you can use bourbon, rum, or any favorite liquor in place of the Cognac.

I’ve seen fights break out among pastry chefs over what constitutes crème anglaise, so I’ll stick with the classic. This versatile custard sauce isn’t so rich that it overwhelms, but it is smooth enough to provide a creamy, luxurious component to desserts such as cakes and cobblers. Although not traditional, try a pour of crème anglaise in a bowl of fruit sorbet—the silken richness is a spot-on counterpoint to the icy scoop.

Burnt caramel is all the rage lately, and for good reason. The slightly bitter notes counter the sugar’s sweetness so that the result is a complex and balanced flavor, not just direct sweetness. It’s important to stop cooking the caramel at just the right moment, which is only a few seconds before it’s scorched. Recipes often advise cooking the caramel until it just begins to smoke, but it isn’t until it begins to foam a bit that its best flavor comes forward. To one-up burnt caramel, you can make salted-butter burnt caramel sauce by using salted butter and stirring in additional salt (preferably flaky sea salt) to taste. It’s delicious!

Sabayon is the French version of Italian zabaglione, an airy egg-and-wine custard. It requires a certain amount of energy—and strength—to whip up a batch. If you’ve ever heard a frenzy of whisking coming from the kitchen at an Italian restaurant, you’ve heard why many Italian cooks (especially the sturdy grandmas) have such well-developed arms. But one lick of the boozy, frothy dessert is enough to make you forget those few furious minutes of whipping. If you don’t think you’re up to the task, you can use an electric handheld mixer. But I always feel that if I’ve worked hard to make something, I’ve earned the right to eat it. You can serve the sabayon hot from the stove, although here, it is cooled and whipped cream is added so it can be held before serving.

Anyone intimidated by making dough will quickly get over it in the 3 minutes that it takes to make this one. It’s very easy to put together, very forgiving, and almost impossible to botch. Any flaws, cracks, or imperfections are part of its rustic charm, although I’m confident that even the most inexperienced baker will master it with the very first try. It will likely become your favorite dough to use for any number of open-faced fruit tarts. This recipe can be doubled—an extra disk is good to have on hand in the freezer for later use.

This feather-light sponge cake recipe was given to me by the always-gracious food writer Shirley Sarvis. When I asked her the reason for adding water to sponge cake batter, she replied, “For moisture, of course!” It is indeed a wonderfully moist sponge cake, and I use it in many desserts, including Coconut Layer Cake (page 59), Lemon Semifreddo (page 65), and Coconut and Tropical Fruit Trifle (page 70). The cake can be baked in a baking sheet with sides, often referred to as a jelly-roll pan, or in a 9-inch (23-cm) round springform pan.

The batter for these French puffs is made on the stovetop, then shaped and baked until the eggy mounds balloon into airy, hollow spheres. The puffs take to all sorts of fillings, from simple whipped cream (page 239) to scoops of ice cream, as for Anise-Orange Ice Cream Profiteroles with Chocolate Sauce (page 172). No special equipment is required to make them, and they come together with ingredients you probably already have on hand. A few things to keep in mind: Measure the ingredients carefully—too much liquid results in flat puffs. Dump in the flour just when the butter is melted; if you wait too long, too much of the water will cook off. The finished batter should be thick and shiny and should stick to the spatula when you lift it. Finally, be sure to bake the puffs until they’re deep golden brown all the way around. If they’re underbaked, they may collapse cooling; the darker color means the puffs will stay crisper, too.

There’s lots of controversy about which fat makes the best pie crust: butter, shortening, or lard. I’m not a fan of shortening or lard because I always feel like I’m being unfaithful to butter by not baking with it. And besides, I like its taste. As long as you keep the butter cold and the ice water to a minimum, this dough bakes up plenty flaky. I prefer to use glass pie plates as they make it easy to check on the browning underneath, but metal pie pans work well, too.