Vegetarian

A thin layer of frangipane baked under a pinwheel of sliced fruit in a tart shell crust not only adds richness and the flavor of almonds to complement the sweet-tangy fruit, it also helps keep the tart shell crisp because it acts as a barrier between fruit juices and the pastry. Almond paste is available in the baking aisle of supermarkets. It is not marzipan, which has more sugar and is usually used for modeling and shaping.

One of the basics in any baker’s repertoire is crème pâtissière, or pastry cream. Though the word “cream” appears in its name, there is, in fact, no cream in pastry cream. Cooking egg yolks and milk with a bit of flour creates a smooth, rich custard that looks and tastes as if it were made with cream. Pastry cream is used as the base for many soufflés. It can also be spread in a prebaked tart shell (page 229) and topped with fresh fruit to make a seasonal fruit tart, or piped as a filling into pâte à choux puffs (page 232) that are then smothered in warm Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce (page 243).

With all the recent interest in Spanish cuisine, it’s no surprise that membrillo—Spanish quince paste—has become a global hit. Anyone who has tasted it paired with Manchego cheese and a glass of sherry understands why it’s become so popular the world over. But that popularity doesn’t come easy: it takes at least 30 minutes of almost-constant stirring to make quince paste. I always wear an oven mitt while stirring with a wooden spatula because the hot mixture occasionally pops and sputters as it thickens.

This dough is cookielike and sturdy, and it doesn’t need to be weighed down with pie weights for prebaking. But best of all, it’s pressed into the tart pan, so there’s no need for rolling.

If there’s an easier candy out there, I haven’t found it. When I worked as a pastry chef, I think I made a batch of these every day. And since they’re so easy, why not? (Actually, I pretty much had to since I discovered all the other cooks in the kitchen couldn’t resist dipping into the container when I wasn’t looking.) Great nibbled on their own, these nuts are also good used in place of the toasted nuts in Chocolate Chip Cookies (page 188) and Robert’s Absolute Best Brownies (page 196), or in place of the almonds in Pistachio, Almond, and Cherry Bark (page 223). They can be chopped and folded into just-churned ice cream, or sprinkled on top of scoops of ice cream that are sauced with a ladleful of warm Rich Caramel Sauce (page 241).

It was the name of this candy that first won me over, but it’s the taste of this easy-to-make treat that continues to make me smile. Both novice and intrepid candy makers will be happy because this simple confection doesn’t require a candy thermometer or any fancy equipment and it can be made in minutes. Serve pieces of almond ding as part of a cookie or candy plate, chop it into bits and fold them into just-churned ice cream, or offer some alongside a favorite sorbet. (It goes particularly well with Simple Cherry Sorbet, page 165.) Be sure to use flaky sea salt which will provide dramatic bits of salty sparks when you crunch into the buttery caramelized almonds. This recipe is from Cindy Pawlcyn, chef-owner of Mustard’s Grill in the Napa Valley.

It was a happy day when an enterprising midwesterner decided that the surplus of sour cherries could be dried instead of left neglected on the trees. And thus, one of my favorite baking ingredients was born. But this recipe is eminently adaptable and you can use any kind of dried fruit or toasted nuts that suits you. Diced apricot pieces and cranberries, walnuts and toasted pecans, and roasted cocoa nibs have all found their way into various batches of this bark. I even got really crazy once and crumbled candied bacon into a batch. That one met with a few raised eyebrows, but was gobbled up by all.

I thought I knew all about chocolate truffles until I enrolled in an advanced course in chocolate making at a school for professionals next to the Valrhona factory in France’s Rhône Valley. I spent three very intense days there learning how to combine three simple ingredients—chocolate, cream, and butter—into silky smooth ganache. In the class were eight of the top chocolatiers in the world, plus a ninth person, who quickly realized that he had a lot more to learn about chocolate than he thought he did. Ganache seems simple, but chef Philippe Givre taught us how to whip these three ingredients into a velvety paste that needed several days of rest before it was ready to be tasted. (It’s worth the wait!) It would take a whole book to explain his technique and a professionally equipped kitchen attached to a chocolate factory to try it out, so for this recipe, I’ve shortened the process a bit. Of course, to make these truffles, it’s worth seeking out the best chocolate you can find, which, if you’re lucky like I was, might be right next door.

These cookies are like supersized biscotti, but, unlike biscotti, they’ve never gained wide acceptance outside their native Italy, probably because their name is a bit more of a challenge to pronounce. Thankfully, they’re just as easy to make, and every bit as good.

I love chocolate. But sometimes I want something that’s packed with intense chocolate flavor yet not outrageously rich. These biscotti certainly fit the bill. Italians often add a dash of black pepper to desserts and give them the designation pepato. I share their affection for a hit of peppery flavor in desserts, but feel free to omit the pepper if you’d like.

These barely sweet crisp little cookies are the definitive Italian nibble. Not only do I serve them as perfect bites alongside a ristretto (a “tight” espresso), but I also crumble them up and use the bitter almond-scented crumbs in desserts. They make a perfect topping for Lemon Semifreddo (page 65) and give a decidedly Italian touch to Peach-Amaretti Crisp (page 102). True amaretti are made with sweet apricot kernels rather than almonds, but since apricot kernels can be difficult to find and not everyone’s keen on eating them (they contain cyanide), I call for almonds in this recipe.

This recipe is much easier to make than conventional tuiles because the batter isn’t as fussy and it doesn’t need to be painstakingly spread out on a baking sheet with a spatula. The heat of the oven takes care of the spreading, making sure that the cookies expand to the right dimensions as they bake. No, unfortunately, the oven can’t mix up the batter for you, but maybe in a few years kitchen technology will make that an option. The cookies can be coaxed into an endless variety of shapes warm out of the oven—they can be curled over a rolling pin for traditional tuiles, wrapped around the handle of a wooden spoon into cigar-like tubes, or molded over the bottom of an overturned teacup into nifty cookie cups for holding ice cream. You’ll have to do that part yourself, too, but then again, why let your oven have all the fun?

It was as if someone hit the switch one day and all of a sudden, a flash of electric-green took Paris by storm. You couldn’t walk past a pâtisserie without seeing something sweet and shockingly green standing out among the more traditional-looking pastries in the lavish window displays. Although the deluge of green tea desserts spread far and wide throughout the city, the best can be found at the shop of Sadaharu Aoki, a Japanese pâtissier who wows normally blasé Parisians with his classic French desserts made with a twist. He incorporates ingredients like black sesame seeds and sweet red beans into his pastries, creating a marriage of flavors that would’ve stunned Escoffier. I came up with my own recipe for these flavor-packed almond teacakes flecked with a bit of salt and sesame seeds because I was certain that the staff at his shop was tired of wiping my nose prints off the windows.

These lacy cookies have an exotic appeal thanks to the tiny sesame seeds inlaid in the surface, as well as the spoonful of sesame oil in the batter that adds a toasty sesame scent. Black sesame seeds make the tuiles especially striking. They’re great paired with tropical fruit desserts such as Passion Fruit–Tangerine Sorbet (page 159) or Tropical Fruit Soup with Coconut Sherbet and Meringue (page 112). Like the Pecan-Butterscotch Tuiles (page 214), they can be shaped into tubes or cookie cups.

When I think of cookie cultures, Mexico doesn’t immediately spring to mind. However, there are Mexican wedding cookies, or polvorones, the nation’s answer to Scottish shortbread. Their delicate texture and mild sweetness make them muy simpático next to a bowl of Sangria Sorbet (page 158) or Mexican Chocolate Ice Cream (page 148).

This recipe is the result of a 12-year obsession. I first fell for these wispy cookies when I bought a startlingly pricey pack of them at an upscale gourmet store in America. When I moved to France, I was surprised how common these crackly cookies are. I was so excited—they were everywhere! Have I mentioned that I’m obsessive? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, then, that I just had to come up with a recipe for the cookies myself. I checked the ingredients list on as many packages as I could get my hands on, and they certainly seemed simple enough. What followed was years of duds as I searched for ways to combine the mere handful of ingredients into the lightly caramelized croquants of my dreams. Then, suddenly, one day, after a lot of trial and just as much error, I got it right. I wasn’t the only one pleased with the results: I left a sack for the highly opinionated French woman who cleans my apartment, and arrived home later to find a little note that read “EXTRA DELICIEUX. Merci, David!”

After years of carefully studying dessert habits, I’ve begun to refine my theory that there are two types of people—those who like lemon desserts and those who like chocolate. I’ve observed that there’s a subspecies that likes desserts with a crunch, a group that includes me. I’m a big fan of seeds, and I like to add them to these jam-filled cookies to put them squarely in the crunchy camp. Or should I say “roundly,” since they are, indeed, round. But feel free to use any cookie cutters you have—round, square, oval, or even heart-shaped.

I was doing a cooking demonstration in health-conscious Los Angeles, and when I melted the half-stick of butter that this recipe calls for—a modest amount by my standards—a woman near the front row panicked and exclaimed, “Oh my God! Look at all that butter he’s using!” I’m not sure these cookies fall into the “healthy” category, but with just a half-stick of butter for nearly 2 dozen cookies, I’d say you shouldn’t feel all that guilty about indulging in one—or maybe two, for those of you who really want to live on the edge. These cookies are a riff on Anzac biscuits that were created as sustenance for the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (Anzac). I adapted a recipe from Cooking Light magazine, adding dried cranberries and naming them “cranzac cookies,” but I’ve left them lean enough to keep those who eat them in fighting weight.

Writing an ice cream book means two things: (1) you’ll need to buy a separate freezer, and (2) you’re going to have buckets of egg whites left over. Because this recipe uses quite of bit of egg whites, it was a staple in my repertoire for a while. I was certain all my friends (and neighbors, and delivery men, and local merchants, and the people who work in my doctor’s office) would tire of eating these coconut macaroons, but never once did I hear a complaint. Dipping the bottoms in dark chocolate isn’t required, but it really lifts the macaroons to a whole different level. I very highly recommend it.

This is the classic gingersnap: thin, crisp, with a spicy bite. For the best flavor, use very fresh spices. I grind my own cinnamon and cloves for these, and never, ever use preground black pepper. If you don’t have a pepper mill, shame on you. Go get one. Although not a pantry staple, coarse-crystal sugar—such as Demerara or turbinado—is wonderful embedded in the surface of each snappy cookie. I find it pretty indispensable for these cookies and use it for sprinkling onto many different baked goods before they go into the oven, so I always keep a tub of it in my kitchen cabinet.