Beverages

Caramelized winter fruits atop these beans make for a wonderful variation of this traditional New England side dish.

Whidbey Island in Washington’s Puget Sound is one of the most beautiful places in the Pacific Northwest. At one time, the island was home to the world’s largest loganberry farm. Loganberries can now be purchased fresh or frozen in many markets, but boysenberries or blackberries would work as well. The sauce is particularly good with chicken, duck, or game hens.

Cranberries are native to North America and were used by indigenous peoples long before the Pilgrims arrived. They were mashed with deer meat for pemmican because their natural benzoic acid helps slow spoilage. For a slightly untraditional cranberry sauce, the dried berries, citrus flavor, and port beautifully complement a juicy turkey. Serve with wild rice pilaf or mashed potatoes.

This dish pays homage to the many German immigrants that have made their homes in the Midwest and the northern states over the last two hundred years. While fine German bratwurst is to die for, any high-quality sausage will taste wonderful in this hearty dish.

Spanish Basque immigrants first arrived in the United States in the mid-1800s. This recipe contains typical ingredients found in a Basque lamb stew, which is often served at traditional family-style restaurants in the Basque communities that can still be found throughout the Pacific Northwest and West. I suggest you cook it until the meat is just about to fall off the bone.

Although Walla Walla, Washington, is home to more than sixty wineries, it is also famous for the Walla Walla onion—a big sweetie similar to a Vidalia or a Maui onion. Legend has it that a French soldier found the seeds of a large, sweet onion on the island of Corsica and brought it to Walla Walla. The onion owes its yummy flavor to a high water and low sulfur content, and makes the sweetest of onion soups. For an extra treat, top the soup with a crouton of French bread covered with melted Gruyère cheese.

Ham with redeye gravy is a southern classic. A cuppa coffee is used to deglaze the pan, and the resulting slurry is poured over the ham slices. I’d bet my buttons that somebody has thrown coffee into the stew for added flavor!

White chili is usually made with white beans and fresh green chiles rather than the usual red or pink beans and dried red chiles. The bit of cream gives it a very rich mouthfeel. White chili is a wonderful change of pace on a cold winter evening by the fire.

These truffles will stay slightly soft in frozen ice cream. You can make them smaller or larger than indicated.

I’m a big fan of the all-American blueberry, and why not? They’re so easy to transform into a versatile sauce that’s equally at ease atop Philly-friendly Cheesecake Ice Cream (page 62) or alongside Hollywood–healthy Vanilla Frozen Yogurt (page 49). Or forge a Franco-American alliance by adding crème de cassis, the deep, dark black currant liqueur from Dijon (see the Variation at the end of the recipe).

Although I like to make this chunky sauce all year long and I use it to top everything from Super Lemon Ice Cream (page 85) in the winter to Fresh Apricot Ice Cream (page 76) in the summer, you can make it more winter-holiday-friendly by adding a handful of dried cranberries in place of some of the pecans, using the variation at the end of the recipe. Then try it ladled over Cinnamon Ice Cream (page 38) for a real treat. If possible, make this sauce in advance and let it sit for a few hours, so all the ingredients have a chance to mingle and meld together deliciously.

The coffee craze shows no sign of slowing down. And fueled by all that caffeine, it probably never will. This sauce combines coffee and chocolate into mocha, named after an Arabian port famous for its coffee. Somewhere along the line, chocolate got added, and “mocha” nowadays means coffee fortified with a good dose of chocolate.

I love the word spremuta, which means “freshly pressed orange juice” in Italian. At any caffè, if you order one, you’ll be brought a tall, vivid red glass of juice served with a few packets of sugar and a long, slender spoon alongside. Although years ago Americans were astonished when confronted with blood orange juice, this colorful citrus fruit has become common stateside and can be found in many supermarkets and farmer’s markets. When sliced open, they reveal a brilliantly colored interior, and like snowflakes, each one intrigues me, since no two seem to be colored alike. The Moro variety of blood oranges is the most intensely colored, but other varieties, like Sanguinelli and Tarocco, make remarkably colorful granita as well.

There’s a good reason mojitos have become all the rage. Made with rum and lots of fresh mint and lime juice, this lively Cuban cocktail practically begs to be made into a terrific granita. To make it more adult, drizzle a bit of extra rum over each serving and garnish with fresh mint sprigs.

This granita is a favorite in Italy, where they top it with what seems like an unspeakable amount of whipped cream, which I see many Americans scraping off just after they walk out the door—to the shock of passing Italians. You don’t need to heap it on quite as high, but a dollop of Whipped Cream (page 170) is always a welcome, and sometimes necessary, counterpoint to the strong coffee.

Inspired by the classic Kir Royale, this granita makes a similarly elegant after-dinner dessert. Because of the quantity of Champagne in this recipe, it takes bit longer to freeze than other granitas.

I’ll bet Dom Pérignon, the monk who is often given credit for inventing Champagne, would be turning over in his grave if he knew I had mixed his fizzy elixir with pineapple. But I’m sure I’d have his blessing if he tasted how good this combination is.

If I was stranded on a deserted tropical island and could have only one dessert, this would be my choice. Admittedly, it would likely be my only choice, since all the ingredients are native to the tropics.

Although the official title of this recipe is Raspberry-Champagne Sorbet, I invite you to improvise, and economize, by substituting a sparkly cava from Spain or a prosecco from Italy, which provide an equally lively sparkle. Have a tasting (and invite me!) and find one that you like. Here’s a tip: The one in the black bottle is a good budget option. Note that this recipe makes a small quantity, as the sorbet is better when it’s soft and freshly churned, and doesn’t improve with age. If you’re expecting lots of guests or just have a big appetite, simply double the recipe.

Creating a whole book with lots of recipes for sorbets means that you run the risk of using the word “refreshing” too often. But this sorbet is truly the most refreshing of them all, so I saved that word to describe it. Each bite is pure, frosty bliss. I use a rosé wine that’s not too sweet, with a touch of fruitiness. You could use almost any blush wine that leans toward the dry side as well, though in saying so I risk losing cred in the eyes of wine lovers and oenophiles. Because of the quantity of wine in this sorbet, it will not freeze very firmly in your ice cream machine and will be somewhat soft when you scrape it out. But don’t worry. When you go to serve it a few hours later, you’ll find that it’s the perfect texture, and yes, very refreshing.