Blender

I live above a huilerie in Paris, a shop that sells top-quality oils from all over the world. I decided that Colette, the owner, would be my primary ice cream taste tester. Not only did she have an excellent palate and love to taste things, but I knew that, being French, she’d have absolutely no problem expressing her opinions, good or bad. This was her favorite of all the ice creams I made. Her eyes rolled back in her head when she slipped the first spoonful in her mouth. “Oh lá lá,” she exclaimed.

When I first started to travel to France regularly, the French, when they found out I was American, would rhapsodize “J’adore le Philadelphia!” It took me a while to realize they were enthralled with our cream cheese, which is indeed worthy of international acclaim. They’ve adopted cheesecake too, calling it le gâteau fromage or simply le cheesecake.

Maybe I’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer. When I visited the Chartreuse distillery in the French Alps, our guide told us that the exact recipe for the famed herbal liqueur was a closely guarded secret, known only by three brothers who worked at the monastery. Astounded, I spoke up. “Wow, that’s incredible. What is the likelihood of three brothers going into the same business together, as well as becoming monks at the same monastery?” The other guests on the tour simply stopped and looked at me with their mouths slightly agape. Then our guide enlightened me and we moved on, but not before I overheard a few hushed conversations evaluating my intellect. This is a very light ice cream, and it’s so simple that anyone, regardless of their intelligence level, can easily put it together.

This ice cream is for those who are nostalgic for those orange-and-cream-flavored popsicles. If you miss that taste, you’ll discover it again here.

On my first visit to Torino, I arrived in rabid pursuit of gianduja, a confection made from local hazelnuts ground with milk chocolate that is a specialty of the Piedmont region. I’d also never had gianduja gelato at the source. I did not leave disappointed. I watched with anticipation as the gelato maker at Caffè San Carlo smeared dense gelato from his gleaming freezer into a cone. It was hazelnut heaven. Use top-quality milk chocolate with at least 30 percent cocoa solids.

A few years back, I visited Tokyo for the first time, and while there I detected a curious flavor in one of the desserts I tasted. None of the pastry-chef students I was there to teach was able to tell me exactly what it was. But later, when a couple of the students and I were poking around at the 100-yen shop (the fabulously fun Japanese equivalent of a 99¢ store), I randomly picked up a packet of beige powder with a colorful riot of Japanese lettering. My easily enthused guides got even more enthused, letting me know that I’d found exactly what I was looking for. When I got home, I discovered kinako in my local Japanese food shop and learned that it was roasted soybean powder. It has a taste similar to roasted nuts but more elusive and certainly more exotic.

If you’re one of those people who finds the combination of raspberries with dark chocolate the ultimate luxury, you’ll adore this ice cream. It’s the perfect indulgence: rich, dark chocolate with the bright flavor of tangy raspberries.

The Aztecs were such trendsetters. Although it’s become fashionably chic, from Soho to South Beach, to spice up chocolate with a bit of chile pepper, in fact it’s a custom that goes back more than a thousand years. And I wonder if, even back then, there were paparazzi stalking luminaries in Central America, hoping to catch them in spicy situations. When your guests taste this decadent, zippy chocolate ice cream, you’ll understand what all the fuss is about—and perhaps develop a few overzealous followers yourself.

Unsweetened chocolate provides the maximum chocolate flavor in this non-custard-based chocolate ice cream. But bitter chocolate can be stubborn to melt, so whiz the mixture in a blender until it’s silky smooth.

This tart-sweet relish is thick enough for you to plop some into the crevices of a samosa for a wonderful, classic Indian food taste treat. Tamarind is known as the “date of India,” and the delectable marriage of the two kinds of dates in this chutney is a natural. Both ingredients lend body, their flavors perfectly complementing each other. I’ve eaten this chutney off a spoon. If available, use jaggery (unrefined Indian sugar) or Southeast Asian palm sugar instead of the brown sugar. Sticky dark brown slabs of tamarind pulp are sold at Chinese, Indian, and Southeast Asian markets in a double layer of plastic packaging. Soft dates, such as Medjools, work best. Otherwise, soak chewy, hard dates in just-boiled water for about an hour to soften them, then drain and proceed.

Like an American “popper” snack, this diminutive sweet enjoyed in Indonesia, Malaysia, and Singapore should be eaten whole: when you bite into it, the dumpling squirts lovely melted palm sugar into your mouth. The lightly smoky, caramel-like sugar then blends with the chewy rice dough and rich grated coconut in your mouth. These dumplings, also called klepon, are typically celadon green, since the dough features pandan (screwpine) leaves, a beloved ingredient in many parts of tropical Asia (see the Note below on buying the leaves). I like to amplify their herbal essence with vanilla. If pandan leaves are unavailable, just the vanilla and water are fine. Many cooks add food coloring for a cheery mint-green note; I prefer not to. Seek out Malaysian and Indonesian palm sugar (called gula melaka and gula jawa, respectively) for the best results. It is sold at Chinese and Southeast Asian markets, usually as thick cylinders wrapped in paper or plastic. The reddish-brown sugar is solid but moist. Shave off thin pieces with a knife to measure it out easily. If palm sugar is unavailable, combine 1/4 cup firmly packed dark brown sugar and enough molasses (a good tablespoon) to moisten the sugar well enough to roll it into balls.

As I have mentioned, lentils and split peas are big in the rustic cuisines of so many countries. Greece is no exception. This very simple dish can either be served on a plate by itself as an appetizer for dipping warm pita or as a side with grilled vegetables and a salad.

Moussaka is a quintessential Greek dish, and one that every American knows. Usually a delicious dish of layered eggplant, ground beef or lamb, tomatoes, onions, and, best of all, a thick custard topping, moussaka is one of my personal favorites. This version calls for only vegetables, a not-uncommon variation found in rural Greece. It does well in the slow cooker, but may be just a bit juicier than if baked in an open casserole dish in the oven.

Apples and walnuts ripen at about the same time, and are often grown in the same region. Pair them with a crusty, rustic loaf of bread, some spices, milk, and eggs, and you’ve got a perfect dessert for a fall afternoon. Puddings and bread puddings are particularly easy to make in a slow cooker, and the results are nearly always perfect.

My first introduction to Thai curries came while I assisted a friend in preparing a luncheon for Nancy Reagan at the Reagan Presidential Library in Simi Valley, California. What a surprise: the curry sauce was red! Although Thai curries have many ingredients in common with those of neighboring India, they tend to be tinged with a hint of sweetness from the combination of coconut milk and a traditional dash of sugar, and they are often colored red or green by the red or green chiles in them, rather than the more familiar yellow color of Indian curries. As with most Thai curries, serve this over rice.

Although this dessert sounds old-fashioned, the frozen sour cream is a modern-day update. And the fact remains that it’s a wonderful way to use a bounty of ripe summer berries. Such an elegant dessert couldn’t be easier to make—the frozen sour cream, which doesn’t require any cooking, is churned like ice cream while the berries marinate in orange-flavored liqueur, and the two come together in wine glasses for serving.

In case anyone thinks that the Internet is a cold, impersonal place, I’ve got evidence to prove them wrong. One day, completely out of the blue, I received an e-mail from a server who worked at a restaurant where I’d been the pastry chef, saying that not only did I have the sweetest smile, but that she loved the sherbets and sorbets that I made there. I don’t know which compliment was more touching, but I take any and all whenever I can, and via whatever medium they are sent. This was one of the sherbets I made at that restaurant, where I remember a different server taking a bite and her face lighting right up. “This tastes like a Mounds bar!” she exclaimed with a mix of surprise and delight. For me, that was another compliment, since that’s one of my favorite candy bars.

This is the world’s easiest ice cream. It takes literally a minute to put together, and doesn’t require an ice cream maker. You just toss everything in a blender, then pour the mixture into a container and freeze it, so there’s no excuse for even the machineless not to enjoy homemade ice cream. The one caveat is that the generous amount of alcohol is necessary to prevent the ice cream from freezing too hard. The good news is that all that booze means you don’t have to share your ice cream with the kids.

At one time, everything I knew about Indian cooking could fit on one bindi dot. It wasn’t until Niloufer Ichaporia King came to work with us at Chez Panisse, where each year she guided us through the preparation of a traditional Parsi New Year’s feast, that I tasted authentic and wonderfully aromatic Indian food. My favorite dish was a cake enrobed in a sheet of gold leaf, a stunning touch that lent the dessert the splendor worthy of a Bollywood musical. This is my version of that cake, but I left out the gold, since it’s not something you’re likely to have on hand. I did, however, brighten up the batter with vibrant green pistachios, which should be more easily found in grocery stores than sheets of gold leaf.

Several years ago, I took a culinary tour of Oaxaca, Mexico, run by my dear friend nancy Zaslavsky. While I knew I was in for some great food, I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the incredible marriage of flavors I found one morning in a bubbling hot cauldron of chilaquiles. I’ve used the memory of that momentous meal as inspiration for a Sriracha-tinged version that may not classify as traditional per se, but you know damn well it’s going to be delicious!.