Ginger

These cookie chunks are inspired by the famous spiced cookies from Belgium, which are zippier than American gingersnaps. Soft-baked Speculoos meld wonderfully when folded into ice cream, but if you’d like to make them crunchier, break the cookies into little bite-sized nuggets and toast them in a low oven (325°F, 165°C) for about 10 minutes, until dry and crispy. Cool completely, then fold the crunchy bits into your ice cream.

Few folks are as opinionated about all things apple as Frank Browning, whom I’ve dubbed the Apple Autocrat. Frank grew up on an apple farm in Kentucky, which nurtured his headstrong, southern-style convictions regarding apples. He offered this recipe from An Apple Harvest, which he cowrote with Sharon Silva, but absolutely insisted that I make it only in the fall, when good-tasting, red-skinned apples are in abundance. So wait I did. Okay… I didn’t wait. But please don’t tell Frank. I made this during the spring using Jonagold apples, which worked great. And although Frank insisted I use Gewürztraminer, I made it with a dry Riesling instead (blame my rebellious Yankee spirit). So feel free to use any tasty, red-skinned apple, but don’t use bland Red Delicious ones, or you might get yourself a Kentucky-style comeuppance.

The cleansing zing of fresh ginger is always welcome after dinner. Its not-so-subtle spiciness is a pleasing juxtaposition to the cool creaminess of ice cream. Ginger is also reputed to aid digestion, and adding nuggets of soft Dark Chocolate Truffles (page 211) or layering the ice cream with Stracciatella (page 210) would certainly make this “medicine” go down quite easily.

Take a page from Korean cooks who gently simmer lean beef with lots of scallions, onion, and garlic for a light, flavorful stock. The black peppercorns impart a golden hue as well as a spicy undercurrent. I prefer shank because there’s a little marrow bone for flavor, the gelatinous meat imparts richness, and the left overs can be used for an old-fashioned Chinese treat (see Note below). You can opt for oxtail, rump, brisket, or other stewing meat but know that a little bone, meat, and fat together make for good stock flavor.

This is my standard, multipurpose Asian chicken stock. Good-quality chickens are a premium ingredient, so make the most of your investment. Save and freeze chicken parts as you prepare other dishes. Every once in a while, especially when the freezer gets full, brew some stock. It freezes beautifully. And in a pinch, make the shortcut version from canned broth (see the Variation, below).

While this relish boldly says, “I am mint!,” it also has a bite from chile, ginger, and raw onion. Lime juice and sugar tame and unite the ingredients. This, along with the Tamarind and Date Chutney (page 220), provides just the right bright accents to Indian Samosas (page 115).

When you present dumplings with this sauce, the combination may recall an Italian pasta dish, but the sauce’s zesty qualities resemble the Latin flavors of Mexico more than of Europe. But on closer analysis, the combination of chile, ginger, herbs, and spices is definitely Asian, specifically Nepal’s Himalayan cuisine, which blends Chinese, Indian, and Tibetan traditions. In the Nepalese repertoire, this sauce is a type of achar (a moniker for chutneys and pickles) and is what typically accompanies momo; it’s great with Tibetan momo, too. With a tangy edge, moderate heat, and spiced depth, the sauce has a multilayered punch that begins seemingly subtle but finishes with a certain feistiness. Sometimes ground toasted sesame seeds are added for richness, but I find that they mute the other flavors too much.

Soft and chewy sticky rice dumplings have a nuanced natural sweetness that is savored by fans of East and Southeast Asian cuisines. As the recipes in this book show, they lend themselves to many occasions, cooking techniques, and fillings. Regardless of type, sticky rice dumplings never fail to please. Old-fashioned cooks pound just-cooked sticky rice to create their dough. Modern cooks like me reach for convenient glutinous (sweet) rice flour for our favorite sticky rice dumplings. Preparations involving poaching the dumplings and serving them in broth (like a sweet soup) are common in Asia. I grew up with this classic Vietnamese rendition, not realizing that fried shallots contributed to their richness until my mother revealed it to me one day. The intersection between sweet and savory contributes to these dumplings’ allure.

These delicate dumplings bursting with flavor were invented in the late 1800s in Nanxiang village outside Shanghai. Despite their name, they are not served floating in soup. The soup is contained within the thin, chewy-soft wrapper, along with a rich pork mixture. A delectable culinary trick, these “little bamboo steamer buns” (the literal translation of the Chinese name) are the quintessential Shanghai snack served at dumpling restaurants as well as small food joints. To get the soup into the dumplings, broth is gelled, chopped, and then mixed with the meat to produce a firm filling that can be stuffed efficiently into the wrapper. Under steam heat, the broth melts back into soup. Gelatinous pork skin is traditionally simmered for the broth, but many modern cooks employ agar-agar (see Note) or unflavored gelatin to insure proper gelling. For a robust soup, I infuse homemade chicken stock with smoky American country ham, which is often sold in slices at Chinese markets as “Virginia” or “Smithfield” ham; scrape and discard the black pepper coating, if present. Combining bread flour (Gold Medal brand, which has 12 percent protein, is what I use) with all-purpose flour for hot-water dough produces thin and elastic wrappers that don’t break during cooking or when picked up by chopsticks at the table. Fatty ground pork, the less expensive option at a Chinese market, or ground pork belly (cut it up into 1/2-inch cubes before processing), makes the most succulent filling. Prepare and gel the soup the day before to lessen your workload.

If I have a jar of candied ginger within arm’s reach, there’s an excellent chance that you’ll find my hand reaching into it. Yes, you can buy candied ginger, but it’s not at all difficult to make your own. From one good-size knob of fresh ginger, you can make enough so that even if you are caught with your hand in the ginger jar as much as I am, you’ll have some left to toss with fruit dessert, such as the Nectarine-Berry Cobbler with Fluffy Biscuits (page 104) or to add to a batch of Nonfat Gingersnaps (page 200). Take time to cut the ginger across the grain into thin slices no thicker than a coin because you want to make sure that any fibers in the ginger are minimized. If you can find young ginger in the spring, you should definitely use it.

The name may lead you to think these are crisp cookies, but they’re not. They are snappy in another way—there are plenty of spices in the batter, plus a generous helping of candied ginger, making them deserving of the snap moniker. They’re good on their own, but with such a soft, chewy texture, I had a hunch that they would make dynamite ice cream sandwiches, so I filled a few with Tangy Lemon Frozen Yogurt (page 174) and popped them in the freezer. The next day, when I pulled a sandwich out of the freezer and took a bite, I stopped dead in my tracks because I was so stunned: it was the best ice cream sandwich I’ve ever had.

Some folks tell me they don’t like white chocolate. “It’s not chocolate!” they’ll say with a bit of smug certitude. True, but that’s like saying “I don’t like Champagne because it’s not white wine.” Both have merits and to say you don’t like one because it isn’t the other isn’t very logical. I fall into the camp of white chocolate lovers. To convince people of how good white chocolate can be, I often make ice cream with it and add fresh ginger for spicy contrast. And if that’s not enough, I stir in shiny, dark chocolate–covered roasted peanuts to give it nice crunch. If anyone still has any resistance to white chocolate, I call it their loss and am happy to eat the ice cream all by myself.

When I worked as a pastry chef, I became known as “the crème brûlée bully” because I decided one night that I had had enough of crème brûlée and stopped serving it altogether. The reason? It was all that was ever ordered, and everything else on my menu went ignored. I realize now that I should have been flattered that guests liked my crème brûlée so much, and I apologize to anyone who left the restaurant feeling denied their favorite dessert. As reparation, I offer this recipe for lemon-ginger crème brûlée, the most popular flavor of the many that I’ve made, and hope I’m forgiven.

There are a lot of rather timid recipes for baked apples out there, but this one, packed with spicy ginger and sweet dates, is a twist on the usual homey fare. It’s a dessert that pleads to be topped with a scoop of ice cream that will melt from the warmth of the fruit. These apples also make an eye-opening breakfast when you’re weary of the same old eggs-and-toast routine. If you’re anything like me, you’re not at your peak in the morning, so bake them the night before, then rewarm them while the coffee is brewing. At breakfast, ice cream is optional.

I tried to explain to some French pals what a “treehugger” is, a term that we Americans jokingly use to refer to a person who participates in well-intentioned earth-saving activities. Judging from my friends’ baffled expressions, the meaning got lost in translation. There are now a few French people wandering around scratching their heads, puzzled about nutty Americans with a penchant for wrapping their arms around tree trunks. I’m guilty of hugging a few trees myself. I read that using Brazil nuts is something positive that we can do to help sustain the rain forests, so I came up with this tart, which is packed full of them. I can’t say you’ll feel better about saving the planet if you make it, but anyone who doesn’t give it a try is, in my opinion, definitely nuts.

As everyone knows, the best part of an upside-down cake is the caramelized bits of topping and batter that get stuck in the bottom of the pan after the cake is unmolded. Instead of eating these bits, the right thing to do is to scrape them out and smear them back onto the warm cake. If you can do that, you’re a better person than I.

Of all the desserts I’ve ever made, this cake is the one that is most renowned, drawing acclaim for its incredibly moist texture and its spicy zing from an overload of fresh ginger. Many people have told me this is their all-time favorite dessert. And whenever I make it and take a bite, I’m in agreement: it’s one of my favorites as well.

I made a fool of myself when I met Claudia Fleming, who was for many years a noted pastry chef in New York City. But I couldn’t help myself—I flipped out whenever I tasted her desserts. Her multiflavored combinations managed to perfectly balance familiar, everyday ingredients with sophisticated presentations. Every time I ran into her, I’d gush about how wonderful her desserts were as I watched her slowly backing away from this clearly unbalanced fan. I was always intrigued by her combination of gingerbread with rich, malty stout and was inspired to create a cupcake using the same blend of flavors. I add a bright-tasting lime frosting which complements the spicy cake. If you make these, you’re likely to have a few deranged fans, too. Consider yourself warned.

I can’t begin to quantify the sheer number of new ingredients and splendidly unexpected flavors that my friends in the Nguyen family introduced me to many years ago, but it is their barbecues that really hold a special place in my heart. Besides falling in love with the delicate, fragrant aroma of lemongrass, I couldn’t help but feel welcomed by their astounding hospitality

Kimchee is the signature dish of Korean cuisine and a staple in my kitchen. While I certainly love, adore, and crave its stiff aroma and sharp pucker, I understand that it can be an acquired taste for some. It’s quite polarizing—you either love it or hate it. either way, just to be safe, you may want to warn your cohabitants and neighbors of your culinary goings-on so they don’t alert the police to a strange odor emanating from your home.