Nut

I can’t say I make it a habit of, or admit to, meeting women online. But luckily for me, my first time was the charm. I fell for Heidi Swanson, who entices men (and women) with her gorgeous web site, www.101cookbooks.com. An accomplished photographer and cookbook author, her recipes are tried-and-true and are always accompanied by stunning photos and clever commentary. When we actually met, she was just as charming in person as online—which I hear makes me luckier than most of the other fellows out there. Here’s a recipe I’ve adapted from her site. It makes a healthy, delightfully crunchy topping for ice cream or frozen yogurt for dessert, and since the recipe makes a bit more than you might need, you can keep some on hand for a great breakfast treat as well.

These cashews are simple to make and can be sprinkled over ice cream sundaes. Be sure to keep them in an airtight container at room temperature to keep them as crisp as possible.

I used to cringe every time someone would start a sentence with, “When I was your age…,” knowing that I was in for a lecture, heavy with nostalgia for days gone by. Nowadays, though, I find I’m doing the same a little too often for comfort. But it’s true, when I was younger (perhaps your age), my local ice cream parlor would serve, alongside their gloriously overloaded ice cream sundaes, little paper cups filled way up to the brim with buttered pecans roasted in real, honest-to-goodness butter, for just five cents. Five cents! Yikes! I think I’m becoming my parents.

There are really simple to make and will make you feel like an accomplished candy maker with minimal effort, and they’re very good too. I like these crunchy, salty peanuts liberally scattered all over the top of a towering hot fudge sundae. You’ll notice that I use raw peanuts, not ones that have been previously salted and roasted. If you wish, you can use unsalted preroasted peanuts (which, amusingly, are often called cocktail peanuts) and reduce the baking time to 15 minutes.

After dinner at the marvelous L’Os à Moelle in Paris, I finished up with a dessert of housemade ice cream topped with the most perfect, crispy caramelized almonds I’d ever imagined. After leaving, I passed the kitchen window, where chef Thierry Faucher was leaning outside taking a break. I waved, and he waved back. So I got up the nerve to ask him how he made those fabulous almonds. He hefted a pitcher of liquid, and told me they were simply coated with equal parts water and sugar. The next morning, I immediately started tinkering around and came up with just the right proportions for making these incredibly addictive crispy flakes of almonds.

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.

I love, love, love dried apricots. They’re one of my favorite foods on earth, as long as they’re the ones from California. People are often tempted by Turkish and Chinese dried apricots, since they’re usually more colorful and far more plump (and cheaper), but I find them terribly sweet, and ice cream made with them lacks the delicious flavor and intensity of dried apricots. The combination of pistachio nuts and apricots is particularly good. Don’t toast the pistachio nuts or they’ll lose their lovely green hue. Make sure the pistachio nuts you’re using are fresh and crisp.

Fortunately, I once worked with pastry chef Mary Canales. Unfortunately, our time together lasted merely a few hours. I was ending my tenure at Chez Panisse, and she was just beginning hers. But I liked her instantly, and we kept in touch. Years later, she decided to open an ice cream shop, Ici, in Berkeley, and I was thrilled when her ice creams became legendary in the Bay Area. Here’s the most popular flavor from her vast repertoire. Panforte is a Italian cake, a Tuscan specialty that’s so dense and delicious that it’s practically a confection. And like the best panforte, Mary’s ice cream has the perfect balance of spices, toasted almonds, and candied orange peel.

While navigating my way through the Barcelona train station, I was suddenly surrounded by a squadron of Spanish police, guns drawn, barking orders at me in Spanish. Aimed and ready, they gestured to me to open up the suspiciously overstuffed valise I was dragging. I carefully unzipped my bulky suitcase, revealing rows and rows of peculiar brown paper-wrapped bundles, all packed neatly in rows. An officer demanded that I unwrap one of the packages. I slowly tore the paper off the first one and held it high for all to see. The policemen let down their guns and had a good laugh. My crime? Smuggling home blocks of crispy Spanish turrón. This ice cream duplicates the taste of turrón with crispy almonds, honey, and a touch of candied orange, and it can be made, without raising any suspicions, in your ice cream maker at home.

Crack open a cherry or apricot pit and you’ll discover a soft kernel inside with the pronounced scent of bitter almonds. I took a cue from whatever higher power designed these two flavors together and paired cherries with almonds in one heavenly ice cream. Adding anything chocolate makes this ice cream amazingly good. Be sure to drain the cherries in a strainer very well before folding them into the ice cream. They should be dry and sticky before you chop them up and mix them in.

I once visited a sugar shack in Canada, a magical place where sticky maple sap gets boiled down into glistening maple syrup. I watched the process until I could stand it no more, and then my wildest dreams came true: We sat down to a lunch where everything came to the table drenched with pure, precious maple syrup. And in case there wasn’t enough, a big pitcher of warm maple syrup also sat within reach so we could help ourselves to as much as we wanted. If my shoulder bag had been syrup-proof, I would have been very tempted to take some of the obvious overflow off their hands. Maple syrup is usually graded dark amber or light amber. The darker the syrup, the deeper the flavor, so I always use the darker type, since there’s no such thing as too much maple syrup flavor. Adding Wet Walnuts (page 198) drenched in maple syrup ensures a delivery of delicious maple flavor with each bite.

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.

This is the perfect date ice cream. Ha ha…er, sorry about that. Ahem. Anyway, sweet dates and rum make a good duo, but having lived in San Francisco for many years, where it’s often whispered that there’s no better way to liven up a pairing than by adding a third element, I offer you this ménage à trois of flavors in one sybaritic ice cream. Be careful when heating the rum and dates: The rum can flame up, so keep an eye on the action before it gets too hot to handle.

There seems to be no agreement as to the origin of the word “butterscotch.” Some culinary scholars argue that its name is taken from “butter-scorched,” a theory worthy of consideration, since the process does indeed require cooking butter. Yet others academically assert that the term is derived from the word “butter scoring,” as in “cutting.” Not as in, “Dude, I scored some awesome Butterscotch Pecan Ice Cream from David!” S0 I’d like to offer my own theory, one that’s a bit simpler: It’s because buttery butterscotch always tastes better with a shot of scotch in it.

One of the most beloved Asian sweet dumplings is crisp-chewy fried sesame seed balls. A Chinese New Year specialty that may have originated during the Tang Dynasty as palace food, they have been adopted by cooks of countless cultures to be enjoyed year-around. At Cantonese dim sum houses, this treat is called jin deui and usually contains sweetened red bean paste. In Vietnam, the filling typically features buttery mung beans. Ground peanuts are a quick and tasty filling option; if you select the peanut filling, use an electric mini-chopper to grind the nuts, sugar, and salt, and aim for a sandy texture. Sesame balls can be made without a filling, though I find those to be a tad lacking. The sugar used in the rice dough makes for a golden brown skin that slightly shatters with the first bite. Slab brown candy, called peen tong in Cantonese and sold at Chinese markets, looks like pieces of parquet flooring. It has a complex flavor not unlike maple sugar and lends a glorious rich brown color to the finished dumplings. When it is unavailable, light brown sugar is a fine substitute. Pressing on the balls during frying is the trick to getting them to expand, resulting in their signature hollow center.

The Cantonese dim sum repertoire would be incomplete without this wonderful contribution from the Chiu Chow, a seafaring people from a region located on the Taiwan Strait. Robustly flavored by briny dried shrimp, this dumpling also tastes light because it’s packed with vegetables, including jicama and shiitake mushrooms, and peanuts. The varied texture of the filling gets rounded out by a touch of pork, though you can use any meat. Because there is lots of chopping involved with the filling, make it a couple days in advance to minimize last-minute pressures. I first enjoyed these nearly twenty years ago in Hong Kong and they instantaneously became one of my favorites. Good renditions were hard to find in the United States, so I began making them myself. Enjoy them alone or with soy sauce and an Asian chile garlic sauce of your choice. If jicama is not available, substitute canned water chestnuts.

These open-faced dumplings are a requisite part of the Cantonese dim sum repertoire. In contrast to their dainty size and frilly edge, shāomai (siu mai in Cantonese) are packed with a pork filling that’s typically punctuated by earthy mushrooms and crunchy water chestnuts. The dumplings here are made from thin wonton skins that have been cut into circles. Don’t confuse them with the Jiangnan version from the area between Shanghai and Nanjing, which is made from hot-water dough wrappers and filled with a sticky rice mixture. Both go by the name shāomai, which literally means “cook and sell,” reflecting their perennial popularity. Feel free to add chopped raw shrimp to the filling (cut back on the vegetables) for variety. Any of the wonton fillings can be used, too; but do remember to double the pork and shrimp filling on page 41 or quadruple the shrimp filling on page 70, adding a beaten egg white in each case to insure a smoother texture. The shape of siu mai enables them to hold a lot more filling than other dumplings of the same size.

Although there appear to be many recipes for the Armenian dish called khavits, most of which entail frying semolina or cracked wheat in butter before boiling it, the toppings are what hooked me when I had it for breakfast at an Armenian café in my town. You can crack your own wheat in a blender (see page 59), or use semolina, store-bought seven-grain cereal, or even Cream of Wheat. For added fiber, I usually include a couple of tablespoons of ground flaxseed in each serving.

Hummus is everywhere in Mediterranean cultures. In Greece, it is generally served as an appetizer, swimming in olive oil, accompanied by pita triangles, feta cheese and olives. In the United States, it is also served as a dip for raw vegetables, and often has other ingredients, such as roasted red peppers or pine nuts, blended right in. The basic formula is pretty simple: chickpeas (garbanzo beans), tahini (sesame butter), lemon juice, salt, and olive oil. Proportions of the basic ingredients may be varied in accordance with your taste. Less garlic, more garlic, less tahini . . . whatever. Play around with it and see what you get. Fattet is a sort of Middle Eastern layered casserole or salad. Taking a left turn at traditional, it occurred to me that you could easily make a sort of Middle Eastern tostada using some of the common ingredients found in the dish.

Stuffed eggplant, tomatoes, zucchini, and, in this case, onions typically make their appearance on the table for special occasions in traditional Greek homes. Vidalia onions, if you can find them, are a bit flatter and sweeter than yellow onions, and they are perfect for stuffing. Just slice a bit off the top and a tad off the bottom, and you’ve got the perfect “cup” for holding something delicious. Serve these with a plate of tomatoes or a green salad.