Nut

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 dear friend Martha Deaton was raised in Malaysia, where she and her sisters learned to cook traditional Malaysian dishes from their mother. Martha’s sister, Margaret Hughes, has built a thriving London catering business based on the dishes of her homeland. The following is one of her most popular recipes. Although this dish, like so many Asian dishes, is traditionally prepared on top of the stove, I think it works well in the slow cooker. See what you think. Serve it hot, on a bed of steamed rice.

My friends who live in the countryside were surprised one morning to wake up and see me climbing their walnut tree in my pajamas, swiping the rock-hard, unripe green orbs off the branches. Once I’d picked enough, I climbed down and confessed that I could barely sleep the night before in anticipation of collecting enough of them to make a batch of nocino, an Italian liqueur made from unripe walnuts. It took a while for them to figure out what I was talking about. When I returned a few months later with a tub of Vanilla Ice Cream (page 143) and drizzled inky-brown nocino over each scoop, no one questioned my early-morning motives. If you know someone with a walnut tree, give this liqueur a try. And be sure to give them a bottle as a thank you, so you’ll get invited back to gather more green walnuts the following year.

Most Americans would consider eating oatmeal for breakfast, but for the vast majority of Asians, rice is the breakfast food of choice. Here is a distinctively Indian variation on the Asian breakfast theme that can be cooked while you sleep and be ready for breakfast when you wake up.

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.

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.

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!”

My first experience making Swiss cookies was less than optimal. A friend had given me his mother’s recipe for Basler leckerle, a spiced almond cookie swathed with a kirsch glaze. They’re meant to be kept in a tin for 6 months before eating, during which time they supposedly soften up and become toothsome delights. To make a six-month story short, I was skeptical when I plucked one of the cookies out of the tin. Then I bit down and almost lost a tooth they were so hard. Since then, I’ve avoided Swiss cookies. But, some time later, at Stohrer bakery on the rue Montorgeuil in Paris, I tasted the lovely zimtsterne, star-shaped cinnamon-almond cookies of Swiss origin that are made only around the holidays, and fell in love. I was prompted to come up with a recipe that I could have year-round—as well as one that wouldn’t require a trip to the dentist. I couldn’t find a cookie cutter in the traditional zimtsterne shape of a six-point star in France where I live, so a friend brought me one from New York, which I guess makes this Swiss cookie a star of international proportions.

The Scottish have shortbread and the French have their sablés (sandy-textured butter cookies), but both cultures and cookies are so hidebound in tradition that you’ll rarely find variations. To them I say kick off those highlanders, get your heads out of the sablé, and think again. These pecan shortbread cookies are delightfully crisp, with a delicately caramelized flavor thanks to the addition of brown sugar. If you’ve seen a fancy European-style butter or a locally made cultured one and you’ve been wondering what’s a good use for it, these buttery rectangles are just the things.

I have a blanket mistrust of any recipe with a superlative in the title. “The ultimate” or “the world’s finest” always makes me raise an eyebrow. But how else can I describe these brownines? I’ve made a lot of brownies in my life, and these really are the best. I learned to make them from the late Robert Steinberg, who changed the world of American chocolate when he cofounded Scharffen Berger chocolate. Part of Robert’s unique charm was that he was quick to argue, but I learned that like most people who hold strong opinions (at least food-wise), they’re invariably right when you taste the results. He adapted his recipe from one by cookbook author Maida Heatter. The first time I made these brownies, they were a dry, crumbly disaster. Still unconvinced that they were worthy of their accolades, I listened carefully as he walked me through the steps. When he asked if I had stirred the batter vigorously for 1 full minute, I stammered and then finally admitted that I cut that step short. “Aha!” he said. So I made them again, and discovered that was one life-changing minute.

In the kitchen at Chez Panisse, we called these “chocolate crack cookies” because of the craggy fissures that formed on the surface of the cookies as they baked. But because the restaurant was (and still is) located in Berkeley, California, we were conscious of what that name suggested, so we came up with all sorts of less objectionable aliases: baked chocolate truffles and chocolate quake cookies, to name just a couple. Nowadays, “crack” is a term freely used to describe anything addictive. And I feel comfortable using it to describe these cookies, which are a perfectly legit way to get a chocolate fix.