Pastries

I know, I know: Honey is on the “absolutely not, you jerk” list for most vegans. And that’s fair enough. But what to do in such situations? Naturally I turn to agave nectar, my not-at-all secret weapon. EZ-PZ! The Honey Buns recipe is essentially a meddled-with Wonder Bun recipe that has been given the honey concoction and spruced up with vegan sugar for added texture. The extra sweetness we pick up from the honey-agave makes for a perfect day-starter for when you’re not feeling at all like paying attention to your alarm clock.

The slightest whiff of cinnamon and melted sugar is likely to send any lady into a nostalgic reverie for the food court of her youth. Today this recipe commands center stage at the bakery whenever we fire up a batch—no small feat considering the competition of fragrant apple muffins, nutty cornbread, and dozens of other aromatic samplings. You’ll find that BabyCakes NYC’s Wonder Buns have everything you’ve been missing for so long: that subtly sticky chewiness, the spicy pockets intermixed with the sweet streaks of joy, a dense but layered texture that is the stuff of dreams.

I’m keen on freestone peaches. I’m also keen on this shortcake, which comes together quickly. The simple recipe is a great showcase for just about any summer fruits and the little zip of ginger adds a nice dimension.

Aunt Elsa always had a huge container of biscuit mix in her freezer, so whenever she needed biscuits she would scoop some out, add water or buttermilk, and have a batch baking in just a few minutes. When I was a kid, it seemed like magic. I was an adult when she brought me my first container of mix and I realized that this magic powder was in fact her own version of instant biscuit mix! Sometimes I mix up 3 or 4 times the recipe and store it in the freezer so I, too, can make magic biscuits. Tender and flaky, they are best straight out of the oven. The baked biscuits don’t store well, but I’ve rarely had any leftovers!

This is a traditional Southern holiday dessert, though the mysteries of its origins have been lost to time. Having had some less-than-wonderful renditions in my time, I decided to come up with my own ideal version. I went to the test kitchen with two things in mind: First, too much corn syrup yields a pie that is too sweet and runny. There is nothing worse than a pie with a soggy crust and syrup pooling in the pan where a piece has been cut out. Second, beating the eggs too much destroys the creamy texture of a properly cooked pecan pie. I am pretty pleased with these results, and I bet you will be too.

Big Mama always had a large supply of dried apples on hand for recipes like this one. It was a family favorite because these simple flavors could be served with almost anything. When researching this particular dish with the family, very different memories surfaced regarding the crust. Some remembered the apple rolls having a very puffy dough crust, while some remembered it being thin and flaky. After pondering this conundrum, I concluded that Big Mama made this recipe to use up leftover dough; the crust would vary depending on whether she had been making biscuits, pie shells, or rolls. This is only a hypothesis, but I encourage you to try all three types of dough for these delicious apple rolls!

There are only five circumstances under which a person wants chocolate for breakfast: (1) You dumped your boyfriend or husband in a champagne-soaked tantrum the night before. (2) Based on the contents of your fridge, it’s either chocolate sauce or a spoonful of mustard. (3) You are under the age of eight. (4) You are pregnant. (5) You have just whipped up a batch of these babies. These scones are light and elegant compared to traditional scones, whose texture often sets my stomach on spin cycle.

This is as close to a traditional scone as BabyCakes NYC comes. I 86’ed the butter, obviously, and played up the sweet, all without abandoning the light-yet-satisfying texture. I find that raspberries, more delicate than currants or other popular berries used in scones, have a tanginess that’s a perfect accompaniment to morning tea.

By fifth grade, I’d taken to pocketing my lunch money and starving through the day so I could afford to spend the afternoons in the air-conditioned luxury of the local KFC and postpone the sweltering walk home. I’d buy a biscuit, fashion a “free” lemonade (1 cup ice water, 2 packets lemon juice, 27 or so sugar packets), swing my Capezios up onto the banquette of a comfy booth, and bask in my own genius. I don’t know that the eventual walk was any better, but I do know I started a trend among other ponytailed rebels. With the biscuit bar set pretty high and KFC no longer an option or a preference, I assigned myself the challenge of bettering it with my allergy-friendly pantry. It’s not uncommon these days for people to taste the biscuits at BabyCakes NYC and say, “These are better than KFC!”—and when they do, I execute a victory pirouette and shotgun a frosty glass of agave lemonade (page 133).

Is there anything better than having older sisters? When Kathy and Suzi left for college in Northern California, we younger sisters were shipped off for monthlong summer visits. With Kathy, days were spent ripping around in her Honda sedan, blasting Prince, popping doughnut holes by the bucketful, and making emergency stops at Contempo Casual. After we blew our babysitting money on stretch pants, we’d head over to Suzi’s and rehab our sugar hangovers by getting back to nature. We’d raft down to the grocery store (seriously) and take leisurely bike rides. Suzi’s pantry was stuffed with strange cereals (where were the neon-purple pieces?), whole-wheat pancake mix, and blueberry muffins. Bridget immediately went on a hunger strike, while I snuck snacks in the laundry room, discovering this new world of health-minded food. I quickly fell for the blueberry muffin, and it’s been a close friend ever since. What follows is my version—it’s light and sweet and I think you’ll find it perfect for nearly every occasion.

In my more rebellious stages, I wouldn’t have touched a zucchini muffin with a 10-foot spiked-leather glove. But as Black Sabbath tendencies have given way to Doobie Brothers practices, this comforting spiced muffin has become a staple. By adjusting the amount of zucchini, you can alter the loaf’s moisture. For a lighter bread, reduce the zucchini by 1/2 cup. (Before you do, though, keep in mind that this versatile vegetable is rich in potassium, which keeps muscles strong, regulates blood pressure, and mellows anxieties—it’s something we could all do with a little more of.)

When customers started requesting pumpkin-spice recipes, I turned to my brother Danny, the McKenna clan’s resident Halloween expert and culinary school graduate. Danny’s rule: The flavor of a pumpkin purée must be nutty and rich without being overly spicy or dense. Ever the pragmatist, and much to Danny’s purist chagrin, I find that canned pumpkin purée is surprisingly flavorful and far more convincing than other canned vegetables. Sorry, Danny, but it’s true.

To many, ginger is synonymous with either the flabby pink shavings plopped beside a sushi roll or the too-sweet soda you were given on your sickbed. For years, I snubbed the root on those grounds, but after opening the bakery, I quickly found I was in the minority. Here’s the thing you need to remember about baking with ginger: It needs a sidekick, or even two. For me, a subtle peach, baked to sweet surrender, is the ideal complement to ginger’s perfumy heat. For this recipe, corn bread is the naturally sweet and grainy foundation.

To me, apple muffins that offer up a mouthful of mealy mashed apple chunks are a personal affront. Fortunately, such abominations are easily avoided, a simple matter of proper fruit selection. Forget for a minute your preferences when choosing an apple to eat out of hand (I’m talking to you, Red Delicious loyalists). For this recipe, you can’t go wrong with tart, substantial Granny Smiths, especially when they’ve been roasted to caramelized perfection. If you prefer something sweeter, go halfsies with Granny Smith and either Pink Lady or Fuji, both of which deliver a fragrant bonus and add a depth of flavor even the ordinarily oblivious will notice.

Olive oil in a muffin? It may sound strange, but the first impression you’ll get from these muffins is the citrus zests and almonds, not the fruity flavor of the olive oil. What the oil contributes is a more delicate, cakey consistency and a moist, rich texture.

I love corn muffins, so I’m always looking for new twists on the old standby, which can be kind of bland. These have the surprise of little flecks of sun-dried tomatoes and tender corn kernels, and the garlic makes them so rich they don’t need butter or another topping.