Breaking two cardinal rules in my kitchen--versatility and real-world functionality--my favorite new toy is silly, beautiful, and fun. It can only do one thing: make cookies in the shape of an obscure cut of lamb. A while back, while checking out the display cases at the excellent little butcher shop, Avendano's, my friends spotted a batch of hand-crafted, limited-edition, copper cookie cutters. For some reason, they thought of me.

The packaging was gorgeous. Each form is hand-stitched to a card painted with a watercolor depiction of the actual cut of meat. I am now blessed with a "Middle Cut Rib" of lamb, which, to be honest, does not resemble any overly trimmed product that I’ve seen at most meat counters. My favorite part is the tiny tag, hanging off the cookie cutter like some exclusive designer label and engraved--by hand, of course--with the maker's phone number.

This past weekend, I finally had a chance to give it a try. Since royal icing is one of my least favorite foods, depicting meat with only cookie dough became the challenge. An old recipe (adapted from Vanilla Refrigerator Cookies in the 1976 edition of the Joy of Cooking) and a bit of red food coloring leftover from making velvet cake came to rescue. I debated incorporating demi-glace or bouillon for meaty flavor, but decided to stay simple for the test run. Next time.

Here are some photos and notes from my first stab at meat cookies:

The red-colored dough, with a bits of white dough aka fat marbling left from the mixing. The color will lighten with baking, so make it darker than the final shade you want.

While still warm and soft, shape the dough into a thick piece that roughly follows the contour of the cutter. Basically, you're making a lamb loin, or the meat before the butcher saws it into steaks or chops. Make it slightly smaller than the outline of the cutter, though, to allow for the fat layer...

...with some reserved, uncolored dough, build up a thin (or thick—your preference) layer of "fat" around the lamb loin. I started off with an offset spatula, and then figured out it's much easier just to flatten pieces of white dough between my palms and press then right into the red dough. Press down firmly on the dough to avoid air pockets, which will later become cracks and gaps. Any breaks later are easy to fix, though, with extra dough.

After chilling for a few hours, I sliced the loin thinly with a chef's knife and transferred the cookies to a parchment lined sheet pan. Final shaping with the cutter happens right on the pan. (The two front cookies have been cut).

Sweet meat trimmings. I mushed them together into a log, chilled again, and then sliced into pretty, round, marbled cookies.

Be sure to cool the cookies completely on a wire rack before storing them in an airtight container.

Layered between parchment, the cookies traveled very well to a weekend picnic in the park. If there's a meat-lover in your life who happens to like baking or who deserves a batch of meat cookies...well, I think there's a gift out there waiting to be made.

Red Meat Refrigerator Cookies
Makes 12 large cookies, plus trimmings.

Ingredients

• 1 cup butter, room temperature
• 2 cups sugar
• 2 large eggs
• 2 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
• 1 1/2 teaspoons lemon zest or 1/2 teaspoon lemon oil
• 1 teaspoon almond extract (optional)
• 3 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon baking powder
• 2 – 4 teaspoons red food coloring

Preparation
1. Beat butter until creamy. Add sugar gradually and beat until pale and fluffy.
2. In a separate small bowl, lightly beat together the eggs, vanilla, lemon, and almond. Drizzle into the butter-sugar mixture and beat until smooth.
3. Sift together the flour, salt, and baking powder. Stir into the butter mixture.
4. Remove 1/4 of the dough to a separate bowl. Adding gradually, blend the red food coloring into the remaining dough. Leave the coloring slightly streaking, to keep the cookies tender and to mimic marbled meat.
5. Shape into logs or lamb loins. Chill thoroughly, or at least four hours.
6. Preheat oven to 400 degrees F. Working quickly, cut into 1/4-inch thick slices. Re-chill dough, if needed, to keep it firm. Arrange on parchment paper and bake just until lightly golden around edges, or 8-10 minutes. Transfer to a rack and let cool completely.

I've been having deep thoughts about pudding lately. It all started when I was watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix with my daughters. Twice in the movie, Luna Lovegood refers to eating pudding at a Hogwart's feast. Every time I heard the word "pudding," my mouth watered and I knew I had to make some soon.

But what type of pudding? Although Harry Potter takes place in the United Kingdom, land of the bread pudding and baked pudding, I imagined Luna sitting down to a lovely bowl of rich chocolate pudding. I mean, what kid dreams of bread pudding? Well, forget about Luna -- I have pudding dreams of my own and they are all creamy and chocolaty.

Once I decided to make pudding, I had a lot of questions. Whole milk or heavy cream? Eggs or no eggs? Nonfat or super fat? The options are endless and I began to feel a little like a puddin' head thinking about it all. The one thing I knew for sure was that I was going to make it from scratch.

Now before you scoff and say that you don't have time to make pudding from scratch, let me wag my digital finger at you. Making homemade pudding takes only about five minutes longer than mixing together a box of the instant stuff. Years of watching Jell-O commercials may have convinced you otherwise, but it's true. Not one of the three recipes I made took more than twelve minutes to cook. Honest. Plus, unlike the boxed variety, you can pronounce all the ingredients, which is always a plus.

Nonfat Pudding

I started my pudding adventure wondering if I could make a pudding with nonfat milk that tasted creamy and rich. I made one from the Cooking Light web site and was sadly disappointed. The pudding was flat in both texture and taste. The wonderful creaminess you get from milk fat was missing and although I used a nice bittersweet chocolate, its nuances were drowned out. After a few bites, my husband and I agreed it wasn't worth eating so we threw the whole thing out and made ice cream sundaes. If you're interested in trying this nonfat milk pudding, here's the recipe, and I wish you better luck.

Whole Milk Pudding Made with Cornstarch

The next night I made a chocolate pudding using a recipe on the New York Times web site by Mark Bittman. I am quite a fan of Mr. Bittman's and so wanted to try his version. The recipe called for whole milk, sugar, cornstarch, chocolate, and not much else. I used a nice Michel Cluizel Mangaro Lait milk chocolate, because I thought my daughters would like it. When I make this pudding again, however, I will use a bittersweet chocolate instead as the milk chocolate lost its character once it was added to milk and sugar. Don't get me wrong; it was still lovely with a nice caramel undertone. It just wasn't chocolaty enough for my tastes. The recipe itself was smooth and rich, although with the occasional gelatinous blob of cornstarch even though I tried to thoroughly whisk it into the cold milk. Here's the recipe. If you'd like to make a first-rate pudding and don't want to deal with eggs, this is the one for you.

Custard Pudding

The final pudding would actually be considered a custard by some, although for me it had the best flavor of the bunch and seemed the most pudding-like. I used egg yolks, whole milk, cornstarch, bittersweet chocolate, and a few other minor ingredients. After looking at about fifteen custard and pudding recipes, I ended up cobbling this one together on my own as the others seemed to use either too many egg yolks or called for heavy cream, while I wanted to use milk. Others required a double boiler, which seemed like a lot of work for what is supposed to be a simple dessert. This pudding was the most time intensive, but it still took under 12 minutes to make from start to finish. The texture was velvety; the taste complex yet balanced. I used a combination of cocoa powder and bittersweet chocolate, melting them in at different times to give the pudding a fuller chocolaty flavor. I used a nice cocoa powder along with some Grenada Organic Dark Chocolate. This one definitely hit the spot.

I asked some friends over for a blind taste test and all agreed that although the New York Times recipe was quite good, the custard pudding was superior. We felt the Times recipe was a great choice for parents who wanted to make good and fast pudding for kids, but that the custard pudding had better consistency and flavor. One of my friends called it a pudding for grownups, which seemed to sum it up nicely.

So, please, get rid of the Jell-O box and try some homemade pudding. You'll be pleasantly surprised at how easy and fast it is to make, and much happier with the results.

Velvety Bittersweet Chocolate Pudding
Makes 2 - 4 servings

Ingredients
2 large egg yolks
½ cup sugar
3 Tbsp corn starch
Dash of salt
2 Tbsp good cocoa powder
2 cups whole milk
1 tsp vanilla extract
2 Tbsp butter
3 ounces finely chopped bittersweet chocolate

Preparation

1. Heat the milk on medium-low heat until it starts to steam with small bubbles around the edge. Turn off the heat.
2. Whisk egg yolks with sugar in a bowl until the mixture is a light yellow color.
3. Add the sugar, corn starch, cocoa, and salt to the egg mixture and whisk thoroughly, making sure there are no lumps.
4. Add about a half cup of the warmed milk to the egg mixture, whisking vigorously to temper the eggs.
5. Add the egg mixture to the milk and incorporate thoroughly.
6. Cook on medium-low just until the mixture starts to bubble. Be sure to frequently stir or the pudding will start to burn at the bottom.
7. Lower the heat to simmer and cook for five minutes, stirring often.
8. Once the pudding is thickened, turn off the heat and stir in the butter and vanilla.
9. After the butter has melted, add in the chopped chocolate and stir until it is thoroughly melted and incorporated.
10. Divide into serving bowls, or place in one large bowl.
11. Cover with plastic wrap, being sure to let it sit directly on top of the pudding to avoid a skin forming.
12. Refrigerate for at least two hours.
13.Serve with whipped cream.

Oh, it's Spring. What joy.

In honor of this turning of the seasons, I bring you a light little piece of fluff-- the Pavlova.

When I was cooking at a little restaurant in the Mission called the Moa Room, my favorite Kiwi and boss, Chef Jan Gardner often let me run off and do my own thing with our desserts, which was rather brave of her. But not so when she felt the call to make her Pavlova-- the most famous dessert to ever come out of New Zealand. I would stand back to watch her work, asking her to say things like "milk" and "bottle" so that I might be better able to imitate her accent as well as her dessert-making technique. She was a very patient woman who only occasionally would ask a co-worker if he or she wouldn't mind punching me in the neck.

This pleasant breath of fresh air is rarely seen on San Francisco dessert menus, which I think is a pity. It is as light and airy as the dancing of its namesake, the most famous of all ballerinas, Anna Pavlova.

There is some argument as to the origin of this dessert. Australians claim it was birthed by Herbert Sachse of the Hotel Esplanade, Perth, Australia, citing in 1935 that the dish was "as light as Pavlova." She stayed at the hotel while on tour in 1929. It just took him six years to come up with something clever to say about it.

New Zealand has an earlier, similar claim coming out of Wellington in 1926, when a hotel chef created a dish inspired by the shape of the touring dancer's white tutu with green cabbage roses and frothy netting. I'm no social archaeologist, but I'll just bet the farm he was gay.

Well, I love Australians, but I am siding with my friends from New Zealand on this one.

Pavlova

Jan Gardner shied away from kiwifruit, most likely because they are not echt New Zealand. To her, a kiwi is the smaller, non-extinct cousin of the moa. The Chinese Gooseberry arrived in the land of the dead moa from, unsurprisingly, China in 1904. The name "kiwifruit" was originally a marketing ploy. One that has worked all too well. Though this meringue happily supports a wide variety of fruit, I have used the kiwi because the original dish, as far as I can tell, contained them. Remember those green cabbage roses.

This is not Jan's recipe. I never got it. I could just punch myself in the neck for not asking for
it. The recipe listed below is a culling of several.

For a great run down on how to approach a meringue, read Shuna's take on the Pavlova.

Ingredients:

For the Pavlova:

4 large egg whites, room temperature
1 cup of superfine sugar (you can make this out of table sugar by whizzing it in your Cuisinart.)
1 teaspoon white vinegar
1 tablespoon corn starch
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract. Tradition does not call for this, I just like it in my meringue.

For the Topping:

3/4 cup heavy whipping cream
1/4 cup buttermilk. Again, this is not traditional. I just prefer a bit of tang to compliment the
über-sweetness of the meringue.
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

Fresh fruit. Tart is good. Things like kiwifruit, strawberries, raspberries, beri beri. I don't care.
Passion fruit is really amazing with it, too.

Procedure:

1. Pre-heat oven to 300 F.

2. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Create and cut out a separate circle of parchment paper about 7 inches in diameter. Cut out a matching circle of cardboard. Attach the parchment circle to cardboard with a smear of corn syrup or whatever you've got handy to adhere. I'll bet even Elmer's glue would work, though I would not recommend it. (Note: this cut out circle business isn't absolutely necessary, but I find it helps me get a cleaner edge on the meringue.)

3. In the bowl of a stand mixer, whisk egg whites at slow speed (Thanks for the tip, Shuna), gradually increasing the speed as the volume of the whites increase. When the whites begin to hold a soft peak, add the sugar a little at a time to dissolve. Increase the speed and whip until the mixture is silken and holds stiff peaks.

4. Having made a slurry of your vinegar and cornstarch, stir to discourage any lumps. Sprinkle the slurry over the meringue and fold in.

5. Gently heap meringue onto your parchment disk, making certain to leave a shallow bowl in the center for eventual cream-and fruit-filling. Smooth the edges of the meringue for a clean look or make any sort of design you wish. Please email me if you've come up with anything interesting or vaguely obscene.

6. Place your meringue-topped cardboard parchment onto the lined baking sheet and place in oven. Bake for 15 minutes, turn off the heat and walk away. Baking should take about one hour, but it is best to peek in every once in a while to see how your creation is doing. The Pavlova should not brown, but take on a slight cream color. Leaving it in the oven to dry out a bit is a good thing.

The now-baked Pavlova will keep for up to a week when stored in non-humid conditions in an air-tight container.

7. For the topping, whip cream and buttermilk until soft peaks form. Gradually add sugar and vanilla, then whip a little more. You make chose to remove half the cream at this stage for spreading, whipping up the remainder for piping those tutu-like frills around the edge that I somehow failed to achieve.

8. Spread the whipped cream over the meringue. Top with the fruit of your choice, and serve immediately in the fifth position, thereby impressing your friends and family with your limberness of both lower body and culinary expertise.

Eat immediately.

Serves 6

This Fall saw three dessert books by local chefs, Elizabeth Falkner's Demolition Desserts, Pure Dessert by Alice Medrich and Indulge by Claire Clark. Each of these books are masterful and exacting. When it comes to pastry, exacting is important. I'm often intimidated by the fact that you can't "fix" dessert the way you can fix something savory. You can't add more leavening or salt or sugar or cook the fruit a bit longer once your creation comes out of the oven. What you can do, is rely on recipes that work.

Elizabeth Falkner's Demolition Desserts is the first book by Elizabeth Falkner. Go ahead and skip Fisherman's Wharf, but I consider Citizen Cake a requirement for any out-of-town visitor. Falkner's creations are sophisticated and smart, never sickly sweet. She composes plated desserts the way other chefs compose main courses with multiple elements that complement and play off of each other in both unexpected and whimsical ways. The book has both complicated desserts but also more straight forward ones like chocolate chip cookies, cupcakes and brownies. It's the chapters like The Chocolate Crawl, Fruitscapes and the Construction Zone that are most likely to inspire. Fantastic creations with even more fantastic names are par for the course. The manga style illustrations add the sense of fun and pleasure that comes so naturally with dessert.

Another first time cookbook author is Clarie Clark, the head pastry chef at The French Laundry. Indulge 100 Perfect Desserts is filled with French, English and American desserts, and ingredients are given by weight. The recipes are very well-written and chapters called "The Secrets of Success" share the insider tips that can only come from years in the kitchen. A section on puff pastry has 8 tips to make sure you get it right. A bit like a class in pastry-making, this is a terrific reference book and the photographs will guide your plating and presentation as much as the instructions.

Pure Dessert is written by veteran chocolatier and cookbook author, Alice Medrich. The focus of the book is on "true flavors and inspiring ingredients" and it is a celebration of simplicity. That's not to say the recipes are easy, but certainly easy to love. In an earlier book Medrich revisited chocolate desserts using the higher quality, higher percentage cacao and this book is in some ways very similar. It's about creating desserts that celebrate ingredients. A chapter dedicated to the flavors of grain, nuts and seeds includes recipes like Buckwheat Strawberry Shortcakes, Walnut Sponge Cake and Corn Tuiles with Salt and Pepper. Some of the recipes are classics, others are innovative.

Chocolate² Chip Espresso Cookies
makes about 4 dozen standard cookies or 8 dozen mini cookies

11/2 cups (71/2 ounces) all-purpose flour
3/4 cup (21/4 ounces) unsweetened cocoa powder, preferably natural
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons finely ground espresso-roast coffee beans
1 cup (8 ounces) unsalted butter, softened but still cool
3/4 cup plus 2 tablespoons (71/4 ounces) firmly packed dark brown sugar
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon (4 ounces) granulated sugar
1 (11/2 ounces by weight) large egg
1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
11/3 cups (8 ounces) semisweet, milk, or white chocolate chips, or a combination

In a medium bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking soda, baking powder, and ground coffee. In a large bowl, using a wooden spoon, cream together the butter and brown and granulated sugars until smooth but not overmixed. (I do this by hand, but if you use a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment or a handheld mixer, beat on medium speed for 1 to 2 minutes, and then scrape down the sides of the bowl before continuing.) Add the egg, vanilla, and salt and stir just until combined. Add the sifted ingredients to the butter mixture in two additions, stirring gently after each addition just until combined. Add the chocolate chips and stir just until evenly distributed throughout the dough. Cover and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
Position the racks in the upper third and lower third of the oven and preheat the oven to 350°F. Line 2 baking sheets with parchment paper.

Scoop up 1-inch balls of dough for full-sized cookies or 1/2-inch balls for mini cookies with a spoon or mini scoop. Set the large scoops 2 inches apart or the small scoops 1 inch apart on the prepared pans.

Bake the mini cookies for about 5 minutes and the full-sized cookies for about 8 minutes, and then rotate the pans and bake both sizes for another 3 minutes, or until they are puffed and still look a little wet in the center. Transfer to racks and let cool. (Okay, you can sneak a couple of warm cookies, but let most of the batch cool.)
These cookies will keep for 2 to 3 days in an airtight container, but they will be at their most tender the day you bake them.

Reprinted from Elizabeth Falkner’s Demolition Desserts, Copyright 2007 Tenspeed Press

Happy November! Happy cool weather, foggy evenings, cozy couch lounging, flannel sheets, soft scarves, cashmere sweaters, one pot meals, soup and stock simmering in the kitchen, and hot cocoa for breakfast.

People often ask me what the difference between hot cocoa and hot chocolate is. I like to think the answer is something akin to the difference between Soul Food and Southern Cookery/ Cuisine. Both are from the American South, but Soul Food is a little more specific.

Hot cocoa and hot chocolate are basically the same animal, but hot chocolate is a mink and the former is more like a very soft cat. Hot chocolate is made with bar chocolate and hot cocoa, with, yes obvious - cocoa. Both can be made with milk, cream or a mixture of both.

Depending on your age, and the particular geography you were standing in when you had your first sip of hot cocoa, means the cocoa your body registered as the correct hot cocoa taste will differ from someone else of another age and of another place.

For the sake of this discussion we will say there are two kinds of cocoa. Natural and European or Dutch Process. Natural cocoa is light in color and DP is dark. For baking, knowing the difference is of utmost importance. But in the case of a drinkable, it more has to do with your taste memory and preference. If you were me, or from New York City, you might have had your hot cocoa epiphany at the now, sadly, closed Rumplemeyer's. Hot cocoa at this venerable restaurant was served in silver teapots. It was rich and aromatic and very hot. You sat in plush pink banquets surrounded by other reverent small people and their adult companions. It was benchmark hot cocoa. I have a feeling it was made with natural cocoa because when I make hot cocoa now it is the cocoa I have the strongest emotional memory reaction to.

Hot chocolate is a rich enterprise. Although you can use milk, bitter/semi-sweet chocolate begs {heavy} cream, and then what you have on your hand is the opinionated view of your expensive chocolate versus how you're going to explain to anyone else why it's ok to drink ganache. We're talking seriously supple, silky and smooth, but at the cost of your arteries, and for me I would rather slather a wide mug of hot cocoa with whipped cream to amend the whole milk.

The most famous hot chocolate of my generation is created by the slightly wicked, darkly humoured Maury Rubin, pastry chef/ baker/ owner of City Bakery in NYC and Los Angeles. He is smart enough to serve it in a thimble-sized portion for reasonable, informed persons, and has a larger portion for those unawares of what lies within. Not only are there no words to describe what Maury's hot chocolate is like, even if I had any, they would disappear under the weight of this brutally rich concoction. Yes, I like it, but I have been known to share the shot size with more than one other person. No joke, yo.

I have a few tricks should you like to take hot cocoa on as a end of year meal amending or replacing project. Years of making beverages, ice cream, cakes, frostings, ganache, truffles and more with cocoa and chocolate have given me insight to a number of cocoa and chocolate personality quirks.

Chocolate and cocoa have little to no flavor when they are cold or frozen. Cocoa's chocolatey-ness can only be achieved if added to warm or hot liquid. If cocoa is added to cold or cool liquid and then heated up, the cocoa will float to the bottom of the pot and burn on the bottom. This scorching will destroy the flavor of the dairy.

Every cocoa is not only different in terms of its manufacturing process, but not one of them is ground to the same particle size. You may think you don't care about such minute details, but 4 teaspoons of one cocoa is not 4 teaspoons of another. If you are making a large batch of hot cocoa, as I have begun to at work in preparation of all the ice skaters in Justin Herman Plaza, measure cocoa by weight. If you have a scale that can be adjusted to grams, do so. Good quality cocoa is strong and a smidge goes a long way.

If you are making hot chocolate, it is best to chop chocolate fine and place in a large, wide mouthed bowl. Heat cream/milk until just boiling and pour over chocolate. Let sit a few minutes and then whisk in tight concentric circles, from the interior, out. Although you can make hot chocolate with milk, you will find that cream or half & half will emulsify with the solid chocolate better. It's never a good idea to cook chocolate right in a saucepan because it burns so easily, but if you want to heat up your mixture again or more, place bowl over a pot of boiling water and whisk until desired consistency. Or a microwave can be you fast friend.

I'm one of those odd ducks who likes a big mug of hot cocoa to be unsweetened or barely sweet. But if you like yours a little sweeter try using brown or raw sugar. The caramel-ly flavor of these sugars backs up the chocolate taste nicely. And lastly, a tiny pinch of kosher salt is a nice finesse.

Because hot cocoa and hot chocolate are made up of just two or three ingredients, making sure your dairy is the best quality is a good idea. Ultra-pasteurized milk and cream can sometimes have stabilizers that read on the tongue as bitter and can interfere with your hot cocoa purr.

This is how I make hot cocoa:
I pour about 2 cups of whole milk into a non-reactive saucepan, sprinkle about a teaspoon of sugar in, and then turn flame to low or medium. When milk is hot to the touch I sprinkle in cocoa one teaspoon at a time, whisking constantly, until it tastes right. I continue to whisk for about 5 minutes, but I try not to let it boil.

I don't know about you, but I'm glad it's cold again. I love summer, but as an East Coaster originally, I like autumn to give way to winter, without a 90-degree October in between. Because without a bunch of cold and dreary months I would have a hard time explaining away my hot cocoa for breakfast, lunch and dinner habit.

Sometimes, the best of intentions go awry. Fortunately, there's always frozen puff pastry.

Emergency desserts during the summer are easy -- who needs to gild perfect berries? -- but as autumn settles in, it's more of a challenge to impress VIP guests, say, eight culinary experts called for a special meeting. And you're supposed to make dessert. No pressure.

When your beautiful pears are still hard and you don't have a single hour more to ripen them in that handy paper bag, it's time for poaching.

Make a simple syrup by mixing together in a saucepan 1 part water, 1 part sugar, ribbons of lemon peel, and a few knobs of ginger. Crush the ginger to relieve stress and release flavor.

Peel your pears and cut them in half. Use a small spoon or melon baller to scoop out the core, and then plop the fruit into the poaching liquid.

Bring to a simmer over medium-high, and then lower the heat to maintain a gentle simmer. Press a round of parchment up against the pears to keep them moist all around and to help cook them evenly. (Remember this tip for matzo balls and red-cooked pork, too.) Make the round just a tad bit smaller than the diameter of the pan, and cut a venting hole at the center. If you don't have parchment paper, use a smaller pot lid or a flat saucer to keep the pears immersed, but be careful not to press dents into the softening fruit.

They're ready when the tip of a paring knife cuts easily to the center, 20 minutes for some pears, 40 for others.

For tiny tartlets that will be served on a buffet, cut the pears in quarters and then slice thinly. If you're making one big tart for friends or family, just make parallel slices almost to the stem ends and then fan open each pear half.

Make a frangipane filling by throwing a cup of blanched or slivered almonds into your food processor. (If you don't have a food processor, buy almond meal from the nut vendors at the farmers market or visit the baking aisle at your local Trader Joe's.) Follow with a couple of eggs, 3/4 stick of soft butter (though I've been known to use the cold, hard stuff) and 1/4 to 1/2 cup sugar. Flavor with a pinch of salt and a good dash of vanilla. Buzz until a smooth, thick but spreadable mixture forms. Set this aside.

Now for the crust...

Dufour is my favorite, but Trader Joe's also sells a good all-butter puff pastry that's worth keeping in your freezer.

Thaw the pastry as directed on the package label. Most call for a few hours in the refrigerator, followed by a few minutes at room temperature. You'll need to work quickly to prevent the butter layers from melting into each other, so gather all your cutters, pans, fillings and glazes before you take the pastry out of the refrigerator.

Make an egg wash by mixing together 1 egg and 1 tablespoon water just until foam begins to form.

For small tartlets, you'll need to roll the pastry pretty thin, say 1/8 inch. If you're making one large tart, you can stop at 1/4 inch, but don't leave it too thick, or your layers will rise so high they'll deform and spill your filling. Those who were good at Tetris should be able to squeeze 18 to 24 tartlets, each 1-1/2 inch across, out of one sheet of puff pastry.

Be sure to use a sharp knife or pastry round to cut cleanly through the dough. Pressing the rim of a glass or a dull, plastic cutter into your pastry will simply seal together all those lovely layers. Use a small amount of flour as need to prevent sticking, but don't overdo it. Fastidious bakers will keep a soft brush handy to flick away excess flour.

Cut twice as many rounds as you'll need. Switch to a smaller cutter to punch out the centers of half of the rounds to form rings. Brush the bases lightly but evenly with egg wash, then press the ring onto each large round to make a lip for the filling.

If you don't have pastry rounds, cut small squares with a sharp knife, then cut thin strips to press around the edges. Square tarts are easy, yet look très elegant.

Prick the bottom crust once or twice with a fork.

If you have time, freeze the crusts for 15 to 30 minutes before baking. Preheat the oven to 425 F (or whatever the package says) and bake the crusts for 10 to 15 minutes, depending on their size. Remove them when they are puffed but do not let them take on color. Reduce the oven to 375 F.

Spread a thin layer of the nut filling into the center of the crusts. Top with the sliced fruit. I like to arrange the fruit with a bit of height for some drama on the buffet.

Bake the tartlet's again for about 20 minutes, or until the filling is golden brown.

For a more casual affair, one big tart is fine. It'll need to be baked for a longer amount of time, say 30 to 40 minutes, but it's a lot less fuss upfront.

Let the tarts cool on a rack for maximum crispness. For this batch of tartlets, I reduced the poaching liquid to a thick syrup, and then brushed the pear slices with it for a nice, finishing sheen. You can melt a clear, pale jelly such as apple or white wine-thyme. Or you can just use honey.

The tarts can be frozen at several points: after rolling and cutting, after the first baking and before filling, or after baking completely. Like with roasting chickens, it doesn't that much more time to make two rather than one, so go ahead and make extra. Frozen tartlets take only 15 minutes at 275 F to warm up.

Extra poached pears make an excellent topping for pancakes, waffles or French toast. Slice and rewarm in butter and brown sugar.

Finally, just as doughnut holes are among my favorite treats, the centers of the tartlet rounds end up becoming even more fun to eat then the tarts themselves. Brush with egg wash, sprinkle with fleur de sel and cumin seeds, bake for 10 minutes, and enjoy while still warm with a slice of cheese, a glass of wine and a huge sigh of relief.

Rose, lavender, and vanilla bean macaroons

I didn't like macaroons until I met Danielle Chong. She's the founder of Macarune, a one-woman baking operation, and macaroons are the specialty of the house.

A co-worker introduced me to Macarune's light as air creations, and even through the deadened fog of a headcold, I could taste the freshness of the buttercream and feel the juxtaposition of textures -- crisp, then soft and chewy -- on my tongue. I was intrigued. So I called Danielle up, and we met for coffee to talk about her budding bakery.

"I've always baked," explained the petite Malaysian. "I used to pore over mom's cookbooks. A lot of friends back home know me for my cheesecake with peaches on top."

Strawberry macaroons. Photo by Danielle Chong.

During a trip to Europe, Danielle tasted her first macaron from Parisian legend Pierre Hermé. "We'd buy a box with strawberry and pistachio and we'd eat them like Krispy Kremes."

When her boyfriend bought her a KitchenAid mixer two years ago, she started baking in earnest, gifting the sugary excesses to friends. Macaroons were a particular challenge.

"They're a pain in the butt to make," she says with a rueful smile. "I've thrown trays and trays away. I failed the first time and I failed the second time and it worked the third time. But I've failed many times after."

Danielle bakes her macaroons in a variety of flavors. My favorite is rose, which is made with rose water; each one is distinctly and intoxicatingly floral. There is also pistachio, vanilla bean, coffee, hibiscus, coconut, hazelnut, caramel fleur de sel, lychee, lavender, raspberry, black sesame, green tea -- and many, many more. She's currently playing around with cardamom, orange blossom, and elderflower. "Traveling has opened my eyes to a lot of different flavors," she says.

Lavender macaroons. Photo by Danielle Chong.

Danielle makes her macaroons in the French style, meaning that the buttercream sandwiched in the middle is made by pouring sugar syrup over egg yolks and whipping it to peaks. She prefers this method for most of the flavors because of the velvety texture it imparts. For the honey buttercream in her lavender macaroons, however, she switches to the Italian method, which uses egg whites in place of yolks.

The provenance of her ingredients varies. "I am pro-local," she admits. "I go to the Ferry Plaza farmer's market almost every week." But some things are better abroad, and she prefers Valhrona chocolate and culinary lavender imported from France.

She is equally fastidious about how she presents her dainty cookies. Strawberry macaroons come in a green plastic pint basket, just as they would at the market, and each order is festooned with a polka dotted ribbon.

Black sesame and pistachio macaroons. Photo by Danielle Chong.

Right now, Danielle bakes only to order -- one reason her macaroons are so unbeatably fresh tasting. (In comparison, the macaroons sold at everyone's favorite boulangerie look and taste like limp imitations.) In addition to macaroons, Macarune also offers custom cupcakes -- my favorite is the intensely fudgey chocolate soufflé -- as well as celebration cakes, shortbread and cookies.

Orders: $26 for 16 (1 flavor) or $42 for 32 (2 flavors). 72 hours notice required, not including weekends. Pick-up is in North Beach. For more information or to place an order, contact daniellechong@gmail.com

Last week Tutti Foodie, Scharffen Berger, and Marcia Gagliardi of Tablehopper joined forces and unveiled The Chocolate Adventure Recipe Contest with a number of events at local restaurants featuring pastry chefs and chocolate. On Monday August 13 I went to Campton Place to see what Boris Portnoy {pastry chef of Campton Place, the restaurant) might make and talk about. An innovative and forward thinking chef, Boris's desserts guarantee a challenge to the palate as well as mind.

Much to my delight there was more in store than the same old chocolate thang I, and other pastry chefs, often find ourselves at. The afternoon at Campton Place was spent in a small private room on the second floor with some of California's most dynamic food writers, bloggers, bakers and movers and shakers in the local chocolate scene.

Before we set about eating the arranged chocolate on our plates, John Scharffenberger gave a short but thorough history of cacao and chocolate. If you work for a school, or just love chocolate, give this semi-retired chocolate maker a call! His talk was engaging, funny, compassionate and delicious in every sense of the word. While leading us through the earth's best rain forests for cacao growing, harvesting and fermenting, he directed us to eat the disparate chocolate shapes on our plates, in the order his lesson informed.

Much to the surprise of many of our virgin mouths, we tasted a number of chocolate examples which were not chocolate in the truest sense of the word. We learned that when tasting chocolate in its pure form, tongues met with acidity and tannins most commonly found in wine and bitter edges associated with dark-roasted coffees.

After eating 8-9 versions of cacao and chocolate we listened to Boris talk excitedly about his love for cacao nibs; their texture, flavor and versatility tantalized his sweet imagination. And discovering how to make his own chocolate in a food processor appeared to have changed his life! Yes, he encouraged, go and try this at home. After a short demonstration he motioned with a regal flourish, and quiet waiters appeared with a three component cacao nib-themed plated dessert.

You'd think after three hours of smelling, tasting, eating, talking, inquiring, and listening to chocolate I would have left the hotel without a desire to ponder the chocolate contest... But the truth is that my friend and I discussed what we would do if we could enter the contest. {I cannot, but he can.}

I thought I would share a bit of our conversation. Think of these word formations the way you would poetry, a game, an interpretive dance or maybe like you were sitting near us on BART, overhearing our chocolate-meal fueled crazytalk.

Theme: Bacon & Chocolate

Render bacon fat brunoise or dice, caramelize crispy pork fat cubes and make chocolate with this in food processor with cacao nibs.
Pork cracklins (like the snack food found at gas stations) enrobed in bittersweet chocolate.
Bacon lardons half dipped in chocolate.
Fatback chocolate with quince paste.
Pork belly & rosemary infused chocolate pot de creme, quince paste (?) & sea salt garnish.

Don't worry, these ideas won't end up on a dessert of mine.....

The Chocolate Adventure Recipe Contest website. "You. Dark Chocolate. And A Special Ingredient."

The Rules are simple: pair a list of innovative/ aromatic spices and flavors with any of Scharffen Berger's exquisite dark chocolates. The prizes include both money and fame. If you don't want the Bacon & Chocolate dessert to win, enter soon.

And, as Jen Maiser said aptly, "What could be better than the opportunity to create an interesting recipe using chocolate?"

Related Links:
The Art of Tasting Chocolate
Jalapeno Girl
Ladle and Whisk

In a few hours I will be attending the wedding of a friend who has Celiac Disease. Her wedding will be a gluten-free picnic and all the guests will bring something in this theme.

I know very little, almost nothing about what I call "alternative baking." Luckily for me crisp topping is not really considered baking. There are no eggs, no chemical leaveners, no attempt at expecting something to rise in the oven, no faerie-dust finesse needed in the mixer. I need to put a bunch of gluten free flours together with various sugars and spices and butter, and hopefully, voila! Crisp topping baked onto glorious Pacific Northwest berries galore.

"Alternative Baking" is tricky business. Little has been written about the properties of these new flours as they relate or translate to what we know of wheat flour. Although wheat has not always been a year-round crop, almost all American and European baked goods start with it.

Celiac Disease is not the only major food allergy gaining momentum today. With the prevalence of soy and corn and wheat in almost everything consume, whether we know it's there or not, we are developing allergies to ingredients we are eating far too much of. Baking, cooking and eating that is considered "alternative" today may well be considered normal/standard/conventional in a dozen years or less.

Books like Heidi Swanson's Super Natural Cooking have helped me to understand new flours like Mesquite, Teff, Sorghum. In her beginning chapters, she gently and thoroughly explains the nutritional, taste and baking properties of many of these almost mysterious new things.

But, like all new ingredients, one must experiment until one gets what tastes good to them. Because crisp topping has no dangerous raw ingredients you can taste it, and adjust according to taste when it looks ready.

Follow instructions for the crisp topping I made last year near this time. It is exactly the same.

Here is what I put together for today's gluten free challenge. I used a scale so I could check proportions better. And I wrote it all down as I went along, tasting a tiny bit of each flour first to check texture and flavor. All these flours are ground to a different consistency, so measuring them in cups would have been dangerous. Some are heavier than others. (All Purpose unbleached (white) wheat flour generally weighs 5-6 oz. per cup)

2.5 oz Teff flour
4 oz. Sorghum flour
5 oz. Sushi rice flour
1.25 oz. Tapioca flour
1.75 ounces Mesquite flour
2 teaspoons Kosher salt
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
2 1/2 teaspoons ground cardamon
1/2 teaspoon cardamon seeds*
1.75 sugar
3 oz. raw sugar
8 oz. Dark brown sugar
1 pound unsalted butter
*optional

All of these flours can be found at Rainbow Grocery. If you have a friend who is gluten-free, I hope you get the chance to make this for them!

Far from the golden hills of California, with endless lush stretches of forest and field, the Green Mountain State lives up to its name. My road trip continues, and this week I find myself heading toward the Northeast Kingdom. Along the way, near the shores of Lake Champlain, I've been enjoying two local treats.

Faced with the uncertain future of sugar maples, eating maple creemees whenever possible is an imperative. Sugar shacks dot the countryside, and if a sign and an arrow point the way to a creemee, I am there. Soft vanilla ice cream swirled with this year's maple syrup -- what better way to celebrate summer in Vermont?

If you're picky about such things as real ingredients (and you must be if you're reading this blog) then be sure to ask at the creemee stands if they use real maple syrup. If not, well...there's always another sugar shack further down the road.

In the village of Barre, pronounced "barry" as I was gently reminded by a local, an especially memorable variation appears in the guise of a maple sundae. At the window of Caesar's Fare, where a red siren light promises rescue from snack attacks, you can order two scoops of maple-walnut ice cream topped with maple syrup (Grade B = "Better & Bolder") and more walnuts. The bitterness of the nuts balances perfectly the sweetness of the syrup. Whipped cream and maraschino cherries complete the experience.

Another local flavor comes from a metal tin. At the other end of the sensuality spectrum, dry and crisp Common Crackers have sustained generations of Vermonters. Round, puffy and neatly halved like a French macaron, they're the New England embodiment of pragmatism. Originally purchased annually by the barrel, these crackers served as breakfast when soaked in milk, lunch when nibbled with cheddar cheese, afternoon tea when spread with jam, or dinner when served with chowder.

Common crackers are descendants of the long-lived, well-traveled hardtack much-maligned by sailors and soldiers, and their close cousins include pilot crackers, water crackers, and sea biscuits. Recently revived by the Orton family, owners of the Vermont Country Store, the crackers are still available 180 years after they were first cut and baked in Montpelier.

I've been enjoying my mini-barrel of common crackers with shards of Grafton Village's six-year cheddar cheese in between my maple creemees. Who cares about crumbs in the car or lactose intolerance with the open road ahead?

Stay tuned for an update next week from Maine. If all goes well, I'll be posting photos of freshly dug steamers and buttery lobsters.

In the meantime, please feel free to share coordinates for your favorite lobster shack along the Down East Coast!