What ever happened to dessert as spectacle? Too often, dessert is something that happens out of sight. It's made earlier in the day and tucked away; or it's bought from a bakery or dug out of the freezer, the frozen last resort of mango sorbet or some bite-sized thing from Trader Joe's. The flaming drama of crepes Suzette and bananas Foster, it seems, is long behind us.

But why not reclaim the last course's potential as a little bit of interactive performance? After all, your guests have already been fed. If you screw up, no one's going to have to call for pizza delivery on the way home, loudly bemoaning your hubris in the kitchen. No one thinks you can just make a cake, snap, like that, right under their noses while the dishes are being cleared and the coffee made. Thus, I've turned what is actually a fault--not getting it together on time to show up on the doorstep with a cake already baked--into a party trick, showing up with a bagful of ingredients secretly pre-measured and ready to mix and bake. Certain simple butter cakes, especially those topped with sliced fruit and an aromatic sprinkle of cinnamon sugar, like this ever-popular plum torte, are perfect for this, with the added benefit of making everyone's mouth water with their alluring scent of browning butter, sugar, spice, and fruit.

Madeleines, those dainty, shell-shaped little cakes, are even easier, and have the added benefit of being French and therefore, to American eyes, fancy. They also give those who have put their time in reading Proust a chance to show off, especially if they can quote the relevant passages in the original. You can please, or one-up, these people by serving a tisane de tilleul (linden-flower tea), since that is what Proust's narrator was drinking when his fragment of madeleine, soaked in the tea, brought forth its famously prolific gush of memory.)

Now, the thing about madeleines is, they're at their most delectable fresh out of the oven. Yes, the ones sold three at a time in little plastic bags at Starbucks or out of the vending machines in the Paris Metro are still pretty good; as spongy little cakes go, they're surprisingly resilient. But I still remember the grande geste of some very posh French restaurant in New York City where, post-dessert but pre-check, the waiter brought out a complementary bowl, swaddled in a huge napkin, that was unfolded to reveal freshly baked madeleines snuggled in the white linen like baby birds in a nest. Ooh la la, how I wanted to kiss that waiter and leave him a huge, huge tip!

So, to make this happen effortlessly after dinner, a few tricks. You can easily make the batter beforehand and stash it in the fridge. Because it depends on well-beaten eggs, not baking powder, for its puff, it won't lose any potency for being made ahead of time. The ingredients are pantry-simple--sugar, butter, flour, a little lemon or orange rind, a splash of vanilla and a pinch of salt--meaning no frantic last-minute trips will be needed to search out 85% chocolate or a bottle of Grand Marnier. The only thing you must have is a madeleine pan. Usually, I am all about the good-enough substitution; many are the pie crusts I've rolled out with a tequila bottle and the chickens baked in a cast-iron skillet rather than an All-Clad roasting pan. No matter what the nice lady at Crate & Barrel tells you, you do not need a plastic strawberry huller shaped like a strawberry. Nor do you need an egg slicer or a mango pitter.

But in this case, there is no way around it; you want to make a madeleine, you need the pan that makes them what they are: neatly cupped, oblong and indented like a elongated scallop shell. Personally, I prefer the plain metal French version, the kind you need to thoroughly butter and flour to prevent sticking. They are work perfectly and last pretty much forever, so long as you wash and dry them carefully afterward to prevent them any flecks of rust from showing up. (The easy way to do this? Soak the pan for a few minutes to loosen any baked-on bits, give a gentle scrub and rinse, then flip over and return to the turned-off but still-warm oven to dry upside down.) There are non-stick versions, and those creepy, flippity-floppity silicone ones, but in my experience, the extra buttering and flouring the metal ones require help give the subtlest whisper of a crust, just a tiny bite of nutty golden-browness to contrast with the sunny, spongy crumb.

As for flavoring, lemon is classic, orange delightful, some specks of vanilla bean perfectly wonderful. You could rub some lavender flowers into a canister of sugar and use the softly floral results. You can even make savory madeleines, crunchy with cornmeal and a hint of rosemary, particularly nice with soup as a first course. I've long adored this corn-muffiny recipe created by Molly O'Neill, which I tore out of a New York Times Magazine circa 1996 and have kept tattered, splashed on, and well-loved ever since. You can melt the butter and then keep going, gently cooking until it smells nutty and turns the color of honey. Strained to remove the solids, this beurre noisette, as our French friends call it, deepens the flavor with a aura of toasted hazelnut. Right now, my favorite accompaniment to a bowl of summer peaches and nectarines is a batch of Meyer lemon madeleines, made from with a backyard lemon picked right off the tree.

Recipe: Meyer Lemon Madeleines

Summary: These spongy, delicate little cakes taste best fresh out of the oven. If you need to make them ahead of time, reheat gently and dust with powdered sugar just before serving.

By Stephanie Rosenbaum

Prep time: 15 minutes
Cook time: 8-12 minutes
Total time: 23-27 minutes
Yield: 12 to 40 madeleines, depending on the size of pan

Ingredients
1/3 cup sugar
1/2 tsp finely grated Meyer lemon rind
2 eggs, at room temperature
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup flour, plus an additional 2 tbsp for pans
1/4 cup (2 oz/4 tbsp) unsalted butter, melted, plus an additional tbsp of softened butter for pans
powdered sugar, for dusting

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven to 375F. Depending on whether you have a sluggish or an eager oven, this can take up to 20 minutes. You really need your oven good and hot to get the batter to rise up in that characteristic madeleine hump, so turn the oven on as soon as you walk in the kitchen. Prepare the madeleine pans: Rub each scallop lightly but thoroughly with softened butter, making sure to grease all the ridges and crannies. Dust the greased pan with flour, shaking it to and fro to make sure each scallop is completely coated. Turn the pan upside down and tap sharply to remove any excess flour. Set aside.

2. Mix lemon rind and sugar together. Add eggs and salt. Using a wire whisk, a hand-held electric mixer, or a stand mixer, beat eggs and sugar together vigorously until mixture lightens and becomes creamy, pale, and thick. By hand, this will take 5-8 minutes; using a mixer, from 4-6 minutes. Don't skimp on this part, since the volume of air mixed in at this stage is crucial to making the cakes spongy and light.

3. Stir in vanilla extract. Gently fold in the flour, followed by the melted butter. Fold gently until just combined.

4. Spoon batter into each scallop, filling it 2/3 full. Bake for 8-12 minutes, until firm and just beginning to color around the edges. Remove from the oven. Let stand for 1 minute, then flip pan over and tap firmly. Most of the scallops should drop out; run a butter knife around the edges of any that remain to loosen.

5. Wrap in a napkin to keep warm. Sift powdered sugar over the madeleines just before serving.

Family recipes are a funny thing. They straddle a fine line between fond memory, mystery, comfort, and tradition. You grow up enjoying them as a kid but usually not actually preparing them. And then you get to a certain point in adulthood and you yearn to duplicate those family recipes on your own. In my experience, that's when relative disaster strikes. Take, for example, my mom's Million Dollar Spaghetti. Growing up, we had this probably once a week and as a teenager I requested it more frequently. I remember when I got my first apartment in my senior year of college and I asked my mom for the recipe. I was shocked to learn that it was basically an excuse to eat one pound of cream cheese, a cup of heavy cream and a bunch of pasta all in one sitting. Then there was my mom's Raspberry Fool which I have fond memories of in the late spring and early summer. We'd have late dinners outdoors and she would make individual glass cups of these and stick them in the fridge so you could sneak into the kitchen and grab yours whenever the time felt right. About five years ago, I learned it was essentially all heavy cream. Utter deliciousness, but not the light summery creation I'd always thought it was.

Laying out Ingredients

But health concerns aside, family recipes can be questionable in other ways, too. Take Chocolate Jumbles. When I was growing up, around Christmas we'd receive a care package from Hilda--my grandmother's across-the-street neighbor in the tiny town of Ames, NY. I didn't care for the Chocolate Jumbles at first: they're a little on the warmly-spiced side for most kids, I think. But then I came to appreciate their subtle hint of cocoa and cloves, their holey center, and their super soft crumb. They're good with tea, perfect with coffee, kind of nice late at night when you can't sleep. I made them for the first time this past weekend and made them again and again. Because sometimes family recipes just befuddle you. You stare at the old index card and think, why? The instructions seem far too complex, a few of the ingredients seem unnecessary, or you simply can't make out the handwriting that's been smudged and stained after years and years of use. In the case that you bake for a living, you really stare at this particular recipe and think, why?!

As I made them the first time, I tried to think about Hilda at her kitchen table pouring hot water into a shortening-based cookie dough and mixing. Out of all of the ways you could infuse a dough with liquid, this wouldn't be my first choice. So I decreased the amount of water, raised the quantity of spice and used part bread flour in lieu of solely all-purpose flour (this makes for a sturdier dough). The result reminds me of Hilda's jumbles although I'm still confused how she could possibly get from point A to point B using the recipe she gave us. Maybe there's something in that country air or maybe Hilda just has a much softer touch than I do. Regardless, you'll enjoy this adapted version. I'm sure of it. And at the end of the day after swimming in Chocolate Jumble dough, it doesn't really matter that you've become a little frustrated and disillusioned with yet another family recipe, does it? It's fleeting. You keep making those Chocolate Jumbles and reworking them until you get them just right because maybe -- just maybe-- you want to bathe in the memory, mystery, comfort, and tradition once more. If only for an afternoon, anyway.

Recipe: Hilda's Chocolate Jumbles

Summary: As I mentioned, I made some adaptations from the recipe as printed, so please don't be confused with the quantities listed in the photo above. Use the recipe below. Also use a good quality chocolate and have a cup of tea ready.

Prep time: 15-20 minutes
Cook time: 10 minutes
Total time: 25-30 minutes
Yield: 24 cookies, depending on size of cutter you use

Ingredients

• 1/2 cup shortening
• 1/4 cup brown sugar
• 1/4 cup sugar
• 1 eggs
• 1/2 cup molasses
• 1/2 cup hot water
• 1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
• 1/2 cup bread flour
• 1/2 cup cocoa powder
• 1/4 tsp. salt
• 1/2 tsp. baking powder
• 1/2 tsp. baking soda
• 1/2 tsp. cinnamon
• 1/2 tsp. cloves
• pinch nutmeg

Instructions

1. Preheat the oven to 350 F.
2. Using a standing mixer or hand beaters, cream shortening, eggs, sugars and molasses together on medium speed until just combined.
3. In a separate medium bowl, sift together flour, cocoa, salt, baking powder, baking soda, cinnamon and cloves.
4. Add flour mixture to shortening mixture slowly, alternating with additions of the hot water.
5. The dough will be very soft. Quickly form it into a ball, wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least one hour and up to one dough.
6. Even after refrigeration the dough will still be soft. Roll it out quickly under two pieces of parchment or plastic wrap for the best results. Use a 3" circle cookie cutter or your own favorite cookie cutter. Lay each round on a baking sheet lined with parchment.
7. Bake for 8-10 minutes and allow to cool completely before removing from sheet.

Flashback to Summer '09; that was when I first heard rumblings about a new generation of creative street food entrepreneurs that were causing a stir in the local SF culinary scene. Some of the original individuals included Curtis Kimball, the Crème Brûlée Man, who could make you a delicious crème brûlée right on the spot; and his brother Brian, the Magic Curry Man, who whipped up a tasty Thai concoction from his humble portable kitchen.

These were lo-fi dining affairs with a twist. They elevated street food beyond the usual greasy fare of hot dogs, pretzels and other fast food and provided an upscale alternative. And part of the fun was cyber-stalking them via Twitter; these nomadic vendors rotated their locations on a regular basis, so hungry customers tracked them down once they revealed their daily location.

Another early pioneer of the nouvelle cuisine of the streets was Steven Gdula of Gobba Gobba Hey, whose name pays homage to the punk rock band The Ramones and their classic catchphrase Gabba Gabba Hey.

Author of "The Warmest Room in the House: How the Kitchen Became the Heart of the Twentieth-Century American Home," Steven moved to San Francisco from the East Coast in 2008 to seek new opportunities. But, according to his blog,

"Shortly after unloading the last box and settling into our new home here this past fall, like so many other people, I started to lose my sources of income. As a freelance writer there just wasn’t that much work to be had. Magazines and newspapers were getting smaller. Some folded entirely. Also, I was new to a city where there were many established writers already ahead of me at the various outlets I approached. But writers have to write just as painters have to paint and musicians have to make music, so I did what so many others have done. I returned to my blog to keep my fingers moving and my thoughts flowing. And then I started baking regularly just to, well, just to see what would happen."

Steven started to bake "gobs," or as he describes it in his upcoming collection of recipes, Gobba Gobba Hey: A Gob Cookbook, "two domes of moist, dense cake with filling in the middle...kind of like a cupcake sandwich." These were "one of my favorite confections as a kid. Growing up in Pennsylvania they were everywhere. You could find them at church bake sales, school bake sales, birthday parties, stores and even in some gas stations on the counter right next to the cash register. I haven’t seen anything like them since moving here to San Francisco so I set out to fill the void."

And fill he did. "Wanting to bring some excitement to his game" in the "new food capital of the world," he went beyond the classic chocolate-and-vanilla standard of his youth and created more exotic flavors made with organic ingredients such as Orange, Cardamom Ginger with Saffron Filling and Black Cherry and Chocolate with Lime Butter Cream. (Full disclosure: I became an early groupie of Steven's and these were two of the three flavors that I served at my wedding in lieu of the traditional cake in the fall of 2010.)

Flash forward to the present-day, and street food is more popular than ever with big festivals, the advent of high-profile food trucks, and crowded weekly events. Steven's grown his business as well, with an online storefront at Foodzie and plans for a truck to help promote his upcoming book that will be available in late August. Start warming your ovens now for 52 recipes including Irish Coffee Gobs with Bushmills & Bailey Irish Cream, Kabocha Garam Masala Gobs with Orange Honey filling and Zucchini Gobs with Lemon-Ginger filling.

Recipe: Original Chocolate & Vanilla Gobs

Yield: 3 dozen complete gobs

For The Batter:

Ingredients:
4 cups all-purpose flour
3/4 cup cocoa flour
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup vegetable shortening, such as Crisco
2 cups sugar, sifted
2 eggs, at room temperature
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup buttermilk, at room temperature
1/2 cup 1 cup water, or as needed

Instructions:

1. Preheat the oven to 350F. Line three 8-by-13 inch cookie sheets with parchment paper.

2. In a large bowl, sift together the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Whisk the dry ingredients thoroughly.

3 In another large bowl, cream together the sugar and vegetable shortening with a mixer on medium speed. Add the eggs and vanilla to the creamed ingredients, and blend on medium-high until the mixture looks like dense pudding.

4. Alternate adding the dry ingredients and the buttermilk to the egg mixture, mixing on medium speed after each addition. Then add the sour cream, and mix well. Add water if needed to thin the batter. ("Go lightly" was my mom's original instruction.)

5. Using a tablespoon or a pastry bag, drop 1 1/2 inch rounds of batter on the prepared cookie sheets, leaving 1 inch between each round. Bake them approximately 8 minutes, or until the gob domes have risen. Remove the gobs to a wire rack to cool.

For The Filling

Ingredients:
1 cup milk
4 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1/2 cup vegetable shortening, such as Crisco
1/2 cup margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup granulated sugar, or 2 cups confectioners' sugar, sifted

Instructions:

1. Heat the milk in a saucepan over low heat. Bring to a simmer, immediately add the flour. Whisk. Continue mixing over low heat til mixture thickens, approximately 3 to 5 minutes.

2. With a mixer on medium speed, cream together the vegetable shortening and margarine. Add the vanilla and sugar, and mix on medium-high.

3. Add the cooled milk-flour mixture to the creamed ingredients, and beat until the mixture is fluffy; scrape the bowl with a spatula to reincorporate the ingredients if necessary.

4. To frost the gobs, flip the baked gob domes over on a cookie sheet and match up pairs of similarly shaped domes. Add 1 tablespoon of filling to the flat side of an overturned dome, then place another dome on top, sandwich-style. Allow the gobs to fully set by refrigerating them on a baking sheet for at least 1 hour. Wrap the gobs in cellophane to prevent them from drying out.

As far as I'm concerned, ice cream is the perfect dessert. There's nothing more relaxing and comforting after a hectic day with kids and work than a little hillock of lush and frosty ice cream sitting in a bowl. But lately my cholesterol has been creeping a little higher, making my nightly indulgence unsustainable. So after some months eating mostly store-bought sherbet and frozen yogurt, I decided to try something new -- almond milk ice cream -- and I'm so glad I did.

Now no one would ever proclaim me a vegan -- after all, I have far too many recipes on Bay Area Bites that use pork shoulder as a main ingredient -- but I do love the idea of cutting cholesterol and fat from my diet. So, noticing refrigerated almond milk at Trader Joe's, I started to wonder how it would fare as an ice-cream base. The container claimed it was "rich and creamy" and I also saw it was free of cholesterol and saturated fat. So far so good, but would it taste like ice cream? As someone who's never really liked soy ice cream -- it has too much of an aftertaste for me -- I was skeptical but ready to give almond milk a try.

I made three types of ice cream and, no surprise to many vegans out there but sort of a surprise to me, they were all amazingly good, exceeding my expectations on every level. My ten-year old daughter Maddie even exclaimed about the chocolate version "This is better than store-bought ice cream! It's my favorite!" I have to agree. My three flavors were almond, strawberry and chocolate (recipes below). All are vegan. The first two were delightful but the chocolate was really special, and all are cholesterol and fat free. But don't make these because they're healthy for you; make them because they are creamy and luscious. Basically they are everything that ice cream should be, minus the artery clogging component.

Recipe: Rich Chocolate and Banana Almond Milk Ice Cream

Summary: Not to toot my own horn, but this ice cream rocks. I know I'm not supposed to say that. It's unbecoming to boast that something you made is fantastic. But this ice cream inspired two pitilessly honest ten-year old girls to run around the kitchen yelling "It's so good!" over and over. So I am breaking protocol and telling you that regardless of your thoughts about vegan recipes or almond milk, anyone who likes chocolate ice cream should make this. Really.

By Denise Santoro Lincoln

Prep time: 5 min
Cook time: 20 min
Total time: 25 min
Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

• 1 1/2 cups almond milk
• 2 ripe bananas
• 2 heaping tablespoons chocolate cocoa
• 2 Tbsp sugar

Instructions

1. In a microwaveable bowl or cup whisk 1/2 cup almond milk with the chocolate cocoa and sugar until fully incorporated. Microwave for 40 seconds and then stir.
2. Place bananas plus the remainder of the almond milk into a blender along with the cocoa mixture and puree for about 10 seconds.
3. Place mixture in the ice cream maker and process for 20 minutes or until thick.
4. Serve right away or store in the freezer for later use or to firm up a bit more if desired.

Recipe: Triple Almond Vegan Ice Cream

Summary: This one is a true winner. With almond milk, almond butter and chopped almonds, it has a burst of -- yes, you guessed it -- almond flavor. But unlike other almond ice creams, it tastes like real nuts and not some extract or artificial flavor that was added. This is the real almond deal. I'm actually hesitant to tell you that it is also sugar free, because hearing that ice cream is vegan, gluten-free and sugar free makes it sound like it will taste like paste, but with a banana and almond milk mixed in it had a natural sweetness that was perfect. Plus with all this talk lately that sugar is toxic it might make the recipe actually sound more alluring to some.

Prep time: 5 min
Cook time: 20 min
Total time: 25 min
Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

• 1 cup almond milk
• 1 ripe banana
• 3 Tbsp almond butter
• 1/4 tsp almond liqueur (optional)
• 1/4 cup chopped blanched almonds

Instructions

1. Place all ingredients except chopped almonds in the blender and puree for 10-15 seconds or until the mixture looks like a smoothie.
2. Place mixture plus almonds in the ice cream maker and process for 20 minutes or until thick.
3. Store ice cream in a container and freeze for another 20 seconds to firm up a bit before serving

Recipe: Strawberry Almond Milk Ice Cream

Summary: My next foray into almond milk ice cream included lots of strawberries. With a velvety and smooth texture more reminiscent of sorbet than ice cream, this creation was full of a bright fruitiness as well as a hint of almond flavor. Once again using my kids as guinea pigs, I gave them each a big a helping and it was declared "really good" and both had seconds.

Prep time: 15 min
Cook time: 20 min
Total time: 35 min
Yield: 4 servings

Ingredients

• 2 cups frozen strawberries
• 2/3 cup sugar
• 1 Tbsp orange juice or water
• 1 1/2 cup almond milk
• 1/2 tsp vanilla
• 2 tsp corn starch

Instructions

1. Heat 1 1/2 cups strawberries in a small pot with the sugar and water or juice. Bring to a boil and then simmer for 3 minutes. Remove from the heat and let cool and then puree in a blender. You can cool the strawberries in a bowl set on top of another bowl of ice water to speed things up.
2. Mix 1/2 cup almond milk with the corn starch and set aside.
3. Heat the remainder of the almond milk plus the vanilla in a medium pot until simmering and then add in the corn starch infused almond milk. Stir on low heat while whisking for five minutes to thicken.
4. Strain almond milk to remove lumps and then let mixture cool to room temperature. Mix into pureed strawberries and then set in the refrigerator until cold (about a half hour).
5. Chop up the last 1/2 cup of strawberries and then add to the almond milk mixture. Place in your prepared ice-cream maker and let it run for 20 minutes. Place ice cream in a container until ready for use.

Nectarines & Raspberries

Summertime in California means stone fruit heaven. Peaches, apricots, nectarines, they are all gorgeous right now. If you time it right, you can buy them at a steal at the supermarket when they've reached the peak of ripeness.

I came home with three pounds of juicy, ripe nectarines last week. I prepped and froze some of them for smoothies, for the rest, I quickly dispatched into a beautifully hued Nectarine and Raspberry Crisp.

Makings of a fruit crisp

I adore fruit crisps for the fact that they are a no-brainer. With no dough to fuss with, crisp topping is essentially a super simple mixture of flour, rolled oats, sugar, and butter. You don't even need to bust out the mixer for this. I've found that my own two hands are the best tools to use for cutting in the butter.

Crisp topping

Top this over any fruit that is in season and you are golden. Apples? Piece of cake crisp. Blueberries? Easy as pie crisp. Ok, I'll spare you any more bad puns. My point is, you can top virtually anything with this crumbly, crunchy mixture and end up with something delicious.

Pretty

Peach-raspberry is the traditional combo, I suppose, but the peaches were rock hard while the nectarines were plump and tender when I bought them, so nectarine-raspberry it was. The sweet tart factor was right on, and that shock of pink and oranges was almost too pretty to eat.

This is the ideal, no-stress dessert. Instant home-baked goodness that looks like you spent way more time on it than you actually did. I love a deceptive dessert.

Fancy it up by making individual servings in ramekins, and finish it off with some ice cream or softly whipped cream.

Now doesn't that sound like the perfect ending to a summer night?

Nectarine and Raspberry Crisp

Nectarine and Raspberry Crisp

Ingredients:
For the fruit:
2 pounds ripe nectarines
6 ounces raspberries
¼ cup granulated sugar
2 tablespoons corn starch

For the topping:
½ cup all purpose flour
½ rolled oats
½ cup brown sugar
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1 pinch salt
1 pinch nutmeg
6 tablespoons cold butter, cut into small pieces

Preparation:
1. Preheat oven to 350 F.
2. Cut the nectarines into slices and combine with the raspberries, sugar, and corn starch in a large bowl. Mix gently to coat evenly. Place in a baking dish or ramekins.
3. In a large bowl, combine all the dry ingredients and mix well. Cut the butter into the mixture (using a pastry cutter or your fingers) until the butter is the size of peas and evenly distributed.
4. Bake until the top is golden and the fruit starts to bubble, 35-40 minutes. Serve warm with ice cream or softly whipped cream.

I know this is going to sound crazy, but I love ice cream. I also happen to have an deep affection for Manhattan cocktails. So one evening after a rather unpleasant night at work, I came home, plopped myself in a comfy chair, and thought to myself:

"What'll it be, Michael? Ice cream or alcohol?"

And then, feeling that I needed a double dose comfort after dealing with puffed up politicos and sleazy guests who ask me to feel up parts of their bodies in front of their co-diners, I thought again:

"Why not have both?" To borrow a phrase: Why can't I have my drink and eat it, too?

And so the idea was born.

My original idea was to make a sort of milkshake: ice cream, bourbon, a little milk, and then whirr in the blender. Though delicious-sounding, it felt like a rather desperate concoction-- something made by an alcoholic who had lost his teeth from neglect and a diet consisting solely of rot gut. Besides, it doesn't exactly scream Manhattan, but I'll be damned if I'm going to add sweet vermouth to a milkshake for any reason. And there is no way on God's green earth that I would ever subject good and drunken Morello cherries to the blender's chopping blades.

No thank you.

Tired and stymied, I drank a large glass of water, crawled into bed, and filed the idea away in my now-hydrated brain.

It was a few days later at work that the solution presented itself in the form of a hot fudge sundae I was delivering to a table populated by a name-dropping, bring-your-own-wine family of four.

"What if I made a sweet vermouth caramel sauce?" I asked myself as I pretended to find the father's joke about the hugeness of their dessert both amusing and original. "Would it be disgusting?" There was only one way to find out.

Back at home the next morning, I made three batches of Cinzano caramel sauce: one that burned when answering the phone, another that was entirely too boozy, and a third that both looked and smelled right. I stuck my (clean) finger in.

It was, mercifully, just right: Excellent color, not boozy at all, but with enough of a little something-something that one who was not clued in might ask, "What is that flavor? I can't quite make it out." I was so proud of myself for achieving a rare (for me) state of subtlety, that I gave myself a little pat on the back.

And then I had to go change my shirt because I'd forgotten that my fingers were sticky with said subtlety.

Making the ice cream base was a breeze. I knocked it out on Tuesday morning and placed it in my refrigerator to chill overnight. Everything was clean and ready for the big chill the next morning.

Everything, that is, except my ice cream maker.

I didn't see it coming. I got out my trusted little Krups machine, set it on the counter and... nothing happened. This, I thought, was a device made by the same company that powered the Imperial German Army's war machine. This simple piece of equipment, I believed, was created by the very same organization that came up with the Big Bertha (in honor of the Krupp munitions heiress)-- the largest siege gun known to man (circa 1914). I'd even named my ice cream machine "Little Bertha" in its honor, because it had knocked out so many batches of frozen cholesterol bombs in my previous life as a dessert maker.

Where did I go wrong? I wondered if perhaps it wasn't a matter of machinery at all but, rather, generalship. I had in common with the Germans an over-confidence in superior equipment, but whereas the Imperial command overtaxed and exhausted its army, mine merely suffered from neglect. It had been nearly six years since I'd bothered to turn the damned machine on.

How could a company that helped pummel the Belgians and lay waste to northeastern France let me down with a simple machine that had only one switch? I was mortified.

And then I realized something.

There's only one "p" in the brand name of my ice cream maker. I went online to double check for misspelling. The Krupp family, it turns out, had absolutely nothing to do with the making of Krups kitchen appliances. My little machine was in no way connected to the outfitters of death and destruction.

I returned to the machine and stared at it. I really didn't have the money to purchase a new one and told it as much (yes, I do sometimes speak to inanimate objects). Whether it was my pathetic plea of poverty or its sudden realization that it had been cleared of any and all war crimes against the Low Countries, the machine came to life.

It was a bloody miracle. Since there is no official patron saint of ice cream, I have decided to place my offering of thanks at the altar of St. Honoré of Amiens who, though his home town was in the path of Big Bertha, now felt free to bless Little Bertha, since it was discovered that they were in no way related.

Little Bertha still makes a lovely batch of ice cream. I placed the freshly-churned batch of bourbon-vanilla in the freezer to firm up, assembled all the components of the sundae, photographed it, and set about writing up this piece for you today.

And then, as I was saving this charming, completed bit of food blogging confection at 3:55 pm, WordPress decided to log me out of my account resulting in the loss of almost the entire post. So here I am, finally home from an unpleasant night at work, re-writing the whole thing. It is now 2:03 am.

It has been a Manhattan Sundae melodrama indeed.

Thank God it's delicious.

And so, my friends, I'm going to leave you with a clip from the film Manhattan Melodrama*. As far as I can tell, no sundaes were consumed in the making of this 1934 gem, but two of its stars-- Myrna Loy and William Powell-- went on to make a series of delightful Thin Man films in which they solve crimes and drink a hell of a lot of cocktails-- Manhattans included.

Manhattan Sundae

Like all sundaes, this is a dessert of components. Both the ice cream and caramel sauce can be made well in advance of company, which gives you plenty of time to drink a real Manhattan or two (sans ice cream) either with your guests or before they arrive, depending upon the sort of company you keep.

Makes about six charming little sundaes.

Ingredients:

For the Bourbon Ice Cream (I used Lucy Baker's [of Serious Eats] adaptation of Bill Addison's recipe):

1 3/4 cups heavy cream

1 1/2 cups whole milk

1 vanilla bean

7 egg yolks

3/4 cups sugar

1/8 teaspoon salt

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

1/4 cup bourbon

For the Sweet Vermouth Caramel Sauce:

2 cups sugar

1/2 cup water

1 tablespoon light corn syrup

1/8 teaspoon salt

1 1/4 cup heavy cream

1/4 cup sweet vermouth (Cinzano or your preferred brand, if you even have one)

For the Whipped Cream:

1 1/2 cup heavy cream, chilled

3 tablespoons sugar

For Garnish:

Brandied Cherries (I used Morello. You can certainly make your own, if you like. If you are the type of person who actually likes maraschino cherries, I would keep that to yourself, if I were you).

Preparation:

To make the ice cream:

1. Combine cream and milk in a medium-sized saucepan. Slice vanilla bean in two lengthwise, scrap as many seeds as you can from the pod, and add both the seeds and the pod to the mixture.

2. Bring mixture to just below boiling point, then remove from the heat, and cover. Let steep for about 20 minutes.

3. Whisk the egg yolks together with the sugar and salt until it becomes roughly the color of this skirt. Slowly whisk about 1/2 cup of the hot cream into the egg mixture to temper, then add egg mixture to the saucepan with the rest of the cream. Cook over medium heat until it thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon without running all over the place.

4. Strain mixture through a fine-meshed sieve, which can be rather a pain but, texture-wise, is well worth the effort. Add bourbon and vanilla.

5. Deposit ice cream base (covered) in a refrigerator for at least 4 hours or over night, then freeze in your (hopefully) operational ice cream maker according to the manufacturer's instructions. You do still have the instruction manual, don't you? It's more than likely in your junk drawer underneath those half-used packs of birthday candles and Chinese take away menus. I'm happy to wait while you look.

For the Caramel:

1. In a medium saucepan (if you are using the same sauce pan you used for the ice cream base, please have the good sense to wash and dry it first), add sugar, salt, corn syrup, and water. I prefer to let these ingredients sit together for a minute or two to let the water disperse itself evenly. Bring to a boil over high heat, brushing the sides of the pan with a clean wet brush to wash down any stray bits of sugar as often as needed. Continue to cook, without stirring, until the color of the sugar begins to turn a charming amber color. Remove from heat immediately.

2. Carefully stir in the cream. Do not under any circumstances stick your face into the pan to find out if your concoction smells nice and caramel-y, since this will more than likely lead to painful sugar burns and permanent facial scarring. Let cool for about 1 minute, then stir in the vermouth. Bring the caramel to a boil once again, but this time over medium heat. Transfer caramel to a heat-proof bowl and reserve.

For the Whipped Cream:

I feel mildly ridiculous telling you how to whip cream. If you find these instructions necessary, you should really re-assess your fitness to make ice cream. And you really, really aren't ready for caramel-making.

1. Whip chilled cream until it thickens. Add sugar before the cream has achieved soft-peak stage. Continue to whip until cream holds stiff peaks, but not long enough so that it in any way resembles butter. Transfer whipped cream to a pastry bag that has been fitted with a star tip.

To Assemble the Sundae:

These sundaes should be served in martini glasses for one obvious reason. If you do not know the reason, I again urge you not to make this dessert. If you are the type of person who prefers his Manhattans on the rocks, you should also abandon this endeavor.

1. Place martini glasses in the freezer for several minutes to chill.

2. Warm your bowl of caramel sauce in a microwave on low setting (or whatever it's called on your machine) or in a pan of hot (but not boiling) water. Keep warm.

3. Insert 2 medium-sized or 3 small scoops of ice cream into each glass.

4. Spoon two heaping tablespoons of warm caramel sauce over the ice cream, pipe in as much whipped cream as your doctor will allow, drizzle a little more caramel over the top (for color), and garnish with brandied cherries.

5. Serve immediately to your guests. Regale them with stories of everything you went through in order to make this special dessert for them.

6. Pour yourself a shot of bourbon for accompaniment.

7. Pour yourself a second shot. You've earned it.

*If you didn't know this already, Manhattan Melodrama was the film Public Enemy #1 John Dillinger had just emerged from seeing when he was shot to death outside the Biograph Theatre in Chicago, Illinois exactly 76 years about this week. Happy Deathday, John!

The Lunar New Year, or Tet as my peeps call it, brings with it many favorite dishes. Fatty pork and sugar dominate the holiday table, harking back to a time when ingredients fat and sweet were much more difficult to obtain, precious to use, and delightfully rare to enjoy.

While I can now buy a 10-pound bag of sugar and an equal amount of meat for less money than a couple of movie tickets, the most traditional new year's dishes are still special for one resource that does remain valuable: time.

Soi Nuoc is one of those meditative, celebratory foods for me. It means, literally, Sticky Rice in Water. Unlike the Chinese, the Vietnamese can be rather literal and unromantic when naming their food. No matter. Who needs fancy language when you have in your hands a beautiful bowl with pale, round balls of chewiness floating in spicy-sweet ginger syrup? Inside hides a spoonful of rich filling: black sesame seeds or red bean paste or golden mung beans bound with lard. (These days, butter or oil makes a fine substitute for those of us watching our pork intake.)

Each perfect dumpling evokes purity and completeness. It celebrates the return of the festive, fertile full moon. It embodies the richness and sweetness of life. The sweet rice dumpling even inspire poets, such as the famed Ho Xuan Huong, an 18th-century Vietnamese woman famous for her intimate, elegant verses:

My body is white and my destiny round,
I float and sink, water and mountain.
Hard or soft, I depend on the skills of
the person who kneads me.
Despite everything, I always keep
a consistent heart.

In China, where they're known as yuan xiao or tang yuan, the dumplings are traditionally served during the Lantern Festival, which falls on the 15th day of the 1st lunar month. During an especially important season, the festival comes on the first full moon of the new year and marks the end of the new year festivities. Here in San Francisco, this is typically the time when the Chinese New Year parade winds its way up the streets of Chinatown. The dumplings are also enjoyed throughout the year at many dessert houses throughout the Bay Area. Look for them on menus at your favorite Chinese restaurant or boba tea house.

The recipe for soi nuoc is very simple. You can buy finely ground glutinous rice at nearly all Asian markets (look for California's own Blue Star Mochiko, produced by the Koda family in the San Joaquin Valley since the late 1940s). You'll need just a handful of other basic ingredients, a friend or two to help roll, several more to eat, and -- most importantly -- a break in your routine to enjoy the simple, sweet things in life.

GINGER SYRUP

1 1/2 cups sugar
2 cups boiling water
3 inches ginger root, peeled and crushed

In a small, heavy pot, melt the sugar over medium-high heat. Swirl for even melting, but do not stir to avoid crystallization. When the sugar is a dark amber, remove from heat and pour in the water -- take care, as it may splatter. Stir to melt the sugar completely. Add the ginger, return to low heat, and simmer for 10 minutes.

Alternatively, dissolve dark brown sugar in water and simmer with the ginger for 10 minutes. Don't tell your mom.

Remove the chunks of ginger and set the sauce aside.

SESAME FILLINGS

1/2 cup white sesame seeds
1/2 cup black sesame seeds
6 tablespoons lard or melted butter, divided
4 tablespoons sugar, divided
Salt

Toast the sesame seeds separately, taking care not to scorch them. In a mortar or pestle, blender or mini food processor, combine the white sesame seeds with 3 tablespoons butter, 2 tablespoons sugar and a pinch of salt. Puree to a thick, coarse paste. Transfer to a small bowl. Repeat with the black sesame seeds. Set both aside.

SWEET RICE DUMPLINGS

2 1/4 cups glutinous rice, plus more for kneading
1 cup very hot water

To make the dough: Place the rice in a large bowl and make dimples all over the surface with your fingers to encourage faster incorporation of the water. Pour the water evenly over the surface of the rice in a spiral, then immediately stir with a wooden spoon to mix into a shaggy dough. Transfer to a clean surface and knead for about 5 minutes to obtain a smooth, soft dough. Sprinkle lightly with additional rice flour, if needed, to prevent sticking to your hands or to the work surface. Roll the dough into a long log, cut into 24 pieces, and set aside, covered with a moist cloth.

To form the dumplings: Roll each piece of dough into a ball, flatten slightly, and then pinch up the outer edge to create a small bowl. Place about 1/2 teaspoon of sesame filling into the center, then gather up the side and pinch together to seal tightly. Roll again between your palms, pressing gently, to create a smooth ball. Continue with 18 of the pieces. Cut the remaining 6 pieces of dough into 4 smaller pieces, then roll each of those into a compact ball with no filling.

To cook the dumplings: Bring a large pot of water to a boil. Add the large, filled dumplings and boil for about 5 minutes. Add the small, unfilled dumplings and continue boiling for another 2 to 3 minutes. The dumplings will float to the surface of the water as they cook. Turn occasionally to keep them moist and evenly cooked.

Remove them from the water with a slotted spoon, place in a bowl of cold water to rinse away excess starch, and then transfer to the ginger syrup. Serve in individual bowls, mixing large dumplings with small ones and drizzling generously with the syrup.

Watch This Week in Northern California tonight, Friday February 26 at 8pm to see Leslie Sbrocco, host of Check, Please! Bay Area in a new segment on local food and wine trends. This week, a conversation about celebrating the food and traditions of the Chinese New Year with Bay Area Bites bloggers, Thy Tran and Stephanie Im.

What are you doing for New Year's Eve? As much as I'd like to be waltzing in silver lamé, this year I'll be taking a page from the late novelist and essayist Laurie Colwin, who wrote persuasively in More Home Cooking about the joys of opting out of the big razzle-dazzle. Instead, she brought the party home, making a tradition out of sharing champagne, salmon, and homemade biscuits with friends and family at home.

After all, who wants to scramble for reservations when so many restaurants will be flinging confetti on the tablecloths and pushing high-priced prix fixe menus and set seatings?

Instead, I'll be corralling a small group for dinner at six, starting with a champagne cocktail hour with crab salad in endive spears, followed by chestnut soup with warm popovers, slow-roasted artic char plastered with herbs, and for dessert, an adaptation of David Lebovitz's Champagne Citrus Gelée, from his excellent first cookbook, Room for Dessert.

Lebovitz, who used to be a pastry chef at Chez Panisse, took the ex-pat route over a decade ago and has since created an enviable life for himself in Paris, writing cookbooks and a very popular blog, teaching cooking workshops, and leading food/chocolate/pastry tours throughout France. In my experience, every recipe of his that I've made has been plate-cleaningly delicious, since he has not just skill and smarts but also a great palate and a willingness to test and test and test again.

This, however, is my own version of Lebovitz's recipe, tweaked and modified to reflect my personal taste. But I'm absolutely indebted to his book for the original concept, and for creating a dessert that's not only sparkly and festive but also perfectly seasonal for San Francisco in the wintertime, when the citrus and pomegranates come in.

It can also be eaten by almost everyone, no mean feat in the Bay Area. Wheat-, gluten-, dairy-, and fat-free, there's nothing here to wreak havoc on even the most stringent January 1st resolution. No, you couldn't serve it to vegans, but you could probably mess around and figure out how to replace the gelatin with agar-agar. Skipping the alcohol? Replace the champagne with a pleasant, not-too-sweet sparkling fruit juice. Strictly no-sugar? Serve the citrus compote plain. Even without the gelée, the colors look gorgeous enough to be worth a toast.

Sparkling Citrus Gelée
Look for the little orange-and-white boxes of Knox unflavored gelatin in the powdered dessert mix/Jell-O section of the baking aisle. Don't even think of using lemon Jell-O.

Serves 8

Ingredients:
3 pink grapefruits
2 navel oranges
2 blood oranges
1-2 tbsp good-quality orange liqueur, such as Grand Marnier (not the cheap stuff that tastes like baby aspirin)

2 envelopes powdered unflavored gelatin (such as Knox)
1/2 to 3/4 cup sugar, or to taste
1 bottle (750 ml) sparkling wine, Prosecco, or Champagne (not Cooks, but not Tattinger, either. Something Californian in the $10-$15 range should be just fine)
Juice of 1 lime or lemon (and use a real one, not a squirt from one of those nasty plastic jobs full of bitter battery acid)

12 kumquats, ends and seeds removed, sliced thinly
Seeds of 1 large pomegranate
Soft Candied Citrus Peel in syrup (see below)

Preparation:
1. First, prep your fruit: Cut off the top and bottom of the grapefruit so it sits flat, then slice off peel and white membrane from top to bottom in vertical strips, moving around the circumference. Trim off every speck of white pith. Really, get it off now. You'll thank me later.

2. Cupping the now-naked fruit with one hand, free the fruit segments from between the "fans" of tough membrane using a small sharp paring knife. Do this over a bowl so you can catch all the excess juice. Slice or wiggle the fruit out, so you get a glistening arc of membrane-free fruit. Drop fruit slices into the bowl.

3. Repeat with remaining grapefruits and oranges. Sprinkle with orange liqueur, if desired. Refrigerate, tightly covered, if not using right away.

4. When you're ready to make the gelée, drain juice from fruit segments and reserve; you should have at least 1 cup. Sprinkle gelatin over 1/2 cup reserved fruit juice and let soften for 5 minutes.

5. Heat additional 1/2 cup juice with sugar until sugar dissolves and mixture is hot. Pour sugar syrup over gelatin and stir until gelatin is thoroughly dissolved. Pour the gelatin mixture into a big bowl.

6. Pop the cork on your sparkling wine and pour in the whole bottle. Watch out for the froth! Add about half the lime or lemon juice, then taste and add more as needed. Cover and refrigerate until it begins to thicken and set.

7. Make the candied peel in syrup (recipe below), or take it out of the fridge if you made it earlier. Warm gently until syrup is liquid again. Stir in sliced kumquats. Take off heat and set aside.

8. Take out 8 stemmed parfait or wine glasses. Drain the kumquats/candied peel. (Save the orange syrup if you can think of something to do with it later). Get out the gelée, the pomegranate seeds, and the bowl of fruit slices.

9. To assemble, spoon some of the gelée into each glass. Add some pomegranate seeds, a few pieces of citrus, a few slices of kumquat, and a few strands of candied peel. Continue layering gelée, pomegranate seeds, citrus, kumquat, and candied peel until glass is full. Repeat with remaining glasses. Chill for several hours, until fully set.

Soft Candied Citrus Peel

Ingredients:
4 lemons or oranges, preferably organic, washed
1 1/2 cups water
3/4 cup sugar
1 tbsp corn syrup or honey

Preparation:
1. Remove zest (the colored part of the peel) with a vegetable peeler. Cut lengthwise into very narrow strips. Cover peel with water, bring to a boil, and cook until soft and translucent, about 5-6 minutes. Drain peel and discard water.

2. Bring 1 1/2 cups water, sugar, and syrup to a boil. Add peel, reduce heat, and simmer until peel is translucent and candied-looking, about 20 minutes. Cool in syrup and refrigerate.

Sparkling Citrus Gelée photo by Steve Duell

Pumpkin pie ice cream, from beginning to end, at Three Twins Ice Cream

No one eats more ice cream than I do. I know, it's a bold statement--one that some may want to challenge. But I'm pretty confident that it's true. I generally hide the fact from friends until they really get to know me. My family all expects that pints disappear quickly--they hide them amongst the bags of frozen broccoli and peas in the freezer. And one of my favorite parts about going to school in Boston was that it could be 20 degrees and snowing and there'd be a big line for J.P. Licks wrapping around the corner on Newbury St. Those were my kinda' folks.

Thankfully, San Francisco doesn't disappoint either. When I first moved to the Bay Area, I really tried to fight my passion/addiction with a variety of sugar-busting cleanses and tonics. But I've given in. And lately in a few of my favorite scoop shops, I've noticed some seasonal flavors that I can't stop talking about. Fall has definitely arrived and there's no time like the present to get yourself a cone before the season--and these flavors--pass us all by.

Three Twins: How can you not love a local organic ice cream shop that was opened by young native, Neil Gottlieb after deciding to ditch business school and just get moving? Named after their living situation at the time (he lived with his twin brother and his wife), Neil set about to open a sustainable, green business. And it's sustaining me, that's for sure. While pumpkin is not an unusual flavor this time of year, their pumpkin pie ice cream is truly extraordinary. They use real pumpkin that they roast, skin, puree, and infuse directly into the ice cream along with a healthy dose of cinnamon, nutmeg, and allspice. I've had many a pumpkin ice cream cone, but never one with ribbons of real, vibrant pumpkin throughout.

Check out the real pieces of pumpkin!

Three Twins Ice Cream
254 Fillmore Street
San Francisco, CA 94117
(415) 487-8946
Hours: Mon.-Thurs. 12pm-10pm
Fri.-Sat. 11am-11pm; Sun. 11am-10pm

Bi-Rite Creamery: Salted caramel fans, rejoice! You will fall in love with the brown sugar ice cream with ginger crumble swirl. It has that super soft, creamy consistency you're used to, but with flecks of ginger bits and rich, perfect caramel--it's quite something. I've been known to get a cone with a scoop of that and a scoop of their seasonal apple pie, a denser ice cream with streams of cinnamony crust and spiced chunks of apple.

Bi-Rite's brown sugar ice cream with ginger crumble swirl

Bi-Rite Creamery
3692 18th Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 626-5600
Hours: Sun.-Thurs. 11am-10pm
Fri.-Sat. 11am-11pm

Ciao Bella Gelato: While I usually prefer hitting up some of the local shops, Ciao Bella has a luscious cinnamon gelato that you really should try. It is literally bursting with warm, autumnal flavors. The gals at the Marin shop told me that people either love or hate this ice cream largely because there is so much cinnamon in it. I fall into the love category--although a little goes a long way. I've heard rumors that they're doing a lovely fig balsamic gelato although the past few times I've gone to do some first-hand research, they've been sold out.

Ciao Bella's Cinnamon Gelato

Ciao Bella
One Ferry Building
San Francisco, CA 94111
(415) 834-9330
Hours: Mon.-Fri. 11am-6pm
Sat. 11am-6pm; Sun. 11am-5pm

Humphry Slocombe: Masters of innovative and seasonal flavors, these guys have created something magical in their Guinness Gingerbread ice cream. This one does sell out quickly--folks call, email, and tweet about its whereabouts--so you may want to check that they've got a bit before heading over. What I appreciate about this ice cream is its subtlety. Owner and ice cream magician, Jake Godby, doesn't hit you over the head with a strong ginger flavor nor does it have that occasional yeasty aftertaste that other Guinness ice creams have. Instead, it has that super creamy texture that folks have come to love at Humphry Slocombe and a quick hint of stout flavor along with bits of warmly spiced gingerbread. After a few licks, you'll remember that Jake used to be a pastry chef and a baker before he got into the ice cream world. It's obvious here.

Humphry Slocombe's Guinness Gingerbread

Humphry Slocombe
2790 Harrison Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 550-6971
Hours: Everyday 12pm-9pm

The other day, I received an email from my friend Ron, who had recently returned from a long weekend in Paris, which is something people who live in New York can do without killing themselves, time-wise:

"I had such a good time in Paris, and am so inspired to cook! I was thinking about you when I was there, and I almost bought a tarte tatin pan, but they were so expensive, and I realized I probably didn't need to get it there.

So, I thought i'd ask for your opinion on a good pan. Do you have a recommendation? I'd also LOVE to get your recipe as well. You were always going to teach me how to make one and we never got around to it. So, perhaps, i could at least get your recipe."

I thought for a moment. There he was in Paris, inspired to cook, looking at expensive tarte Tatin pans. He must have been to E. Dehillerin's-- a mind-blowing, intoxicating cookware store that only those with a severe allergy to copper or eating could leave without the purchase of something shiny or, at the very least, without inspiration.

I am delighted and somehow unsurprised that Ron managed to leave the store without the pan. Delighted because I would be jealous of any friend outside of easy borrowing distance who owned one, unsurprised because he's one of the best bargain hunters ever. He also has one of the tiniest apartments in the universe, which I think has been officially documented. He would hang that document on his wall, but he would most likely think it would take up too much wall space.

It is precisely due to this lack of space that I would suggest to Ron that he not invest in a one-use pan. Some folks swear by non-stick sauté pans, others by cast iron skillets for making this upside down apple tart. I happen to lean towards cast iron, because I'm just plain folksy. Either will do, so take your pick.

A Promise is a Promise

I had forgotten my promise of teaching him how to make Tarte Tatin, since it was about two lifetimes ago. I do, however, like to think of myself as a man of my word. So, Ron, though it's about six or seven years after the fact, and you now live on the other side of the continent, I will do my best to answer your questions. By opening this up from a simple email into a blog post, I encourage others with more Tarte Tatin expertise to weigh in, if you like.

I initially hesitated when offering up my recipe, because I thought it produced inconsistent results. It seemed a bit odd that something static-- printed and frozen on glossy paper-- could be inconsistent. It was I who was inconsistent. And the ingredients. Would I be vigilant and make a perfect caramel, with apples well-cooked and brown, but holding together? That is sometimes me. Or would I wind up with what my goddaughter Zelly referred to as "apple mush tart" when I decided to make one for her while trying to keep her 4 year-old little sister away from the knives and hot caramel? That is, unfortunately me, too. I'm glad it was the tart that wound up overcooked and not the child.

And what about the ingredients? I've made this dish at least two dozen times during my adulthood, but never with any sort of regularity. Somewhere along the way, I got it into my head that Granny Smith apples were the best, owing to their tartness and name-sharing with Dame Maggie. I had forgotten the better results I'd had with Golden Delicious and jumped back to the Smiths, which also happens to be the name of one of my favorite bands from my high school days. Unfortunately, while yielding great flavor, the Smiths yield an attractive-but-depressing mush, not unlike the music of the aforementioned band. I vote Jonagold which has inherited the firm flesh of its Golden Delicious mother, but taken on a little of it's father's (Jonathan) tartness.

I hope Ron has fun experimenting with this dessert. Especially in New York where the Autumn apples are better than anywhere I've had.

If he messes one up, it will still more than likely taste good, because how badly can you screw up apples, butter, and sugar? Well, I might suggest he watch Julia Child making one of the biggest goofs of her television career.

Suddenly, mine doesn't look so bad.

Tarte Tatin
Serves 8 to 10, depending on how you slice it.

When I first had this dessert presented to me, I can't remember where I was. Was it at some high school French Club get together? A special occasion restaurant venture with my family? The quaint little Loire Valley farm house where I learned a lot of dirty words from the sons of the proprietress who were trying to describe what they wanted to do with one of my female friends? I don't remember, since I've had it in all of those situations. I just remember the shock I felt at my love for the dish, since I had always been indifferent to apple pie. And I remembered the name thanks to the way I remember most everything-- through word association. "A good Tarte Tatin," I thought, "should be tart and tan."

The back story on this dessert is nearly as quaint as the tart itself. If it is to be believed, in 1888, Mlle. Stéphanie Tatin, owner of L'Hôtel Tatin in Lamotte-Beuvron with her sister either a) was not a very bright woman and accidentally baked her famous apple tart upside down in one of her frequent moments of confusion; b) became distracted during the making of said tart, let the cooking go a little too far, but managed to save the day by throwing a crust over the apples and baking them upside down; or c) was threatened with a smoldering cigarette to the face by a jealous Brett Somers, who suspected the Mlle. Tatin of having an unsavory dalliance with her then-husband, Jack Klugman, and therefore unable to reach the caramelizing apples in time to make a proper, right side up tart until La Somers was finished with her smoke.

I prefer to believe version "c", because it is the most exciting story.

Ingredients:

For the pastry:

1 cup all-purpose flour

1 tablespoon sugar

A pinch of salt

1/2 cup chilled, unsalted butter, cut into pieces

1/4 cup ice water

For the filling:

6 tablespoons unsalted butter

3/4 cup sugar

6 apples, peeled, quartered, and cored. Jonagolds will do nicely. So will Golden Delicious. Go ahead and experiment with different varieties.

A pinch of salt

A dash of vanilla extract

Preparation:

1. To make the pastry, combine flour, sugar, and salt into the bowl of a food processor. Pulse briefly to mix. Add the chopped, chilled butter to the flour mixture and pulse until the the butter has been coated and broken into a million, pea-sized pellets. Sprinkle dough with enough cold water to make the dough barely come together. Turn the dough out onto a lightly-floured work surface and roll out into an 11" round about 1/4 of an inch thick. Transfer dough to a baking sheet, cover with wax paper or plastic wrap and refrigerate.

2. Preheat your oven to 400 F. In an 10" cast iron skillet or non-stick frying pan, melt butter over medium heat. Stir in sugar and pinch of salt until nearly dissolved (about 2 minutes or so). If it's lumpy, don't worry. Add the apple quarters, rounded side down into the bubbling proto-caramel using enough apples to fit snuggly. Reduce the heat to low and cook until the caramel is dark brown and the apples are just tender (about 15 minutes).

3. Place pan in the oven to cook the apples a bit more (5 minutes). Remove pan from oven and raise the heat to 450 F. Perfume apples with a bit of vanilla extract, then gently place the pastry circle over the top of the apples, tucking the excess pastry inside the rim of the pan. Return pan to the oven and bake until the pastry is all brown and flaky-like (about 20 minutes).

4. Remove from the oven. Run a knife around the inside edge of the pan, invert a serving plate over the pan and then flip over and pray that the tarte unmolds easily. Lift off the pan. And please, Ron, do wear oven mitts and sensible shoes. I'd hate to hear that someone spent the evening in a Manhattan emergency room being treated for caramel burns.

5. Serve warm with sweetened whipped cream or with vanilla ice cream.