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.

Picking lemons from my mom's generous backyard lemon tree

Spring has sprung in the Bay Area. Unless you've been living under a rock, I'm sure this isn't news to you. Haven't you noticed coworkers with a little extra spring in their step--perhaps an unexpected smile on the bus? Asparagus is in the markets, flowers are popping up at the corner store by my place, and it's no longer getting dark at 5:30 p.m. Hallelujah. For me, there's something so appealing about the notion of fresh starts, new beginnings, and second chances that always leads me to put spring on a bit of a pedestal. Who doesn't love the chance at a new beginning? Even if it doesn't come to fruition literally, spring always gives me a surge of creativity and energy. It means going for runs after work instead of hunkering down, making fresh salads for dinner, and doing a little spring time baking. So here we find ourselves.

I spent some time at my mom's place in Marin last weekend and she has an amazing lemon tree with more lemons than she knows what to do with. I started bagging some up and racked my brain for what I wanted to do with them. Then I remembered reading a recipe for a Lemon Pudding Cake recently that I was curious to try. The recipe is from one of my first blogging friends, Kelsey, over at The Naptime Chef. If you haven't seen her blog, it's pretty great. She loves cooking and baking but found herself strapped for time after having her first child. So she started choosing and adapting recipes for the naptime hour--most that can be done in an hour or less. While I don't have kids, I appreciate Kelsey's tasteful recipe choices, great cookbook recommendations, and smart voice. Oh, and this cake.

A bowl of Lemon Pudding Cake right out of the oven. Enough said.

Kelsey adapted this cake recipe from Cooks Illustrated Entertaining 2010. As printed, the directions were much more complex, so Kelsey made it more approachable and do-able in under an hour. It's somewhere in between a luscious lemon pudding and a light fluffy cake, and I loved it right out of the oven. But I've also discovered that, with a cup of strong coffee, it makes a nice breakfast. And in addition to Kelsey's recipe, I've included some links below for other lemon desserts popping up around the web--all from bloggers or food sites that I read regularly. So here's to new beginnings, fresh starts, and cake for breakfast.

Juicing, Zesting, Mixing, and Separating: all in the name of Lemon Pudding Cake!

Lemon Pudding Cake
From: The Naptime Chef; adapted from Cooks Illustrated Entertaining

Makes: 8-10 servings

Ingredients:
1 1/4 cups unbleached all-purpose flour
2 tsp. cornstarch
1 1/4 cups sugar
5 Tbsp. unsalted butter, room temperature
2 Tbsp. grated lemon zest
1/2 cups fresh lemon juice
1 1/4 cups whole milk
5 eggs, separated; yolks in one bowl with whites in another

Preparation:
1. Adjust oven rack to center position and heat oven to 325 degrees. Lightly butter an 8" square baking pan. Bring several quarts of water to boil for water bath. Mix flour and cornstarch together in a bowl, set aside.
2. Cream the butter, 1 cup of the sugar and lemon zest until light and fluffy, about 2 minutes. Then, beat in the egg yolks and flour mixture, mixing until smooth. Slowly mix in the lemon juice, then stir in the milk.
3. Set the custard mixture aside and beat the egg whites until they hold soft peaks. Then, add the remaining 1/4 cup of sugar and beat egg whites to stiff, moist peaks. Gently stir a dollop of the egg whites into the custard. Then, working slowly, fold the remaining egg whites in bit by bit until they are all incorporated, but not overly beaten.
4. Pour the batter into the baking pan and place the pan inside a larger baking pan. Then fill the larger baking pan with hot water bath until it comes halfway up the side of the pan. Bake until pudding cake center is set and springs back when gently touched, about 1 hour. Remove roasting pan from oven and let pan cool for 1 hour before serving.

Other Lemon Desserts to Check Out:

• One of my favorite bloggers, Tim over at Lottie + Doof, made The Ultimate Lemon Butter Bars
• The Kitchn featured a recipe last week for Sticky Lemon Rolls with Lemon Cream Cheese Glaze
• Denise Santoro Lincoln makes Homemade Meyer Lemon Marmalade for Bay Area Bites
• I've heard very good things about David Leibovitz's Lemon Tart recipe
• Joy the Baker whips up Lemon Tea Cloud Cookies

It's January, which in the Bay Area (and all of California, for that matter) means it's citrus season. While much of the rest of the country is frozen over -- today in Boston the forecast was 34 degrees and snowing -- we're lucky enough to live someplace where winter means fresh oranges, limes, grapefruits and lemons. And queen among the local citrus trees -- at least in my book -- is the Meyer lemon.

Meyer lemons are an amazing fruit. Originally created in China as a lemon and mandarin orange hybrid, it has an appealing sweetness lacking in other lemons. And, with a fragrant and thin rind, barely any pith, and ample juice, it's really the ideal cooking lemon.

I planted my Meyer lemon tree around five years ago, and although it's given me a steady stream of fruit since we first set it into the ground outside our front porch, this is the first year that our tree was crowded with lemons. So what do you do with an overabundance of sweet and tart Meyers? In my case, I had great plans to make marmalade. I pondered how to make it, discussed recipes with neighbors, and deliberated over whether or not I should incorporate other citruses into the jam. But after a couple of weeks with sick kids and a sicker husband, plus a pile of work to wade through, those lemons still sat on the tree: bright yellow orbs taunting me each time I walked up my front stairs.

Thankfully I have talented friends with a can-do attitude (well, one friend in particular). When Kim and Keith Laidlaw came to my house last weekend, I mentioned my marmalade aspirations as we walked past the tree, hoping that one day soon I'd be able to make it. And then something miraculous happened. After walking the dogs in the rain a half hour later, I dried off their mud spattered fur and entered the kitchen to warm up with some hot tea. But instead of finding Kim and Keith relaxing in my family room, I was met instead with the glorious image of Kim sitting at my counter, patiently slicing lemons from the enormous pile she had picked while I was out. A true friend indeed.

After the lemons were all sliced, we set them in a pot and covered them with water to steep overnight. This allows some of the pectin in the pith beneath the rind to release into the water. It also makes the lemon slices more malleable. In the morning, we added some sugar along with a satchel of the lemon seeds, pith and lemon ends (which we had saved and tied in a cheesecloth) to the pot. After simmering for an hour, the mixture was ready to go. It was sweet and tart with a nice mild bitter marmalade edge. If you don't like any bitterness in your preserves, you can omit the seeds from the recipe, but you may end up with a runnier marmalade as the seeds add pectin.

Now normally I would can my jam, but the ennui that has enveloped me all January was still too strong, so Kim and I instead plopped some of the marmalade into washed jars to be used immediately and then I also froze some for later use. I hear that marmalade improves with age, so if you have the time and inclination, it's worth canning.

The next morning after the kids left for school, I sat and ate toast topped with Meyer lemon marmalade while contemplating how lucky I was to have such a lovely jam-making friend. It takes someone special to notice when your life gets in the way of your hopes, even if that hope is simply to make marmalade.

Homemade Meyer Lemon Marmalade

According to Kim, the key to great marmalade is slicing the lemons sliver thin. So be sure to use a sharp chef's knife. Here's what you do:

1. Wash the lemons and set in a bowl.

2. Cut the ends off the lemons and then slice in half length-wise.

3. Slice out the pith in the lemon's inner core and set into a bowl to keep for later use. You should also set the lemon ends in this bowl.

4. Remove the lemon's seeds and place into that bowl of pith and ends.

5. Cut lemons into paper thin slices.

6. Place lemon slices in a large pot, being sure to scrape the juice from the cutting board in as well so you retain the juices. Soak at least over night and up to two days.

Here's the recipe we used. The sugar amount is flexible and should be determined by how sweet you like your marmalade. Kim and I both like ours a bit tart, so we used the lesser amount. When your batch is complete, you can either can the jam in hot jars, freeze it in plastic bags or containers, or refrigerate and then eat within a week or two.

Ingredients
Makes: 6 small or 3 large jars of jam

5 cups thinly sliced lemons with the seeds, ends and inner pith removed and set aside
5 cups water
4-5 cups granulated sugar

Preparation:

1. Place lemon slices in a large pot and cover with water. Let steep overnight.
2. Once lemons have steeped, add the sugar to the pot and mix.
3. Place the seeds, pith and lemon ends in cheesecloth. Tie up and set into the mixture.
4. Bring the lemons to a boil and then reduce heat. Simmer for one hour.
5. Can or freeze.

While they are still plentiful, make everything you can with Meyer lemons. One of my favorite citrus fruits--hell, one of my favorite fruits--Meyer lemons are at the top of their game right now, but they won't be around forever.

I've been using Meyers steadily throughout the season, just as I'd use a regular lemon, but it wasn't until recently when we were down in L.A. and (finally) had a meal at Pizzeria Mozza (a la Mario Batali, Nancy Silverton, and Joseph Bastianich), that I because truly inspired. Mozza was heaven with its mouth-watering antipasti and superb Napoli-style pizzas, but that's not what this post is about. It was their Meyer Lemon Gelato Pie with Champagne Vinegar Syrup that got me back on the Meyer train.

Of course, now that I was in full Meyer lemon mode, immediately upon my return, I made a batch of my much-loved Meyer Lemon Ice Cream.

But that was hardly enough. On Sunday mornings, especially when the weather is rainy and cold and grey, I love to make a decadent breakfast, like brown butter waffles, a full English, or, one of my all-time favorites: delicate, soufflé-like ricotta pancakes. The first time I ate them was at the much beloved neighborhood restaurant, Rockridge Café, located on College Avenue in Oakland. I was hooked immediately.

So, with a bowlful of Meyer lemons, I decided to make some extra-lemony fluffy ricotta pancakes. You can make these for breakfast but they're also perfect for dessert. We had a few extra pancakes so one night I decided to reheat them in a frying pan with a little butter and then served them with a scoop of the aforementioned Meyer lemon ice cream. Heaven.

Meyer Lemon Ricotta Pancakes

Makes: About 12 small pancakes

Ingredients:
3 eggs, separated
3 tablespoons sugar
1 pinch kosher salt
Finely grated zest of 1 large Meyer lemon
1 cup homemade ricotta (store-bought works fine)
1/2 cup flour
Jam and/or maple syrup, for serving

Preparation:
1. In a bowl, whisk together the egg yolks, sugar, salt, lemon zest, ricotta, and flour.

2. In another bowl, using an electric mixer on medium-high speed or a whisk, beat the egg whites to medium-stiff peaks. Gently fold the egg whites into the ricotta mixture.

3. Heat 2 non-stick or well-seasoned frying pans over medium heat. Add a bit of butter to the pans, enough to coat the bottom.

4. Dollop heaping tablespoonfuls of the pancake batter into the pans, leaving a bit of space in between each pancake. You should be able to fit 3 or 4 pancakes into each pan, depending upon how large your pan is.

5. Cook for about 1 minute, until the bottom is golden brown. Carefully flip the pancake to brown the other side, and cook until the pancake is cooked throughout, another minute or so.

6. Serve at once on warm plates with jam or maple syrup.

I love ice cream. No, I mean I really love ice cream. I love ice cream so much that I ditched our ancient, puny, barely-functioning refrigerator and bought a new refrigerator because the old one wouldn't freeze my ice cream canister. I even had to rip out two of the six cabinets in our kitchen to fit a normal-sized refrigerator. No, I swear it's true.

I decided that if I was going to go to such lengths for ice cream, then the next step would be to figure out how to maximize the potential of my electric ice cream maker. It's a Cuisinart. It gets really good reviews, and it does work well as long as you use it correctly. After much trial and error, here are the steps that I found were crucial:

1) Freeze the hell out of the canister and don't take it out of the freezer until you are completely set up and ready to freeze your creamy delight.

2) Everything should be prepared in advance. The ice cream base needs to be super cold. The machine should be on the work surface, plugged in. Have an ice cream receptacle (that you will transfer the semi-frozen treat into) ready along with some plastic wrap. Get a rubber spatula.

3) Your adrenaline should kick in at this point. Everything needs to be done quickly. Run to the freezer, grab the canister, slam it onto the machine base, put the beater into place, put on the top, turn on the machine, and then pour in your base.

4) Okay, now you can relax, sit back, have a glass of wine, make some chocolate sauce, whatever. Just keep that motor running for about 30 minutes. Once your base starts to resemble ice cream, you need to start moving quickly again. Use the spatula to get it into the receptacle. Seal it with a kiss, or plastic wrap, and toss it into the freezer for a little while to firm up.

Of course, none of this matters if you don't have a good recipe. Personally, I prefer French-style custard ice cream, rich with egg yolks and cream. If you are even thinking of substituting skim milk for the cream, don't bother making the ice cream. Gelato is a whole different story (don't worry, I'll get to that in another IC Chron). Which is what leads me to my new favorite ice cream recipe: Meyer lemon ice cream. (Yes, ice cream is seasonal, good for all seasons, and just as delicious in the winter as it is in the heat of the summer--you just have to crank up the heat and snuggle under a blanket to enjoy it).

Kim's Meyer Lemon Ice Cream

4 large Meyer lemons, preferably organic

1 pint heavy whipping cream

3/4 cup whole milk

1/2 vanilla bean, halved lengthwise

5 large egg yolks, preferably organic

Scant 1 cup granulated sugar

Use a sharp peeler to remove only the colored part of the lemon zest from 2 lemons, in large strips. Try not to remove the bitter white pith, but if you do, you can use a small, sharp knife to scrape it off. In a saucepan, gently heat the cream and milk just until steaming and small bubbles form around the edge of the pan. Use the small knife to scrape the seeds out of the vanilla bean pod and add the pod, seeds, and lemon zest strips to the warm cream. Remove from the heat, cover, and let infuse for 30 minutes.

Place a medium-sized bowl inside a large bowl filled with ice water. Set aside.

In a clean saucepan, heat 1-2 inches of water over medium heat until simmering. Using a balloon whisk, in a heatproof bowl, beat together the egg yolks and sugar until smooth and very pale yellow. Reheat the cream mixture just until it begins to steam, but before it boils, and then slowly pour it in stages through a fine-mesh sieve into the yolk mixture, whisking as you add it (it's easier if you ask someone to help you with this step). Stir the mixture together thoroughly and then place the bowl on top of the saucepan of simmering water. Stir the mixture slowly until it thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon (or reaches 185F/85C). Be careful of the steam when you remove the bowl from the saucepan. Pour the ice cream base into the medium bowl (the one set in the larger bowl of ice water). Use a fine zester (a microplane works best) to zest the remaining two lemons into the base. Stir and let the base cool to room temperature. Press a sheet of plastic wrap onto the top of the base, cover, and refrigerate for at least 4 hours or preferably overnight.

When you are ready to make the ice cream, juice the 4 Meyer lemons and strain the juice through a fine-mesh sieve. Stir the juice into the ice cream base. Review the steps of setting up the ice cream maker (esp if you have a Cuisinart like I do) and then freeze the ice cream according to the manufacturer's directions (or mine). Scrape the base into an airtight container and freeze for at least 1 hour before serving. Enjoy!