Apple

The delicious breadcrumb crust was probably created when white flour wasn't readily available in Friuli.

Golden Delicious apples, which aren't too sweet and hold their shape when cooked, are a great choice for this pie.

My friend Marie-Hélène Brunet-Lhoste is a woman who knows her way around food. She's a top editor of the Louis Vuitton City Guides (and one of the restaurant critics for the Paris edition), so she eats at scores of restaurants every year, and she's a terrific hostess, so she cooks at home often and with great generosity. There's no question that she's a great home cook, but for me, she's the most frustrating kind of cook: she never follows a recipe (in fact, I don't think there's a cookbook to be found on her packed bookshelves), never takes a note about what she does, and while she's always happy to share her cooking tips, she can never give you a real recipe—she just doesn't know it. I've watched her in her kitchen, in the hopes of nabbing a recipe by observation, but it's impossible. Like so many really good cooks, Marie-Hélène starts off with a set of ingredients that could be annotated and recipe-ized, but, once she starts mixing, stirring, boiling, baking, or sautéing, she makes so many mid-cooking adjustments that you just have to throw up your hands and content yourself with being the lucky recipient. And so it was with this apple cake, which is more apple than cake, rather plain but very appealing in its simplicity (the chunks of apple make a bumpy, golden top) and so satisfying that we all went back for seconds. Despite knowing that it was futile, I asked for the recipe, and, of course, Marie-Hélène didn't really know. "It's got two eggs, sugar, flour, and melted butter—oh, and rum," she said. "I mix the eggs and sugar together and then I add some flour, some butter, some flour, and some butter." When I asked how much flour and butter, I got a genuinely apologetic shrug, and when I asked what kind of apples she used, the answer was, divers, or different kinds. Since there were only a few major ingredients, I thought I could figure out the recipe—and I did! (Although not on the first—or second—shot.) I've added baking powder to the mix (and I have a feeling Marie-Hélène might have too) and a drizzle of vanilla, which you can skip if you want. What you don't want to skip is the pleasure of having diverse apples. It's really nice to mix up the fruit, so that you have some apples that are crisp, some soft, some sweet, and some tart.

This apple's crisp flesh doesn't brown as quickly as other kinds, so it's ideal chopped in salads.

The juicy Honeycrisp apple is the sweetest of the bunch. Combine it (instead of berries) with tart, creamy Greek yogurt for a seasonal, satisfying breakfast.

The signature puckery snap of Granny Smiths goes well with candy like accompaniments such as caramel and chocolate.

Slices of Braeburn apples hold their shape well when baked until crunchy—perfect for a batch of munchable homemade chips.

Mcintoshes soften quickly when cooked. You'll love their slight sweetness with the savory melted cheese and turkey in this dish.

This recipe is inspired by a cranberry pie from Sarah Chase's book Cold Weather Cooking. My friend Barbara Liberman calls it "easy cake"—I call it delicious. When cranberries are in season, serve it with vanilla ice cream and your friends will love you.

Every Passover, my maternal grandfather, Irving, made beet horseradish from scratch. He was a gardener with a true green thumb when it came to tomatoes, but I can't remember if he grew his own horseradish. What I do remember is how teary-eyed everyone got when he served my grandmother's homemade gefilte fish with his beet horseradish on the side. Through the sniffles, we all expressed delight and assured him that this batch was the hottest and best yet. Horseradish is one of those flavors I have always loved. For all you other horseradish lovers out there, here's a fabulous dip. Use extra-hot prepared horseradish to guarantee those sniffles and teary eyes.

The addition of 1/2 cup miniature marshmallows is popular with children.

When I was a student in France, Rose Minkel was a fixture at Friday night dinners at my friend Nanou’s home. Called Mémé, an endearing term for “Grandmother,” she brought with her the recipes from her family’s native Metz, a city in the province of Lorraine with a long Jewish presence. Though the Jews had been in Metz for many generations (some say the first Jews settled there in 221 C.E.), up until the eighteenth century they lived a very different life from non-Jews in the town. They paid extra taxes on meat, wines and liqueurs, and other provisions. It was easy to spot a Jew on the street, because the men wore yellow hats to distinguish them from the black-hat-wearing gentiles. But over time they did assimilate, and already at the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Jews of Metz began to speak French instead of Yiddish. One Rosh Hashanah recipe that I remember most fondly was this simple roast chicken with peeled apple quarters, cinnamon, sugar, and wine.

This is a delicious, very delicate cake. It's served for dessert everywhere in Charleston, but I like it as a morning cake or afternoon snack. The recipe was named for a small but influential group of French Protestants who fled persecution by their Catholic countrymen and settled lands that became South Carolina more than a century before the Revolutionary War.

His name is Kumahachi Moreno and he's one of the most famous television chefs in Japan. He showed up at my door one July 4th weekend bearing a bag of Japanese "mystery" ingredients for me to grill. My efforts would be videotaped and the results shown on Japanese television. Seemed like a good idea, but when Moreno opened his bag, out came gobo (burdock root), natto (fermented soybeans), uncooked cod roe, and flat painted cans of azuki (sweet red bean) paste. Decidedly not what most Americans are accustomed to grilling. I sliced the cod roe over freshly-shucked oysters, which I roasted on a wood-burning grill. The burdock went on bamboo skewers with scallions to be grilled yakitori style on a hibachi. The natto went on tortillas with jalapeños and grated cheddar to make grilled quesadillas. I spooned the azuki paste into hollowed out apples—Fujis, no less—and topped them with cream cheese, brown sugar, and butter to be smoke-roasted over applewood in a kettle grill. I held my breath and hoped for the best. Mr. Moreno and his Japanese film crew had never seen the likes of the meal that followed. The oysters came out great, served with wasabi-flavored whipped cream. The film crew ate the natto-stuffed quesadillas with gusto. A mouthful of the fibrous burdock root taught me why burdock is never grilled in Japan. The red bean paste–stuffed apples—the outside tender and smoky, the filling both piquant and sweet—promopted high-fives all around—definitely a first on both sides of the Pacific.

Treacle tarts are usually made with a combination of golden syrup and molasses. The dessert has a texture similar to pecan pie (minus the nuts).

Here's a cake that showcases the flavors and smells of Christmas. This three-layer extravaganza has a touch of molasses and shredded apple to keep it moist. As the cake bakes, it fills the house with a fragrance that beats the most expensive holiday-scented candle. Many amateur cooks are intimidated by just thinking about making a cake that doesn't come from a box. Yes, it takes extra time, but it isn't hard. Just follow the steps outlined below. I say, if you want to make an impression, bring on a tall, showy homemade cake. Your friends will be talking about it long after the party is over.

I know you might do a double take at the name of this recipe. But I assure you it is a simple, delightful rendition of spaghetti in quickly cooked tomato sauce. The unique touch comes from shreds of fresh apple, which lend the sauce a lovely aroma and flavor and feel good in the mouth. When I tasted this for the first time in the Val di Non of Trentino, I wondered, Why didn’t I think of this long ago? Spaghetti is my choice of pasta here, but linguine, ziti, or rigatoni would be just as good.

In our Egg Salad with Lemon and Fennel , fennel contributes juicy crunch and a nice hit of bright flavor. Here, the leftover fennel goes in a decidedly different direction: Candied in a sugar syrup, it has a softer snap and becomes more mellow. Along with pistachios, golden raisins, and fennel seeds, it makes a sophisticated filling for baked Gala apples. Many baked–apple recipes are too homey for company, but this version, with its spectrum of greens and golds, would be the highlight of any dinner party menu.

Be sure to pick up a few extra bottles of hard apple cider to serve along with the stew.