Chocolate

German’s Chocolate Cake is every bit as American as apple pie. German refers not to the country but rather to the last name of the originator of the type of chocolate used in the original recipe—Baker’s German’s Sweet Chocolate. I’ve kept the essentials of the classic recipe in place—chocolate cake layered with caramel, coconut, and pecans—but tweaked them just enough to proudly call this version my own. The cake itself is dark, moist, and truly chocolaty, and a glaze of chocolate ganache heightens the chocolate flavor without the overpowering sweetness of a traditional buttercream frosting. The real twist is found in the cake’s inner layers: my caramel of choice is cajeta, a liquid dulce de leche Mexican treat of sweetened goat’s milk cooked into a rich, syrupy caramel with smooth coconut milk. And forget a scoop of vanilla ice cream; fluffy coconut whipped cream is the last touch in this to-die-for dessert.

Chocolate cream pie has a place of honor in roadside diner pie cases across the country. This deconstructed version inverts the classic format because the gorgeous, silky, deeply chocolaty pudding is worth digging for. Break though a crunchy, buttery graham cracker crust and a smooth layer of whipped cream before making your way to the rich chocolate depths of this decadent “pie.” Chocolate lovers, rejoice.

I named this dense chocolate cake with a mountain of coffee-flavored icing for the 1956 movie Giant. which put the small West Texas town of Marfa on the map. The stars were Elizabeth Taylor, Rock Hudson, and James Dean in his last movie role before he died in a car accident at age twenty-four. Hotel Paisano, where the cast stayed during the filming, still pays homage to the production with a Giant memorabilia room and Jett’s Grill, named after Dean’s character, oilman Jett Rink.

A sensational ending for a dinner party, cocktail party, or just about any event, these rich cheesecake-like bars always draw sighs of pure delight. The recipe comes from my early days as a caterer in Houston. I think they taste best cold, but no matter how they’re served, they disappear quickly.

I love a dramatic dessert at a cocktail party, but I also want a pick-up dessert that doesn’t need plates and utensils. A deep, dark-chocolate mousse that’s piped onto a choice of two very different kinds of cookies fits the bill. Although I like to make both cookie bases and serve them together, you may want to save a little time by choosing to make only one. (Pictured page 204, center and top.)

Here’s an old favorite turned just a little edgy, thanks to the addition of ancho chile powder. Ancho chiles (dried poblanos) have a sweet undertone that combines well with chocolate. For the freshest flavor, grind your own chile powder as directed in the Tip following this recipe. Be advised, though, that some anchos are spicier than others. Taste your ground chiles to check their heat levels and add or subtract the amount added accordingly. (Pictured page 204, bottom left.)

Cookies at Rather Sweet Bakery are very large, and that’s how our customers like them. For a dinner or cocktail party, I prefer small cookies. That way guests can indulge in more than one sweet finale. I’ve found that a dessert tray stocked with a variety of one- or two-bite treats is extremely popular. This recipe is adapted from a sugar cookie recipe given to me years ago by The Austin Chronicle’s food editor, Virginia Wood. Now that I’ve added fresh lemon juice and chocolate, she probably won’t recognize it. (Pictured opposite, bottom right.)

I make batches of these in mini muffin pans, wrap them well, freeze them, and keep them on hand for last-minute parties. What a relief it is to have a dessert ready and waiting for an impromptu dinner. The only problem: I know where they are, and sometimes, especially late at night, I can’t resist unwrapping a few and eating them. (Yup, they’re pretty good frozen.) Before long, my party stash has dissipated, and I have to make some more. (Pictured on page 164, center tray.)

In my family, it wouldn’t be homecoming without at least one old-fashioned layer cake, so I developed one inspired by a recipe from my Grandma Nez, the cake champion of her generation. As a child I wasn’t sure which I loved better, her cakes or her ample lap. I’d nestle into her smooshy interior and feel so comfy and protected there underneath her big bosoms. I admit this cake is a lot of work, but bring it to any event and no one will forget it. It makes a great cake for birthdays, wedding or baby showers, and anniversaries.

I felt like a modern-day Pied Piper as I carried a tray of these cupcakes to the dessert table at a picnic last fall. A throng of kids sprang up behind me, each one clamoring for a cupcake decorated with the familiar white curlicue and enriched with a hidden cream filling. Soon, all that was left was an empty tray and the hilarious chocolate smears that decorated the faces and fingers of the youngest children. These are simpler to make than you’d imagine and, given the excitement they always inspire, they certainly are worth the effort. You’ll need a pastry bag with a number 10 tip to inject the cream filling into the center of the cupcakes.

When I was a teenager, summer meant the beach. If I was lucky, I’d arrive in time for one of the great big beach-bonfire fiestas staged frequently by my friends, complete with roasted weenies, just a touch of beer (I swear!), and my total favorite—bonfire s’mores. Sadly, times have changed. Only a few Texas beach communities allow bonfires, so I came up with a s’more cupcake that puts me into a beach party mood no matter where I happen to be. The only fire necessary to bring their marsh mallow topping to the pitch-perfect golden brown of a genuine s’more is the skinny blue flame that shoots from my portable kitchen torch. These cupcakes are sure to bring smiles to just about any kid who shows up for a casual party, whether it takes place in the kitchen, at the shore, or on a beachfront deck. Now that my daughter is a seasoned college student, I make the cupcakes in advance, and whip up the marshmallow topping just before party time. I provide disposable plastic pastry bags fitted with open star tips so Fran and her friends can decorate the cupcakes themselves. Then it’s time for me to pass the torch—the kitchen torch, that is. Now that I think of it, it’s not the only torch I’m passing.

I’ve never forgotten the icebox pies I used to eat as a child at Luby’s Cafeteria. Those pies, along with the jewel-colored servings of Jell-O, were too tantalizing to resist. I always selected an icebox pie and a bowl of Jell-O, agonizing over which color to choose. I always finished the pie, but never touched the Jell-O. The Jell-O was for looks, the pie for flavor. My version of icebox pie is a stunning party animal—dramatic and devilishly rich. For parties, I prepare this recipe in stages: the crust one day, the filling the next, and the whipped cream topping the day of my party. A word of warning: These are large and very rich pies. Only under extreme circumstances do I recommend eating a whole one in a single sitting. (For example, you’re starring in a new movie and have been asked by your big-time director to gain fifty pounds pronto.) So you may wish to serve a half or quarter pie per person.

When chocolate was introduced to European aristocrats from the New World, it was consumed largely in the privacy of the bedroom. Finishing a chocolate drink with the fragrant crunchy spark of Taha’a vanilla salt would not have been a good idea in this setting—it would surely have escalated things to the point where the presence of the bed weighed too heavily on everyone’s minds, turning a purely social invitation into something rather more.

Remember the peanut butter cup commercials? Man and woman, so happy in their busy day, walking around with snacks in their hands, the sky above the color of a blue slushie the houses plastered in marzipan pastels, a happy-sounding tune of endless comic surprise piped through the air, the world a perfect place. Then—whoopsie, so clumsy of me—they smack into each other, exchanging flavors, and a wonderful new treat is born. Introducing nuts to chocolate is all well and fine and, sure, millions have been made on the combination. But if only the candymakers had the temerity to take the next step, something truly delicious could have come of it: chocolate, nuts, and a faint wave of chile heat all strummed like harp strings by the dexterous fingers of a luscious salt. Use this recipe to explore new dimensions of your favorite chocolate by trying it with a variety of salts. Choose the type and quantity of chile depending on your desire for heat.

Is it a gimmick, or is it a serious cooking technique? Is it both? Who cares? Preparing and serving chocolate fondue in a bowl of primordial pink salt is easier, makes a snazzier presentation, and tastes better than conventionally prepared chocolate fondue. Salt bowls, which weigh in excess of six pounds, provide phenomenal thermal stability. This makes it very difficult to overheat the bowl and burn the chocolate. Once heated to the desired temperature, the salt bowl stays warm, keeping the fondue beautifully liquid during its fleeting existence before it’s gobbled up. And the salt. Because salt isn’t soluble in fat, the chocolate itself just luxuriates in the bowl, doing nothing. It’s the touch of heavy cream that transmits a kiss of salt to the fondue’s liquid body. Try cherry, orange, or traditional Angostura-style bitters to vary the flavors

In the physical universe, there is precious little closer to perfection than an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie. Unlike standard cookies, they are never cakey or disappointingly hard, not too sweet, with the butter and oats finding common cause in each other’s virtues. So how do you improve upon perfection? Topping these cookies with a beautiful flaky salt brings out the cow in the butter, the hills in the oats, and the jungle in the chocolate. Topping them with the salt rather than just adding it to the batter sets the salt free to work its mojo with each of the ingredients as they combine in your mouth. For these cookies, I prefer Bali Rama Pyramid sea salt, which has really cool hollow pyramidal crystals and a great, snappy impact. The advantage of using a flake salt here is that it remains delicate even after baking. The Bali Rama Pyramid salt does a spectacular job of bringing just enough drama to the cookies to make them sparkle while keeping everything mellow enough to assure they remain a comfort food. Other good choices are Cyprus flake or Halen Môn, or, in a pinch, any good fleur de sel.

This one is for the beet lovers out there. It’s also for the not beet lovers out there. I am not a beet lover, but this ganache is delightful.

Believe me, I had never even had celery root, let alone become infatuated with it, before we started experimenting with root vegetable ganaches. But, in case you haven’t got the point by now, you can trust me on all sweet things that are delicious. I’m not trying to throw a nasty curve ball your way.

This mother recipe is a breeze as long as you follow the steps and understand when ingredients are added and why. Melted together, the white chocolate and butter create a basic bond. The addition of glucose, needed for the texture it imparts, then breaks that bond. Cold heavy cream comes to the rescue, emulsifying the broken bond and forming a new, stronger bond. The pumpkin puree and seasonings are added last for flavor and additional body. Note that you must use a hand blender in this recipe, and for the other ganaches in this chapter.

Nut crunch makes a great pie crust! I absolutely love this pie, but it doesn’t fit into the composed dessert realm of Ssäm Bar’s menu and it isn’t quick and easy to pack like Milk Bar pies need to be, so it never made it onto a menu. It’s a delicious recipe you’ll only find here.