Chocolate

If you can’t decide whether to serve something chocolatey or fruity for dessert, this sorbet is for you (and your guests). It’s incredibly easy to make, and even people like me, who aren’t especially fond of chocolate and fruit combinations, will be won over.

In case anyone thinks that the Internet is a cold, impersonal place, I’ve got evidence to prove them wrong. One day, completely out of the blue, I received an e-mail from a server who worked at a restaurant where I’d been the pastry chef, saying that not only did I have the sweetest smile, but that she loved the sherbets and sorbets that I made there. I don’t know which compliment was more touching, but I take any and all whenever I can, and via whatever medium they are sent. This was one of the sherbets I made at that restaurant, where I remember a different server taking a bite and her face lighting right up. “This tastes like a Mounds bar!” she exclaimed with a mix of surprise and delight. For me, that was another compliment, since that’s one of my favorite candy bars.

Some folks tell me they don’t like white chocolate. “It’s not chocolate!” they’ll say with a bit of smug certitude. True, but that’s like saying “I don’t like Champagne because it’s not white wine.” Both have merits and to say you don’t like one because it isn’t the other isn’t very logical. I fall into the camp of white chocolate lovers. To convince people of how good white chocolate can be, I often make ice cream with it and add fresh ginger for spicy contrast. And if that’s not enough, I stir in shiny, dark chocolate–covered roasted peanuts to give it nice crunch. If anyone still has any resistance to white chocolate, I call it their loss and am happy to eat the ice cream all by myself.

This is the world’s easiest ice cream. It takes literally a minute to put together, and doesn’t require an ice cream maker. You just toss everything in a blender, then pour the mixture into a container and freeze it, so there’s no excuse for even the machineless not to enjoy homemade ice cream. The one caveat is that the generous amount of alcohol is necessary to prevent the ice cream from freezing too hard. The good news is that all that booze means you don’t have to share your ice cream with the kids.

The first time I went to Mexico, I had no idea that ice cream was such a popular treat there. I had always associated ice cream with Italy, France, and the United States. Who knew? During that first trip, and more than a few subsequent ones, I made it a point to try the more unusual flavors, like ice cream flavored with cheese, smoked milk, and kernels of corn, and even fried ice cream (which was delicious!). But as much as I enjoyed trying new ice creams, I always found myself going back to chocolate. Here’s a recipe inspired by those coarse chunks of chocolate for sale in Mexico. They taste nothing like the disks of Mexican “drinking chocolate” sold in America, which are mostly sugar and rather skimpy on the chocolate. For this ice cream, use real chocolate and add freshly ground cinnamon for the best flavor.

When you live in San Francisco, it’s likely that at least 50 percent of your friends are real estate agents. One of my realtor friends is whippet-thin because he’s always watching what he eats. But he met his match with this frozen dessert. When he isn’t trying to talk me into buying or selling something, he talks about this gelato. People often ask about the difference between ice cream and gelato. As with most things Italian, it depends on whom you ask. But most people agree that gelato has a lower-fat base, which allows the flavors to shine through. This chocolate gelato has no cream and is proof of that theory. As is the waistline of a certain San Francisco realtor. This gelato is inspired by a recipe from Marcella Hazan.

I don’t think I have a bright future as a food stylist. For my first book, Michael, the photographer, insisted that I make and style all the food, even though I had no experience food styling. When it came time to shoot soufflés, I panicked and asked a real stylist for tips on how to keep them aloft while the camera clicked away. He suggested adding yeast to them, which sounded like it might work, so I gave it a try. But when I opened the oven door to pull out the first batch, they’d risen way high and arched over, looking like custardy Slinkys. So I went back to making soufflés a few at a time the way I knew best—without yeast—and ran them from the oven to the set to be photographed. I breathed a sigh of relief each time the photographer was able to capture a few shots before the soufflés’ inevitable descent. As soon as they started falling, we dove in and quickly polished them off before the next take. Later, when we looked at the proofs, we noticed my face clearly reflected in the spoon resting alongside the soufflés, which was pretty amusing—and completely unprofessional. Although my future as a stylist was in question, no one in the studio doubted my ability to make fantastic, if not long-lasting, soufflés.

The surprising zip of fruit chutney counters the richness of mousse au chocolat and adds a whole other dimension to this unconventional dessert. I don’t know if it’s a combination the French would approve of, but when I made it as a pastry chef on a cruise line, a few thousand people gave their consent. Each plate that came back to the kitchen was scraped clean. Unlike traditional chocolate mousse that uses uncooked eggs, this one has a cooked custard base. So, there’s no reason for anyone with concerns about consuming raw eggs to jump ship rather than dive into this dessert full-steam ahead.

This tart exemplifies what the French do best: combine just a few top-quality ingredients, doing as little to them as possible. Ganache is a mélange of cream and chocolate, reportedly named after a young baker who accidentally spilled some cream into the chocolate the chef was melting. The chef called him a ganache, which is slang for “idiot,” but when he stirred in the cream, they realized the mistake was probably one of the most brilliant things to ever happen to chocolate.

This is the French classic that everyone knows and loves. I’ve resisted doing anything to change it, except be more generous with the chocolate than the pastry chef in the average Parisian bistro. Excusez-moi, but I like chocolate so much that I just couldn’t help myself. This recipe is a good place to use top-notch chocolate, French or otherwise. You won’t regret it when your spoon cuts through the glossy surface and dives into the smooth custard below. For best results, use a high-percentage dark chocolate, one that’s 60 to 70 percent cacao.

I never would have thought of pairing white chocolate with lemon. My first taste of the combination was in the form of a slice of a towering lemon pie with white chocolate sauce at a restaurant in San Francisco. The second was in a filling made of the two enrobed as a neat square of chocolate at Theo Chocolate in Seattle. I didn’t need any more convincing that the pair is delicious match. My third experience with the combination was making these tartlets, and they were a charm as well. Although I’m happy to share my recipes, I’m not so big on sharing desserts, so I made these tartlets in individual portions. You can swirl each plate with the white chocolate sauce or, if you’re better at sharing than I am, you can pass a bowl of it at the table.

This is one big, tall, scrumptious dessert: layers of moist banana cake topped with a mocha ganachelike frosting, and crowned with handfuls of salted candied peanuts. Speaking of tall and scrumptious, I made this cake for a friend who’s a showgirl at the Lido in Paris as a thank you for allowing me a behind-the-scenes visit. She shared it with her colleagues between high kicks on stage and she assured me that even though those women are leggy and lean, their cake-eating capacity knew no limits. The next morning, I read an email, sent at 3 A.M., undoubtedly just after the last curtain call, giving the cake quite a few thumbs up. Or, should I say, a few legs up?

One of the pitfalls of having a blog is that you leave yourself open to all sorts of questions. The most common are from folks who want to substitute ingredients. I always want to reach through my computer screen, grab hold of their shoulders, and say, “But I worked so hard to develop this recipe. Please make it just as it is!” When I was working on these cupcakes, I began with the simple idea of individually filled chocolate cakes, similar to the kind I had as a kid, but with an adult sensibility. So I added a pour of Irish cream liqueur to the filling and spiked the ganache icing with a tipple of whiskey, which effectively wiped out the possibility of making these kid-friendly. So please don’t ask if you can make them without either, because the bad news is that you can’t. But the good news is that you can have them all for yourself and you don’t have to share them with the kids.

Of all the cakes in the flourless genre, this Gâteau Victoire has the most marvelously creamy texture. Once baked, it’s so velvety moist that I recommend you cut it with a length of dental floss instead of a knife—even at the risk of getting some funny looks from your dinner guests who might think that you’re preparing to brush your teeth and call it a night.

To boost the reputation of the much-maligned fruitcake, I wanted to create a version quite different from those sticky, oversweet loaves riddled with iridescent fruit and soggy pecans. This recipe was my answer: an exceptionally moist loaf, chockablock with freshly toasted nuts, perky dried cherries, and a double wallop of chocolate flavor, courtesy of cocoa powder and lots of chocolate chips. I was glad that my modern-tasting fruitcake made converts out of those who tried it. But I didn’t expect that so many would want to give it a traditional soaking of spirits to preserve the cake. I set to work and experimented a few times, but I had a hunch that something was amiss when I noticed some movement underneath the gauze wrapping. I unwrapped the cake and . . . well, let’s just say I discovered I was only one of the many creatures who enjoy this fruitcake. That was the end of my experiments. Instead, I just use kirsch-flavored glaze that can be added at the last minute.

Inspiration can strike at the strangest times and in the most unlikely places. I was in the men’s room at Racines, a restaurant in Paris. While I was momentarily preoccupied with other things, my mind wandered and I scanned the wall facing me, which was plastered with poems and drawings from local artists. Much to my surprise, in the midst of it all was a recipe for chocolate cake. When I returned to my table, I noticed a chocolate cake with the same name on the menu, so I ordered it. It was so delicious that I excused myself again, this time taking a pad of paper and pen with me. At the restaurant, the cake is baked with a handful of cocoa nibs strewn over the top. Cocoa nibs are unsweetened roasted bits of cocoa beans; they’re pretty widely available nowadays. Their slightly bitter chocolate crunch makes a big difference in the flavor and texture of the cake, but you can leave them off if you can’t find them.

I’m not a fan of fancy, complicated desserts, but I am a fan of anything delicious—especially when it involves caramelized nuts, chocolate ganache, and Cognac-flavored crème fraîche, as this cake does. True, this recipe requires a few steps to gather the components, but slicing layers of nutty meringue and spreading layers of crackly praline cream never feels like work to me. Like all good things, marjolaine is worth the effort. To make things easy, instead of laborious buttercream, I make a simple crème fraîche–based icing, which adds a distinctive tangy flavor and isn’t so rich. You can make the praline and the meringue days in advance, and the marjolaine should be assembled at least a day before it is served to give the flavors a chance to marry, so you can stage out the preparation. It’s really not difficult to assemble once you’ve gotten the components organized. And I guarantee, when you proudly glide a slick layer of chocolate ganache over the top and then take that first bite, you’ll be congratulating yourself on a job well done.

I developed this recipe because I’d been asked by a restaurant to come up with an idiotproof chocolate dessert. Since the cake I created was impossible to mess up, I called it Chocolate Idiot Cake (behind everyone’s back, of course). A few years later, I made it in another restaurant and someone commented that the surface of the cake looked lunar, so it was christened with a kinder, gentler name: Chocolate Orbit Cake. Not that any of you out there is an idiot, but this is the perfect cake for any baker who may not be a rocket scientist in the kitchen. No matter what you call it, it’ll surely launch anyone who takes a bite into chocolate heaven.

This Chocolate Pavé is an adaptation of a recipe by Lindsey Shere, co-owner and executive pastry chef at Chez Panisse when the restaurant opened, who taught me much of what I know about baking and desserts. Of all the things I learned, the most important lesson was how to appreciate a killer-good chocolate cake just as it is, without dressing it up with fancy swoops and swirls of frosting or layering it with creams or fillings. When I once expressed dismay that I hadn’t learned how to make all those fancy, frilly desserts during my tenure with her, she replied, “Why would you want to? They usually don’t taste good.” Pavé means “paving stone” in French. This cake is traditionally baked in a square pan so it can be cut into rectangles, creating edible slabs that are delectably rich. After one soft, moist, luscious bite, they’ll remind you of paving stones only in appearance.

Although it may seem a little strange, combining chocolate and chile peppers is a Mayan tradition that dates back over 2,000 years. It later became a popular treat among the Aztecs as well. now they may not have been playing with Sriracha, but I’m sure they would have if they could have!