5 Ingredients or Fewer

Roast chicken, plump, golden, and juicy, is perfect for anything from a feast to a weekday family dinner. Happily, it is an easy dish to prepare, especially if you follow these few tips. First and foremost: find a good chicken, one that has been raised with care. Because chickens are so widely available and inexpensive, we don’t often think about where they come from and how they are raised. Unfortunately, these days most chickens are produced under factory conditions, cooped up in tiny overcrowded cages, de-beaked, and fed a diet that is heavily laced with antibiotics and frequently includes animal by-products. These conditions are unhealthy and stressful for the birds (and the workers as well) and produce chickens of compromised integrity and flavor. Organic free-range chickens are raised on organic grain, without antibiotics or hormones, in less confined and more humane conditions, resulting in healthier, tastier birds. Starting with such a bird is what makes a really delicious roast chicken. Organic, free-range chickens can be found at some farmers’ markets. These are usually pasture-raised in small flocks and are the tastiest of all. If your butcher or market doesn’t carry organic chicken, you can help create demand by asking them to do so. If possible, season the chicken with salt a day or even two days before you roast it. If you roast it the day you buy it, season it as soon as you bring the bird home. The seasoning will penetrate the bird, making the meat more tender, juicy, and tasty. Make a mixture of about 1 1/2 teaspoons salt and a scant 1/4 teaspoon of fresh-ground black pepper. Unwrap the chicken. If it is wrapped in paper keep it right on the paper. Swivel the wing tips and tuck them underneath the bird; this keeps them from burning while roasting. Sprinkle the salt and pepper all over the bird, inside and out, wrap it right back up, and put it in the refrigerator. If you want to, this is the time to put herbs and garlic under the skin. Gently loosen the skin and slide thick slices of peeled garlic cloves and tender sprigs of fresh herbs underneath, working them under the skin until they are situated over the breasts and thighs. Take the chicken out of the refrigerator at least an hour before cooking. A cold bird straight from the fridge won’t roast evenly; the outside will cook but the interior will be underdone. Preheat the oven to 400°F. Roast the chicken in an ovenproof dish or pan that’s about the same size as the chicken. If a too-large pan is used, the juices that accumulate while the chicken is roasting will start to burn and smoke. An earthenware dish or small roasting pan will do, and so will an ovenproof skillet or a pie pan. Lightly oil the dish; put the chicken in it, breast side up; and roast for 20 minutes, then turn the chicken breast side down. Turning the chicken helps it cook evenly by circulating the juices and fat throughout the bird and allows the skin to brown and crisp all over. After another 20 minutes turn the chicken breast side up again and roast until done. A 3 1/2-to 4-pound chicken takes about an hour or so to cook. Start checking after about 50 minutes. The bird is ready when the legs and thighs are no longer pink and the breast is still juicy and tender. With experience you will be able to judge the doneness of a roast bird by sight, but at first you have to do a little investigating. Don’t be afraid to cut into it. The thighs are the last parts to finish cooking, so cut into the bird near the joint between the drumstick and the thigh. The meat should be hot and no longer red. After having roasted countless chickens, I rely on visual cues: I know that when the skin has started to separate from the meat on the drumsticks the bird is done. I also give the leg a little wiggle; if it moves freely, without bouncing back, this confirms what the skin has already told me. It’s important that the chicken be cooked through—b...

Polenta is a very simple dish of ground corn cooked in water. It is exceptionally tasty and, like pasta, remarkably versatile. When first cooked, polenta is soft; as it cools, it becomes firm and can then be fried, grilled, or baked. Soft or firm, polenta is great next to roasted or braised meats, or sauced with a spoonful of tomato, meat, or mushroom sauce. For variety, fresh corn or fava beans can be stirred into soft polenta. Polenta can be turned into a luscious torta by layering it with cooked vegetables, cheese, and sauce. Whether ground from yellow or white corn, polenta is ground coarser than cornmeal but finer than grits. When fresh it smells sweet and looks bright yellow. Like all grains, it should be stored in a cool, dark place and replaced when old. Cook polenta in boiling water. The approximate ratio of water to grain is four to one. This will vary depending on the variety of corn, how coarse it is ground, and how fresh it is; each batch you buy may be slightly different. Choose a heavy-bottomed pot when cooking polenta to avoid sticking and burning; use a flame tamer if a heavy pot is not available. Bring the water to a rolling boil and add the polenta in a slow, steady stream while stirring constantly with a whisk. Turn the heat down and continue whisking for 2 or 3 minutes, until the polenta is suspended in the water and no longer settles to the bottom of the pot. (This helps keep it from sticking to the bottom of the pan.) Season with salt and cook the polenta at a bare simmer, stirring occasionally, for about an hour. The polenta will be fully cooked and softened after 20 to 30 minutes, but the longer cooking time allows its full flavor to develop. Be warned that the thick polenta is very hot, so be careful when stirring and tasting. I spoon a bit onto a small plate to cool before tasting. Polenta should have a pourable, creamy consistency. If the polenta becomes thick or stiff while cooking, add water as needed to maintain the proper consistency. If too much water is added by accident, and the polenta becomes thin and soupy, just keep cooking it to evaporate the water. Polenta will set up quickly if not kept warm, so turn off the heat and cover the pot to keep it soft and hot for 20 minutes or so, or hold it for a longer time in a double boiler or by setting the pot in a larger pot of hot water. Polenta can be finished with butter or olive oil and cheese to enrich it and add flavor. Parmesan is the classic cheese to stir in, but try others; fontina, cheddar, or pecorino for example. Mascarpone or blue cheese is a luxurious garnish to top a bowl of soft polenta. To make firm polenta, spread hot soft polenta evenly onto a rimmed baking sheet (it is not necessary to oil the pan). A depth of about one inch works well for most purposses. Let the polenta sit at room temperature or refrigerate until set. Don’t cover until it has cooled. The firm polenta can be cut into shapes to bake, grill, or fry. To bake, brush with oil and bake at 350°F for 20 minutes or until crisp. To grill polenta, brush it with oil and place on a grill over hot coals; to prevent it from sticking, make sure the grill is hot. To fry, use shallow or deep fat. Polenta will always set up when cooled, but both very thin polenta and polenta that has been finished with a lot of butter or oil can fall apart when grilled or fried. A polenta torta is made of alternate layers of polenta—either freshly made soft polenta or polenta that has already cooled and set—and sauce, such as tomato sauce, meat sauce, or pesto; cooked greens or other vegetables; and cheese. A polenta torta is a great make-ahead dish, ready to heat up any time.

Fresh pasta, at least the version I make most often, is nothing more than flour and eggs. The prospect of making pasta may seem intimidating, but I assure you, it is surprisingly easy. The most time-consuming part is rolling it out, but a hand-cranked machine makes this job quick and easy. (Thrift stores and yard sales are great places to look for pasta machines.) The main ingredient of pasta is flour. The flour I use most often is unbleached, organic, and all-purpose. (Bleached flour, besides having added chemicals, has very little flavor and makes a sticky dough.) For different flavors and textures, whole-grain flours such as whole wheat, buckwheat, farro, and others can be substituted for up to half the amount of flour; more than that and the dough becomes friable or crumbly and can’t be rolled as thin as needed for some recipes. Durum flour makes great pasta with a good bite but unfortunately it is hard to find; if you do come across it, substitute it for up to half of the total flour. Semolina is ground from durum wheat, but it is very coarse and hard to turn into egg pasta. Experiment to see what your favorite flours and ratios are. To make the dough by hand, measure the flour into a bowl, one that easily holds the flour with plenty of extra room for stirring. Break the eggs into another bowl or cup and beat them slightly to mix the yolks and whites. Make a well in the flour (use a spoon or your hand to make a depression) and pour in the beaten eggs. Use a fork to stir as though scrambling the eggs, scraping in flour from the sides bit by bit. When the egg and flour mixture gets too stiff to stir with a fork, continue mixing with your hands. When the flour is mostly absorbed, turn the dough out onto a lightly floured surface and knead lightly until the dough comes together. It won’t be perfectly smooth. Wrap it in a plastic bag or plastic wrap and let sit for an hour at room temperature (or longer, refrigerated). The dough needs to rest to allow the gluten that has been activated by the stirring and kneading to relax, making the dough easier to roll out. To make the dough with a stand mixer, put the flour in the bowl, attach the paddle, and slowly pour in the eggs while mixing at low speed. Mix until the dough begins to come together in small, moist clumps. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead together. Cover and let rest as above. Through trial and error I have discovered that a wetter dough is much easier to work with, especially when rolling out by hand (it does not spring back as quickly as a dry dough). The ideal texture for pasta is a dough that comes together easily but is not sticky. If, after mixing, the dough is crumbly and dry, moisten with a sprinkling of water. Add more as needed, a little at a time, but avoid making it too wet. If the dough is too wet and sticky, you can knead in more flour, but let it rest at least an hour to come together. Flour will vary from batch to batch, so what seemed like the perfect amount of liquid one time may be too much or too little another. Pasta can be rolled by hand or with a machine. The rollers of the machine create perfectly smooth noodles, while hand-rolling results in interesting surface irregularities for the sauce to cling to, adding nuance and flavor. It’s worth rolling the dough by hand once to taste and feel the difference. When rolling pasta with a machine, first flatten the ball of dough with your hands, then open the machine up to its fullest setting, and, while cranking slowly but steadily, pass the dough through the rollers of the machine. (If you are making a large amount of dough, divide it into smaller balls to avoid overloading the machine.) Fold the rolled dough over itself into thirds, as though folding a letter, and put it through the machine again. This process kneads the dough. If the dough is sticking, sprinkle it lightly with flour. Smooth out the flour with your hand before rolling again. Fold and roll two more t...

Dried beans cook best when soaked for a number of hours. Overnight is best. Cover the beans with plenty of water to keep them from poking up above the surface when they have absorbed water and swelled. I cover them with at least three times as much water as beans. If all the beans were not completely submerged overnight some will cook at a different rate than others and you’ll end up with overdone and underdone beans in the same pot. Drain after soaking and use fresh water for cooking them. All over the world, beans are traditionally cooked in earthenware pots (and for some reason they seem to taste better when they are), but any heavy nonreactive pot will do. Try to choose a wide pot so the layer of beans isn’t too deep; otherwise the beans are hard to stir and the ones on the bottom of the pot get crushed. Be sure to use enough water that stirring them is easy: the water level should always be an inch or so above the level of the beans. If the water is too low, the beans will be crowded and will tend to fall apart when they are stirred. Worst of all they might start to stick and burn on the bottom of the pot. Salt is best added towards the end of the cooking to keep the beans tender. When done, the beans should be tender but not falling apart, though it is better to overcook them than undercook them! You don’t want them to be the least bit al dente, or crunchy. The best way to test them is to bite one. Start testing after an hour. When they are fully cooked, let right away, the skins will crack and they’ll look shaggy. When cooking fresh shell beans there is no need to soak them. Just pop them out of their shells and put them in a pot. Cover with water by no more than about 1 1/2 inches: the beans will not absorb much water. Add the salt at the beginning and begin testing for doneness after about 10 minutes. Depending on the variety, the beans may take as long as an hour to cook, but usually they are done in much less time. Beans can be flavored at the end of their cooking and served right away; or once cooked, they can be cooled, flavored or not, refrigerated (or frozen) in their liquid, and used later.

The simple soup I make most often starts with a base of softened onions to which one or two vegetables are added. The soup is moistened with broth or water and simmered until the vegetables are tender. First, onions are gently cooked in butter or oil until soft and flavorful. A heavy-bottomed pot makes all the difference for this: it disperses the heat evenly, making it easier to cook vegetables slowly without browning. The amount of fat is important, too. You want enough butter or oil to really coat the onions. After 15 minutes or so of slow cooking, the onions will be transformed into a very soft, translucent, sweet base for the soup. Next, add a vegetable, such as carrots, sliced uniformly for even cooking. (Otherwise you will have underdone and overdone vegetables in your soup.) Salt generously (enough for the vegetables to taste good on their own) and continue cooking for a few minutes. This preliminary seasoning and cooking infuses the fat with the perfume and flavor of the vegetables. (The fat disperses the flavor throughout the soup.) This is an important technique, not just for soup but for cooking in general: building and developing flavor at each step before moving on. Now add broth or water, bring to a boil, and reduce to a simmer. Cook until the vegetables are tender but not falling apart. The soup will not taste finished until the vegetables have cooked through and given their flavor to the broth. Keep tasting. It is wonderful to discover how the flavors change and develop as the soup cooks. Does it need more salt? If you’re unsure, season a small spoonful and see if it tastes better with more. This is the only way you can find out. Many, many vegetables will make great soup when you follow this formula. The only variable is the length of time they take to cook. The best way to keep track is to keep tasting as you go. Some favorite vegetable soups that jump to mind are: turnip and turnip greens, corn, potato and leek, butternut squash, and onion. A vegetable soup made this way, with a flavorful stock rather than water, and served as a rustic “brothy” soup, will be delicious. (In fact, if the broth is rich enough, I sometimes skip any precooking in butter and add both onions and vegetables directly to the simmering broth.) If the soup is made with water instead of broth, and puréed to a uniform texture, the result will be a more delicate soup dominated by the pure flavor of the vegetables themselves. This is especially desirable for soups made from such sweet, tender vegetables as fava beans, peas, or corn. I purée such soups through a food mill, but you can also use a blender, which generates finer purées. Do be careful when using a blender to purée hot soup: always make sure the lid has an open vent hole to let the steam escape so that the whole lot doesn’t explode. Various garnishes and enrichments can be added when you serve the soup. Many cooks finish a puréed soup by spooning in a dollop of cream or stirring in a lump of butter, and a last-minute addition of herbs and spices or a squeeze of lemon can be enlivening. But use discretion; a garnish can overcomplicate or overpower the flavor of the soup itself.

Fresh-made, homemade breadcrumbs have some obvious uses: sprinkled over a gratin to form a crust; as a coating for about-to-be-fried meats, fish, and vegetables; and to give a lighter texture to stuffings and meatballs. But in my kitchen they also have a major role as a sort of endlessly versatile crunchy sauce: golden, fresh-toasted breadcrumbs, tossed with almost any chopped fresh tender herb or combination of herbs (parsley, marjoram, thyme) and perhaps a little fine-chopped garlic, and then strewn over almost anything—pasta, vegetables, roasts, salads—as a finishing touch. Recently I’ve started to embellish toasted breadcrumbs with fried herbs. I fry the leaves of herbs such as rosemary, sage, and winter savory in olive oil for a minute (or less), just until crisp and then toss them with the crumbs. Not all breads make good fresh breadcrumbs. Most bagged, sliced, commercial breads—the kinds with preservatives and added sweeteners—simply won’t work: the additives reduce bread’s natural crumbiness and the sweeteners add the wrong flavor and cause overrapid browning. Breadcrumbs are best made from bread that has had a day or two to dry out just a little. Fresh bread has too much internal moisture to make good crumbs. Instead it clumps, forming moist wads of bread instead of integral crumbs. For breading and frying, loaves of fine-textured white bread such as pain de mie or pullman bread make the best crumbs. For toasted breadcrumbs, however, I prefer to use levain bread or another coarse-textured, country-style bread. These kinds of breadcrumbs are different from breadcrumbs made from completely dried out bread, and are totally different from the crumbs sold in boxes at the grocery, which are too fine, don’t taste good, and just won’t work for the recipes in this book. The easiest way to turn bread into breadcrumbs is with a blender or food processor. First remove the crust; it’s too tough and crumbs with crust in them brown unevenly. Cut the crustless bread into cubes and process them in batches. The bread should be thoroughly ground up so the crumbs are more or less the same size; this will ensure even browning while cooking. Crumbs to be used for breading need to be ground very fine, so they will stick to and evenly coat whatever is being breaded. Crumbs to be toasted can be coarse or fine, depending on the end use. When toasting crumbs, toss them first with olive oil (or melted butter or duck fat) and spread them evenly on a baking sheet. Every few minutes or so, stir them with a metal spatula. The crumbs along the edges of the pan always brown first, so mix these in well, moving them into the center away from the outer edges. The crumbs brown slowly at first, because they must dry before they brown, but they finish quickly during the last minute or two of toasting. Keep a close eye on them towards the end of their cooking time to prevent overbrowning. If you find you have more old bread than you can use, turn it into crumbs and freeze them for future use. When there is no dried-out bread and you need to make crumbs, cut thick slices of fresh bread and put them on a baking sheet in a warm oven to dry out slightly before processing.

I wanted to be sure to include a few words about fruit salads—not sweet fruit cocktails in heavy syrup, but savory salads made like other composed salads. These may consist of fresh fruit alone, or fresh fruit combined with lettuces or other salad greens, with nuts and cheese often added for richness and texture. When there are no greens available and I desperately want something fresh, fruit salads are refreshing alternatives, either at the beginning or the end of a meal. Figs, apples, pears, pomegranates, persimmons, and almost all of the citrus fruits make good salads, with or without greens. All these fruits of fall and winter have an affinity for hearty chicories such as escarole, radicchio, and curly endive. Among my favorite fruit salads are an orange salad with black olives; avocado slices and grapefruit sections; persimmons or Asian pears with nuts and balsamic vinegar; and orange slices with marinated beets. Oranges and other citrus fruits need to be peeled and sectioned for a salad. When skinning the fruit, you want to remove all the outer peel and the membranes that enclose the sections, exposing the juicy fruit inside. You will need a small, sharp knife to do this. First, slice off the top and bottom of each fruit, slicing deeply enough to expose the inner flesh. Then, position your knife blade at the top where the fruit and peel meet, and carefully cut down following the contours of the fruit. Continue around the fruit, cutting from top to bottom, rotating the orange, until all the peel and membrane is removed. Trim away any remaining white bits of membrane. You can then slice the orange crosswise or cut between the membranes to free the individual sections. Apples and pears can be peeled or not, but to avoid oxidation, which turns the cut surfaces brown, they should be prepared just before serving. Persimmons must be peeled; this can be done in advance, but keep them covered so they don’t dry out. Fruit salads are usually dressed very simply, sometimes with nothing more than a drizzle of olive oil or vinegar, or with a vinaigrette made of some citrus juice and a touch of vinegar, a little chopped shallot, salt, pepper, and olive oil.

For me, making a garden lettuce salad—washing beautiful fresh-picked lettuces and tossing them together with a scattering of herbs and a vinaigrette—is as much of a joy as eating one. I love the colorful variety of lettuces, bitter and sweet; the flavor and complexity of herbs such as chervil and chives; and the brightness of a simple vinaigrette made with red wine vinegar, olive oil, and a whisper of garlic, which highlights the lettuces and herbs without overwhelming them. For a salad to have flavor and life, you have to start with fresh, just-picked lettuces. I’m fortunate to have a small kitchen garden in my backyard where I grow various lettuces and herbs for salad, but if you don’t have such a garden it can take some real dedication to find good greens. Farmers’ markets are the best places to start. When my garden is not producing, or when I’m away from home, I shop for head lettuces and try to create my own combinations of lettuces, arugula, chicories, and whatever tender herbs I can find. I generally avoid the salad mixes, especially the pre-bagged ones, which usually seem to include one or two kinds of greens that don’t belong with the others. If there is a lovely mixture from a local salad grower, fine, but otherwise try to buy the best head lettuces you can find and make your own mix. Wash the lettuce, gently but thoroughly, in a basin or bowl of cold water. First cull through the lettuces, pulling off and throwing into the compost bin any outer leaves that are tough, yellowed, or damaged. Then cut out the stem end, separating the rest of the leaves into the water. Gently swish the leaves in the water with your open hands and lift the lettuce out of the water and into a colander. If the lettuces are very dirty, change the water, and wash again. Dry the lettuces in a salad spinner, but don’t overfill it. It’s much more effective to spin-dry a few small batches than one or two large ones. Empty the water from the spinner after each batch. Any water clinging to the leaves will dilute the vinaigrette, so check the leaves and spin them again if they’re still a little wet. I spread out each batch of leaves in a single layer on a dish towel as I go. Then I gently roll up the towel and put it in the refrigerator until it’s time to serve the salad. You can do this a few hours ahead. When the time comes, put the lettuce in a bowl big enough to allow you to toss the salad. If you have some, add a small handful of chives or chervil, or both, either chopped quickly or snipped with scissors. Toss everything with the vinaigrette, using just enough sauce to coat the leaves lightly, so they glisten. Beware of overdressing small, tender lettuces: they will wilt and turn soggy. I usually toss salads with my hands. (I eat salads with my hands, too.) That way I can be gentle and precise and make sure that each leaf is evenly dressed. Taste, and if needed, finish the salad with a sprinkling of salt or brighten it with a splash of vinegar or a squeeze of lemon juice. Taste again and see what you think, then toss one last time and serve the salad right away.

This is the sauce I make most often, and if it’s made out of good olive oil and good wine vinegar, it’s the best salad dressing I can imagine. At its simplest, vinaigrette is a mixture of vinegar and oil in a ratio of 1 part vinegar to about 3 or 4 parts oil. Start by estimating roughly how much vinaigrette you will need. This depends on what you’re using it for; a quarter cup is more than enough for four servings of green salad, for example, but you really never need to measure out exact amounts. Start by pouring the vinegar into a bowl. Dissolve a pinch of salt in it and taste for balance. The salt has a real relationship with the vinegar. When you add just enough salt, it subdues the acid of the vinegar and brings it into a wonderful balance. Try adding salt bit by bit and tasting to see what happens. How much salt is too much? How much is too little? What tastes best? If you add too much salt, just add a touch more vinegar. Grind in some black pepper and whisk in the oil. The vinaigrette should taste brightly balanced, neither too oily nor overly acidic. Adjust the sauce, adding more vinegar if you’ve added too much oil, and more salt, if it needs it.

Velvety, luscious, garlicky mayonnaise—what the French call aïoli (pronounced eye-oh-lee)—is another sauce I use all the time: on sandwiches; with vegetables, both raw and cooked; with meat and fish; as the binder for chicken salad and egg salad; and as a base for sauces such as tartar sauce. Most children, even very young ones, love aïoli and will happily use it as a dip for bite after bite of bread, carrots, potatoes, and even vegetables they might otherwise refuse. Two or three small cloves of garlic per egg yolk, pounded with a mortar and pestle, make a fairly pungent garlic mayonnaise—depending on the garlic. The strength of garlic’s flavor can vary a lot, depending on freshness, season, and variety. I always pound the garlic in a mortar and pestle and reserve half of it, so I can add it later if the aïoli needs it. (You can always add more garlic, but you can’t subtract it.) It’s important to pound the garlic to a very smooth purée so the sauce will be garlicky through and through, not just a mayonnaise with bits of garlic in it. One egg yolk will absorb up to one cup of oil, but you can add less if you don’t need that much mayonnaise. Whisk the oil in drop by drop at first, adding more as you go. It is much easier to whisk when the bowl is steadied. To help hold it still, set it on top of a coiled dish towel. Adding a small amount of water to the egg yolk before you incorporate the oil helps prevent the sauce from separating or “breaking.” If mayonnaise does separate, stop adding oil, but don’t despair. Just crack a fresh egg, separate the yolk into a new bowl, add a little water as before, and slowly whisk in first the broken sauce and then the rest of the oil. Make aïoli half an hour ahead of time, to give the flavors a chance to marry. As with anything made with raw eggs, if you’re not going to serve mayonnaise within an hour, refrigerate it. Aïoli tastes best the day it’s made.

There’s no beating fresh tamarind pods (as opposed to the pulp) for making the tamarind water for this recipe. Fresh tamarind should look a little moist (and be sure to buy unsweetened tamarind—sometimes it is sold coated with sugar to be eaten like candy). Salted plums can be found in Mexican and Asian markets. Mexican chile-lime powder will be in the candy aisle of the Mexican market. Note that this is not chile powder or American chili powder. It’s meant to be eaten on its own or sprinkled on fresh fruit. If you can’t find the plums or the powder, just omit them both and mix some sugar and salt together for the rim. For the teetotalers in the house, including babies and moms-to-be, tamarind water is also delicious on its own.

Gloria Linss, grandmother of my editorial assistant, Valeria, was kind enough to provide us with the perfect ratio of sugar and cinnamon to squash for this recipe. She also pointed out that at her house they did not chop the squash; she would literally smash the whole gourd onto the kitchen floor until it broke into pieces. You can keep it old-school and do that, but I suggest you go with a very sharp knife: it makes cleanup easier. For a sweet finish, do as Gloria does and drizzle the squash with chilled evaporated milk before serving. The cold milk is the perfect counterpoint to the extravagantly sweet, melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon-scented squash.

As we well know, chocolate has been around for a very long time, dating all the way back to pre-Columbian Mexico. Once considered a gift from the gods by the Mayans, and after being introduced to Europe, reserved for Spanish royalty, chocolate has become a worldwide favorite when preparing desserts. You’ll find it in cakes, tarts, dessert sauces, and soufflés, as you see here. Mexican chocolate, available in Latin markets and some supermarkets, is flavored with cinnamon, almonds, and vanilla. It makes for an unmistakable—and irresistible—soufflé.

The fact is, I could come up with a hundred different cajeta recipes. Cajeta, a caramel-like spread traditionally made with goat’s milk, is readily available all over Mexico and is known as dulce de leche in other parts of Latin America. Cajeta, which translates as “small box,” used to refer to the box in which the cajeta was sold. Now you can find it in a glass jar, a much more convenient presentation. It is found in many supermarkets and Latin markets and is available in different flavors, the most common being wine and strawberry. Any flavored cajeta would work well in this recipe. Whipped with cream and a little sugar, it is a perfectly sweetened filling for this tasty treat—which is just as delightful as it is messy to eat.

Italian meringue is a firm cooked meringue made with boiling sugar syrup. It can be used alone as a frosting, or I sometimes pipe it into rosettes and dry them out in a low oven for tasty treats. Use a candy thermometer to make sure the sugar syrup reaches 235°F. By adding the hot syrup to the egg whites while whipping, you’ll be cooking them to approximately 140°F, the pasteurization temperature for eggs.

My very close friend and colleague Elsa Flores, a Baja pastry chef, shared this recipe with me. It’s a wonderful fusion of one very Mexican ingredient, amaranth, with one very French dessert, macaroons. Be sure to let the raw macaroons rest after they are piped. This will dry out the tops and will result in a shinier and perfectly puffed macaroon.

Polvo means “powder” in Spanish, which is exactly what these crumbly, buttery cookies turn into in your mouth. My mom made polvorones for us every Christmas. These melt-in-your-mouth Mexican wedding cookies are very easy to prepare and are the perfect accompaniment to a cup of after-dinner coffee—or for dipping in hot chocolate, as I did when I was a child.

This delectable fritter was a happy accident. My friend (and loyal assistant) Valeria suggested I prepare a mango ravioli for this book. She envisioned a dough made with mango puree, but I misunderstood and made a mango filling. This miscommunication, coupled with my obsession with the very versatile wonton wrapper, brought a new dessert to life!

The smell of fried tortillas and cinnamon engulfed our home during the Christmas season as my mom made dozens of these crunchy treats and wrapped them in cellophane to give to friends and family. I’ve now taken over the tradition, and my son loves to help me cut the tortillas into holiday shapes with cookie cutters or scissors before I fry them. Using authentic Mexican tortillas (lard and all) makes all the difference.