Baking

A simple addition to the master dough results in deliciously scented rolls.

Swedish pearl sugar stands in for coarse salt in this sweet take on the soft pretzel.

This versatile dough is ideally made in a stand mixer, but a food processor works surprisingly well, too.

Get extra-festive with this buttery loaf studded with colorful eggs.

If time is short, skip baking the homemade meringues and use store-bought.

These tasty tarts are easy to bring to a picnic or potluck dinner. Serve one for dessert—and one for breakfast the next day. Dried California apricots are dark orange and have a tangier, more intense flavor than Turkish ones.

We mix finely ground oats and almonds into the biscuit dough for extra texture, flavor, and nutritional value.

Skip the scones and biscuits for brunch; serve this sweet and beautiful take on focaccia instead.

Rich with chocolate and studded with bits of toasted almonds with a faint coconut flavor, this heavenly dessert is a special finish to a holiday meal. Because the leavening comes from aeration, it is essential that the ingredients be at room temperature before assembling the batter.

A yellow cake gets filled with jam then cleverly surrounded by a rhubarb mousse by using a larger spring-form pan as a mold. A jewel-like rhubarb glaze creates a finishing touch. If you have small, early tri-star or wild strawberries to garnish the top, so much the better!

When we say simple, we mean it. And simplicity is exactly what you want when the local strawberry season arrives, and you'd rather be outside than indoors at the stove—even though you want to celebrate berry season with an easy, spectacular dessert. Ta da! We've solved the problem. Borrowing and expanding on South American alfajores, those addictive buttery sandwich cookies filled with dulce de leche, we've made one big, flat cookie base (no hassling with tart pans), spread it with dulce de leche, and then topped it with a soft pillow of whipped cream for freshly sliced strawberries. It doesn't get better than this!

In the winter months, there's nothing like the bewitching, slightly exotic flavor of Key limes or the larger regular limes (a.k.a. Persian) to transport you mentally to some warm tropical spot, preferably an island with an endless beach. This cake, with its tart lime filling offset by billowy drifts of sweet, marshmallow-like frosting, should do the trick. Key limes are smaller than Persian limes and often come packed in a net bag, but don't despair if you can't find them. Persian limes make an excellent substitute (see Cooks' Notes, below, for more details on buying limes). Another helpful hint: Because there's grated zest in both the cake and the filling, grate all the zest you need first, before you start juicing.

These golden, crunchy croissants that we permit ourselves to enjoy without the slightest remorse on Sunday mornings are not as French as you might think. These pastries, known in French as viennoiserie, indeed originated from seventeenth-century Vienna. In 1683, the inhabitants of the Austrian capital suffered an attack led by the forces of the Ottoman Grand Vizier Kara Mustafa. After months of a terrible siege, they were liberated by Charles V of Lorraine and Jan Sobieski, King of Poland. This victory enabled the Hapsburgs to recover their territories of Hungary and Croatia, and the bakers made a commemorative pastry in the form of a crescent moon, the symbol of the Ottoman Empire. Folk history even accords the bakers a crucial role in reversing the battle situation. As they worked during the night, they heard the sound of the Turkish soldiers preparing a new assault and sounded the alarm. Their version of the croissant was nevertheless closer to the brioche than the croissant that we know today. A century later, Marie-Antoinette is said to have brought this delicacy from her native city to introduce it to the French court. Giles MacDonogh, however, author of a biography of Brillat-Savarin, offers a version that corresponds more closely with the dates when the croissant appeared in France (around 1900). He mentions the arrival in Paris, in 1838, of an Austrian named Auguste Zang, who opened a Viennese bakery at 92 rue Richelieu, only a few numbers away from the Brillat-Savarin building. "The business took off slowly," he explains, but eventually his kipferl cookies began to sell, literally "like hot cakes." The croissant was born. All of his croissants came out of a brand-new steam oven, above which the inscription was written La main de l'homme n'y a pas touché. (No human hand has touched them.) In those days, industrial processes inspired trust! Nowadays, any croissant untouched by human hand is suspect. The dough needs to be kneaded gently, then vigorously, until it can be detached from marble, and pieces of it shaped into a ball. The surface of each ball is then dried with a sprinkling of flour and covered with a damp cloth. Then the waiting begins. The dough is mixed with worked butter, punched down, then folded, turned, and set to rise again. This craftsmanship is becoming rarer, and the challenge is to live up to the legend, to match the taste of these handmade croissants, with their melting, silky layers of pastry.

The King's Cake (galette des rois), in whatever form it took, with a "bean" baked into it, has been the king of desserts on Twelfth Night, also known as the Feast of Kings or Epiphany in France, since the Middle Ages. In those days, the French King's Cake took different forms depending on the region. It was a brioche topped with candied fruits in Provence, a flat galette with cream in the North, a dry cake in Lorraine, a puff pastry round with an almond flavored filling in Lyon. À Paris, it was a gorenflot, a sort of enriched bread raised with baker's yeast, something like a Polish brioche. The ritual of this shared cake is symbolic of the day of the Epiphany, commemorating the presentation of Jesus to the Magi on the sixth of January, but it is also redolent of other pagan traditions linked to the cult of fertility that was so popular with the Romans. The "bean" hidden inside the cake was originally an actual lima bean, a symbol of renewal and fecundity, before it was replaced by a tiny porcelain figure representing the Christ child, then by a host of trinkets. Today, the marzipan-filled, puff pastry round has gained supremacy almost everywhere. And for good reason—few pastries can give such extended pleasure. How delicious when, under its fine butter coating, the many-layered pastry (milles-feuilles), still warm, encounters the silky, fondant marzipan on the palate—a perfect combination of the puff pastry and grainy, ground almonds. No one knows exactly when this so-called "Parisian" cake was born. The invention of marzipan dates from the sixteenth century. The history should be treated with caution, but it is sufficiently delicious to have been inscribed indelibly in the memory of gourmets. In 1588, an Italian marquis named Murio Frangipani marketed gloves perfumed with almonds. There is nothing surprising about this because perfumers were originally glove makers. The essence of Italian frangipani, about which Catherine de' Medici was passionate, inspired the pastry cooks of the French court to create frangipane cream, an equal mixture of pastry cream and almond cream. King's Cake, whether flavored with fruits or almond cream, is a dessert with a history. Certain Epiphanies have been retained in the annals. For instance, on January 6, 1650, at the Louvre Palace, Anne of Austria and her son Louis XIV indulged in the cake, leaving on the table, as was the custom, a share for the poor, in this case the very part that contained the bean. The next morning, there was "no other king than that of the bean," the king having fled Paris to escape the uprising known as the Fronde. Is it because of this unpleasant memory that the tradition of naming the person who finds the bean as "king" for the day was outlawed during Louis XIV's reign, the custom being officially judged to be too pagan? In 1770, Diderot recounted this anecdote in his Encyclopédie, summarizing it with this amusing aphorism: "Signe Denis, sans terre ni château. Roi par the grâce du gâteau." (The sign of Denis [patron saint of Paris] without land or château, King by the grace of a gâteau.) The joy of eating the crown is all part of the pleasure of enjoying King's Cake once a year, and more....

In honor of the Girl Scouts' 100th anniversary, Skinny Chef Jennifer Iserloh put a slim spin on their popular Samoa. Ours is lower in fat and calories—Scout's honor!

This chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting gets a generous (and fun!) garnish of chopped chocolate and peanuts.

Any salty hard cheese, such as an aged Manchego, Grana Padano, or Mimolette, would be a fine substitute for the Parmesan in these cookies.

Nadine Levy Redzepi created this incredibly rich, moist cake. "Fat with fat—what could be better?" asks her husband. Serve it for dessert or with coffee or tea for breakfast.

These are like the best Pop- Tarts you've ever had. Raspberry jam is traditional, but try any fruit preserve.

Sometimes we spread jam between the layers; other times we simply dust the cake with powdered sugar.