Baking

Happy birthday, Dave Chang! That’s what the kitchen screamed when we first made this cake. Marian was in charge of making boss man a birthday cake. She told me she channeled her innermost version of me, sprinkled chocolate chips into a vanilla cake batter we were going to use as a coconut cake, and layered it with liquid cheesecake and anything else she could find in the fridge; in other words, she followed to a tee our standard operating procedure for any birthday cake in our kitchen. Now even the Momofuku savory cooks know this cake by heart. It is a snack attack waiting to happen, so you may want to consider making a double batch of batter and baking the cake in a half sheet pan.

An ode to my favorite baked good of all time, the fudgy brownie, this cookie has a healthy salt content and, to me, is perfection. I freeze a few of these in the dense heat of a New York summer for my lunch or afternoon snack.

After the milk crumb phenomenon in the kitchen, we had to find a mainstream use for it, rather than just hiding it under some ice cream. It needed its moment in the sun. So I brainstormed. A peaches-and-cream cookie was my original thought. Momofuku does mean “lucky peach” in Japanese, after all. But I decided we needed something that would hit home even more for guests. Did you know dried blueberries existed? I didn’t, until I surveyed Whole Foods’ dried fruit selection for a dried peach alternative. The clouds parted, and it was clear. We needed a blueberry-and-cream cookie, reminiscent of a blueberry muffin top (the best part of the muffin).

These crumbs give all the flavor and none of the fuss of a traditional pie crust.

What’s better than box cake, you might ask? Nothing, actually. All I really want for breakfast, lunch, or dinner is box cake and its amazing wealth of by-products. I typically allow this 24-hour splurge only on my birthday. The one thing that always eluded me, though, was how the hell do they get box cake to taste like that?! I have made coffee cake, soup, cookies, clusters, and cereal out of it. So we undertook the recipe development task of re-creating my favorite, and the ultimate birthday box cake, Funfetti, from scratch. It took us four months to get there. And we still don’t make our own rainbow sprinkles (which Wylie Dufresne calls “cheating”). But I couldn’t be happier with the results: the crumbs, Birthday Cake (page 105), Birthday Cake Frosting (page 107), and Confetti Cookies (page 100). My dream come true.

We fell so in love with the Ritz crunch that we decided to start recipe testing a few pie options using it as a crust. As we delved deeper into the world of pies, we became obsessed with both the concept and the technique of Ohio Shaker pie (a traditional Americana pie, where thinly sliced lemons are tenderized without heat in sugar and a little salt) and key lime pie (the South’s best use of sweetened condensed milk, which naturally thickens with the acidity of the key lime juice). We tried as many different citrus fruits as possible, thinly sliced and layered with sugar into a pie shell, or juiced and stirred into sweetened condensed milk. Grapefruit was the clear winner, and it turns out that combining the two pie methods made for our favorite recipe—though instead of thinly slicing the grapefruit and candying it, we make grapefruit threads so you get the same tangy grapefruit pop in every bite of pie. This recipe is a little more involved than others in this chapter, but it’s delicious and worth a few more minutes of your time.

One of the first fall desserts ever put on the menu at Ssäm Bar was a riff on the poor man’s pb & j: peanut butter, Concord grape jelly, and a saltine panna cotta (page 191). We loved the Ritz crunch crust so much that the following fall, we presented the pb & j in a more straightforward pie, showcasing Concord grapes in another light, with Ritz crust bringing the same salty, starchy component as the saltine panna cotta.

I am neither brave nor bold enough to make just a chocolate chip cookie. Everyone’s mom or grandma makes “the best” chocolate chip cookie. And every one of those chocolate chip cookie recipes is different. So, out of respect, we dared not compete. Instead, we made a delicious chocolate chip tribute cookie—one of our most popular cookies—by accident. In the Ko basement one day, Mar overtoasted the cornflake crunch for the cereal milk panna cotta. She was pissed. I was pissed. But we refused to let it go to waste. I was already well versed in making a cookie out of anything left in the pantry, and we needed a dessert for family meal anyway. So we made cookies with the cornflake crunch, and we threw in some mini chocolate chips, just to make them appealing to the cooks in case the overtoasted cornflakes were a bust, and some mini marshmallows, because we were eating them as a snack, and why the hell not. It was just family meal. The cooks freaked. They requested the cookies for family meal every day after that. And so the cornflake-chocolate-chip-marshmallow cookie was born—love at first bite and a shoo-in on Milk Bar’s opening menu.

The cereal of the same name is excellent stuff, but this recipe is an homage to the cinnamon toast my grandma and ma made me as an after-school snack in my younger years. It is impossibly crunchy, and it plays into one of my most comforting flavor pairings: butter and cinnamon sugar. The one-minute butter-soaking step makes for a much different crunch than the others in this book.

This recipe was originally created to accompany the Cereal Milk Panna Cotta (page 37). It was one of those first-swing, home-run hits. It is incredibly simple to make and equally as versatile in its uses. Put some in a plastic bag and take it on the go as the best snack ever, or use it as an ingredient in the recipes that follow.

For years, this was a recipe I didn’t let out of my kitchen—I don’t know why, but everybody has one or two recipes like that. I finally relented and gave a copy to Rick Bishop, Milk Bar’s favorite strawberry farmer, and he told me he hid it under his kitchen sink, where he knew it would be safe.

These delectable muffins are so rich they can be served with nothing more than a large green salad for a luncheon.