Baking

Here, the brittle adds the excitement to the ice cream sandwich by providing the crunch. But don’t add the brittle too far in advance, as it will begin to dissolve into the ice cream. If pecans are not your favorite, you can substitute a nut that’s more to your liking.

The combination of the chewy cookie and the caramel–cream cheese filling has made this cookie many fans . . . so many, in fact, that though the cookie was originally introduced as a short-term special, our guests wouldn’t permit us to remove it from the menu. But to enjoy it at home, please note that unlike the other two cream’wiches, this cookie does not last long once it has been filled with the cream. It will begin to grow soggy after about four hours.

This is one of our most popular menu items. In fact, we receive numerous requests each year to have these shipped to folks across the country. Unfortunately, we are unable to do so because the cookies are so fragile. The secret ingredient in the cookie: oats. They add some texture and help keep the cookies together.

Two surprises set this cookie apart: The first is that the filling is made with a chocolate ganache as opposed to just a frosting. The cream and the chocolate melt together perfectly, yielding a satisfyingly smooth texture to the filling itself. In contrast to the creaminess is the second surprise: the cocoa nibs, little pieces of roasted cacao beans. These bits add a crunchy texture that is wholly and delightfully unexpected.

Hey, Dad! Remember those surprise outings Team McKenna took to Knott’s Berry Farm in the early 1980s? When we piled into the station wagon for a two-hour voyage with one seatbelt stretched over three kids? The trips that got you significantly more amped than they did anyone else? I do. Will you admit now that the real reason for those trips was that you were in thrall to the Knott’s Berry Farm restaurant’s strawberry-rhubarb pie? Twenty years later I’ve finally come around, and I now understand the overwhelming allure of this delicious pairing. This one’s for you, Dad.

Think of pairing fruit in recipes like planning a seating chart at a dinner party. It’s usually a good idea to split up your two anarchist teenage nephews, right? Similarly, in a crumble it’s best to avoid putting two tart berries, like blackberries and cranberries, in the same bowl. For this recipe, I partner the testy blackberry with a dose of mellow peach, whose sweet charms keep the party on an even keel. Also, blackberries tend to lose their structure under heat, while the peaches—like apples and pears—stay true to form and give your crumble hearty body.

Overthinking is one of the most common problems when it comes to baking pies, having the same devastating effect as putting too much makeup on a pretty girl. Often, bakers trying to doll up a basic recipe find themselves left with an overburdened crust and fruit drenched in starchy goo. Have faith in your ingredient selection, and hold back when possible. Here’s a recipe that lets each part carry its own weight, leaving your hands free to twiddle thumbs, shoot finger guns, or slap high-fives.

Due to the especially juicy and tart nature of cherries, I substitute evaporated cane juice for agave in the cobbler topping for this dessert. It adds a stable texture that can stand up to the cherries. This recipe is for individual-size portions—sometimes (okay, often) it’s just fine to indulge this type of selfishness.

My sister Sarah, the planet’s most outrageously particular eater, once told me: “I would rather starve than eat something that isn’t a symphony in my mouth.” As I would gladly eat a toupee if my blood sugar sank low enough, people like Sarah are like Martians to me. This cake is the perfect bridge between you and the Sarahs in your life. When I finally had the chance to offer her a slice, she took a bite, shut her eyes, raised a finger like a conductor’s baton, and began humming Beethoven’s Fifth. No joke. I’ve really become partial to the strawberry filling, but on occasion, at Sarah’s request, I substitute both blackberries and blueberries. Stay creative.

Before BabyCakes NYC, my dreams were limited to potential hairstyles, sarcastic comebacks, and still more prospective hairstyles. Nowadays, I dream almost exclusively of baked goods. One restless night, after being awakened by images of a fluffy blueberry cake topped with spiced crumbs and a rich vanilla sauce, I sprinted to the bakery to begin testing. I encountered a few setbacks, but once I found out that the crumb cooks faster than the base and must be added halfway through baking, my dream came true. Please don’t trust your instincts with this one; the window for applying the crumb is small. Add it too soon and your crumb topping will burn, too late and it will be soggy. Use those timers, people!

By now you’ve no doubt realized that many of these recipes call for high-quality ingredients that are a bit more costly than a tub of shortening or a sack of bleached flour. As I’ve mentioned before, though, I also abhor waste. This recipe might be the most ingenious recasting of leftovers you’ll ever find, the best part being that nobody could ever possibly know!

Dear Outraged Icebox Cake Purist: I understand you will be frustrated and angry that what follows is in no way an icebox cake, and for that I’m sorry. But those traditional icebox cakes you are so staunchly defending are nothing more than raw eggs, butter, and sugar mixed together and dumped into a pit of sponge cake or stale ladyfingers. Not cool for your stomach, or mine! We can do better—and have with this towering ode to the magical pairing of mint and chocolate. The cake may seem a touch underdone when the baking time is up, but trust me: You will have a beautifully moist cake that won’t dry out in the freezer, one you’ll pick at happily each time you pass the fridge for weeks to come! If you avoid evaporated cane juice, omit the cookies but add some berries or Chocolate Crumb Base (page 116).

I’m all for mindful eating—scanning each and every nutritional label, chewing each bite of food twenty times before swallowing—but we all know there comes a time when we want to slide into a pair of elastic-waisted pants and go to town. When that urge arises, I, for one, succumb. Composed of three of the bakery’s most popular items—frosting, brownies, and cookies—this extraordinary layered cake is an indulgence that would make even the lovely Paula Deen blush. Right with you, Ms. Deen!

All right, pull the Stepford Wife ensemble out of mothballs and apply your signature color lipstick: It’s photo time! While the still-life aesthetic of this cupcake is its own reward, I swear on my highlights that the taste surpasses its beauty. Make sure to avoid overchopping your cherry chunks, and try for a nice, thick lemon zest—the added texture pairs neatly with the creamy frosting.

My sister Joanne was once a major disciple of Susan Powter, author of the “Stop the Insanity” series and the face that launched a trillion potato recipes. We McKenna girls eagerly adopted her fat-free mantra “One slice of cheese or ten baked potatoes?!” and happily toted Molly McButtered bagels to school each day. We even developed our own carrot muffin that had less than 1 gram of fat. Of course, over time, counting fat grams on the hour tends to incite insanity rather than stop it. Today everyone knows that good fats in the right amount are a beneficial part of your diet. This recipe makes no pretense of being fat-free, but it’s got all the best stuff in all the right places.

Ask someone what, exactly, red velvet is, and chances are they’ll stare back at you blankly. Nonetheless, red velvet remains the top-selling cupcake in America (“America” means BabyCakes NYC, of course). As I’ve come to understand it, the name dates to the time when people carried books with a belt and wore bonnets, and cocoa powder was still all natural and reacted with the acid in buttermilk and baking soda by turning it a reddish brown, an effect some precolonial marketing genius dubbed red velvet. You might be sad to hear that, historically, red velvet cake was appreciated primarily for its neutral (you can say it: bland) flavor and supple texture, which served primarily as a vehicle for frosting. While I obviously have nothing against frosting, I believe the cake should be more than a booster seat, so I’ve gone ahead and fixed that little problem for you. Thank me by baking these by the thousands.

This is my healthy version of the popular Hostess® cupcake. This double-stuffed cupcake is a frosting lover’s fantasy (see Anderson, Pamela, opposite). Although the recipe calls for 1 tablespoon frosting for the filling, you won’t be blamed for upping the amount a bit—just be reasonable! Too much and you’ll bury the innocent, delicious cake. Although I have found what follows to be the best flavor pairing, you can freely use any of the cupcakes and frostings in this book together with dazzling results.

If the vanilla cupcake is my doted-on firstborn, the chocolate version is my wild and unruly second child. Prone to petulant deflation, the chocolaty batter forced me to employ every disciplinary technique I could think of before it embraced its chocolate roots and revealed its softer, billowy side. This recipe is not as subtle as the vanilla cupcake; expect a rich, fudgy cake with an intense flavor that resonates with the most feral of chocolate addictions.

This recipe’s dynamic is hard to explain, and I really like that. This is the charm of the blondie. The vanilla and chocolate have a subtle repartee, with neither really dominating nor giving way to the other. Initially, the vanilla seems to cede center stage to the chocolate, but if you pay close attention, you’ll notice how the vanilla rounds out the chocolate with a seductive mellowness, ultimately creating balance. Making them bite-size gives a great crunchy texture, but you can also bake them in a cake pan and serve them as squares. Either way, blondies are best served warm.

In order to get the same melty chocolate sensation that comes with the basic brownie without evaporated cane juice, I rely on a simple method of denting the agave brownies in the center and filling them with a puddle of rich, silky chocolate sauce (page 93). The sauce seeps out when bitten into and is so gratifying I wasn’t surprised when they began to move off the shelves faster than their sweeter counterpart. You can mix it up a bit by adding vanilla sauce to the center if there happens to be some, you know, lying around. Be sure to keep a special eye on the agave with this recipe. It’ll dictate whether you end up with a dry chocolate roll or a luscious fudgelike brownie.