Cake

Those of you who don’t have food sensitivities and are reading this cookbook simply to improve your general health should be applauded. I know how easy it is to be tricked into thinking that the low-fat glazed gingerbread in the display is healthy when you pick up your morning coffee at the local deli. I implore you, do not let your pre-caffeine fog steer you wrong! Make a loaf of this simple gingerbread over the weekend, slice it, and store it in your freezer for the week so you can grab yourself a piece on your way out the door. The pumpkin purée makes the bread so moist and fresh you can snack on it for days. As a reward for your foresight, consider slathering a thick layer of Vanilla Frosting (page 91) on top. I would!

Lemon can be a baker’s best friend or her worst enemy. Often it tastes less like fresh-squeezed lemonade and more like a 15-cent lollipop. Achieving the perfect balance of lemon flavor in this teacake was a long and arduous journey; fresh lemon juice toys with the acidity in the batter, causing it to rise and fall unpredictably, while the rind on its own has a mousy presence at best. I tried everything from the yellow squeeze bottles of sugar-pumped citric acid to preserved lemons to lemon oil—everything short of boiled-down Lemonheads. Eventually I found that if you grate lemon rind into the batter with a generous helping of a high-quality lemon extract (I prefer Frontier’s product), you end up with a uniform, easy-to-manage batter that maximizes the lemon flavor while downplaying its domineering nature. Add the subtle nuttiness and earthy texture of poppy seeds, and you’ve stumbled onto a marriage unequaled since Luke and Laura’s.

Until the bagel made its way across the San Diego County border from the East Coast and nudged its way into our bread box in the early 1980s, my mother’s breakfast staple was a toasted slice of cinnamon-swirl bread, which she nibbled while sipping her morning coffee and skimming Dave Barry’s latest effort. It was the only personal time we allowed her, however begrudgingly, and the scene is indelibly etched in my mind. In tribute to Mom, I came up with the apple-cinnamon toastie, now and forever a must-have on the bakery menu. Because it has a great crumb and is not too sweet, it’s perfect for toasting and slathering with your favorite spread. Martha Stewart (yes, that one) liked it so much she asked me to teach her to make it. On her show!

When my aunt Cathy dropped by our house for a visit and tea, she was always packing a loaf of banana bread baked at her restaurant, Harry’s Coffee Shop, in La Jolla, California. Under her strong encouragement, I’d chow piece after piece until I’d scarfed nearly an entire loaf. “It’s good for her!” she’d say as my mother looked on in slight horror. And I believed her. I mean, banana bread? Come on! Eating that pillowy deliciousness was like getting extra-credit points for free. Of course, in adulthood I discovered that this supposed health bread, like everything else tasty, was virtually a heart attack in loaf form. Butter? Eggs? Bleached flour? Sugar?! Aunt Cathy, take note: Below is how you do it while sparing yourself—and your behind—the grief. If you’d like to take this recipe to the next level, include 1 cup of chocolate chips when you add the banana. You will not be sorry.

Rich, flaky shortcake is a perfect showcase for luscious strawberries.

One of the first things I learned to make at Restaurant Daniel was a madeleine, and I fell for the buttery, citrusy flavor. I wanted to find a way to use the little cake as part of a plated dessert, without making the classic seashell form. So I worked on the recipe, adapting it until I captured the texture and flavor of a fresh-baked madeleine in a sponge cake baked in a sheet pan.

This recipe came from Maya Eyler, a cook who worked for me at Daniel. I don’t remember the story behind it, but I think it was a family recipe—which makes sense. It’s an old-style cake, using mayonnaise to ensure moistness. I make it as a sheet cake and use it as a component in several desserts. Baked in a cake pan for a little longer and layered with ganache or frosting, it could become a birthday cake, though.

This cake forms the base for the Chocolate-Pear Cake on page 98. You could also use it as the start of a birthday cake. Or cut it into cubes and skewer it with fruit and berries for a dessert kebab.

Ever since I ate my first Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup, I’ve been a fan of chocolate and peanut butter, and I have a lot of fun taking that flavor combination to new levels. This dessert has many textures and flavor dimensions and is a winner in more ways than one. I entered this recipe in a Peanut Advisory Board competition, and it came away with first prize. This is one of my most complicated desserts. Make sure to read through the entire recipe before beginning. Freeze any leftovers: they will be fine for about one month, and you can eat them like frozen Snickers bars.

Just about every restaurant around has a version of molten chocolate cake on the menu, and many claim to be the original, but the cake that Jean-Georges developed at Lafayette Restaurant in New York is the most delicious, the one with the greatest contrast in textures. It’s the only dessert that stays on the menu year-round at Jean Georges. (The photograph is pages 144–145.)

For all the years I’ve been working with Jean-Georges, I’ve had his legendary molten chocolate cake on the dessert menu. Finally, I decided I had to do something to make the cake my own, so I took it apart and put it back together with white chocolate and a good hit of vanilla. This cake isn’t molten; it’s much more a lush, custardy soufflé. I love combining citrus with chocolate, hot with cold. The frozen mandarin orange refreshes and cleanses the palate.

Pineapple has a balance of sugar and acid that I really like. I wanted to capture that sweet-tart flavor in an upside-down cake, but in a refined one. So I’ve made a batter with cornmeal that gives the cake a great foundation and a terrific crumb.

As I’m a great fan of a true margarita, I thought it would be fun to take the components apart and rearrange them into a dessert. This makes a lot, but leftovers will keep for a month in the freezer. I learned a version of this sponge cake, which is called biscuit mirliton, at the Hôtel de Paris in Monte Carlo. I love it for its airy/ cakey texture, which is like no other sponge. Perfumed with citrus zest, it is a great complement to the tangy semifreddo. The key to the sponge is baking just before serving. You’ll need eight to nine 1-ounce aluminum timbale molds for the cake and twenty 2 x 2-inch ring molds for the semifreddo (see Note, page 120).

Pumpkins and pine nuts are in the same boat in that both are easily influenced by other ingredients. I felt they needed each other in this dessert, which I created particularly for this book. In addition to flavor, the pine nuts provide structure in the cake and texture in the streusel.

Rich texture is abundant in this multiflavored, multilayered dessert. The pears are presented in three different forms—caramelized, as a creamy mousse, and as a tender gelée—and each opens differently on the palate.

Here, I’ve created my version of sweet potato pie, but it’s not as heavy and not as sweet. The cranberry foam gives a nice added pop of acidity.

Inspiration here comes from my many Mexican friends who add chocolate to savory dishes. I thought I’ d return the favor and add chiles to dessert. This frozen chocolate cake has a gentle heat, tamed by the chocolate and its hidden apricot center.

I’m not a fan of angel food cake or sponge cake for shortcakes; I prefer the texture and bite of biscuits, which I like to shape into small squares instead of large rounds. And I love gently roasted fruit. The long, slow roasting eliminates a lot of the water content of the fruit, concentrating the flavor and opening it up. The tangy crème fraîche in the whipped cream rounds out the flavors on the plate.

Chef Alex Lee of Daniel taught me his way of starting to create recipes: taking an ingredient and then making a list of all the other flavors or ingredients that go well with it. He also prompted me to start thinking about the possibilities of pairing vegetables with sweets. In this dessert, I match the earthiness of chocolate with the earthiness of beets. When you make the candied beets, use a mixture of red, golden, and chiogga (the candy-striped ones) for the prettiest presentation. You’ll need separate batches of Simple Syrup for each type of beet to keep the colors intact. You’ll be roasting more beets than you need for the cake. Use the extra puree to make Raspberry-Beet Sauce.

So this, my finale, is the ultimate in Everyday Italian cooking. Sure, there’s some cheating involved—I’m not asking you to bake a pound cake. But this distinct combination of Italian flavors will transport you to a piazza-side café, nibbling this great dessert, sipping espressos, and people-watching, instead of struggling in the kitchen for hours upon end. That’s been my goal in this book. I hope I’ve succeeded