This post is an installment from the ongoing Dessert FourPlay project, in which I prepare and write about all of the desserts in Dessert FourPlay: Sweet Quartets from a Four-Star Pastry Chef by Johnny Iuzzini. For more on this project, click here.

I just have to reiterate, it’s so good to be back. Back to blogging (although still working through the issues that have caused all the pictures from the past six months to go missing), and also, back to Brooklyn, where I’m picking up shifts at my beloved Brooklyn restaurant while I look for my next internship opportunity. I’m delighted to report that for the first time, I’m getting paid for the work that I’m doing. Officially, one year after leaving my desk job and almost one year after starting at the French Culinary Institute, I’m cooking “professionally”.

It’s reassuring that there are some constants shared by my two restaurants so far, as the chefs at both the ritzy, Michelin-starred Manhattan restaurant and the humble Brooklyn kitchen grabbed onto the big summer season opener, rhubarb, with gusto. (At the former, a certain very famous executive chef burst into the pastry kitchen one morning and demanded “zee sexy rhubarb!” for a spring photoshoot – these are the moments to which we unpaid students cling) And while I’ve waited until it was almost too late in the waning rhubarb season, I couldn’t resist the urge to pay homage to the vegetable I’ve come to love as one of the greatest pastry ingredients of all time.

There are several rhubarb recipes in the book, but I selected this one because of the unique ways it showcases the rhubarb, first as a vehicle for acidity and sweetness in the form of a pickle, and also a mellow version, full of earthy wine-poached flavors. The best thing for me about both kinds was the pleasant opportunity to eat rhubarb nearly raw and still crispy.

It all starts with a simple panna cotta, something I’ve come to regard as the cheat of all desserts. We’ve been serving one in Brooklyn for the past few weeks and when I come to it on the to do list, I can feel myself mentally relax, because it’s virtually impossible to mess up, even in large quantities for restaurant service. The key to panna cotta, as with all recipes where there are only a few ingredients, is using those of the highest quality available. I used Ronnybrook cream and Vermont Creamery fromage blanc. I did a double take at the grocers when I saw it was labeled “O% fat”, but a quick consult on the iPhone assured me fromage blanc it is supposed to be fat free, except in cases where fat is added back in for flavor.

I prepped the rhubarb by washing and peeling it,

and cutting it into batons.

I combined sherry vinegar, rice vinegar, honey, grenadine, salt and star anise in a saucepan, and brought the mixture to a boil. After it had cooled a bit, I poured it over the batons of rhubarb and allowed them to pickle. I did the same with a flambeed mixture of wine, port, and sugar, allowing the hot liquid to poach the rhubarb. These batons came out a little softer than the pickles, but still a bit crispy, which I liked a lot.

I also made a sheet pan of crispy phyllo. It was a lot like the stuff I made for this recipe, except this time I used honey and almond flour instead of simple syrup and peanut flour. I’m in love with crispy phyllo. I dare you to not snack away at a tray of it once its come out of the oven.

I cut some blackberries in half. It’s so nice to have berries back in stores, even if they do come from California.

After chilling the panna cotta overnight, I removed it from the loaf pan where I’d put it to set and carefully sliced it into rectangles.

Here is my mis en place: fromage blanc panna cotta, halved blackberries, port poached rhubarb, rhubarb pickles, and crispy almond phyllo.

And the verdict? Almost a slam dunk. I loved the pickles on their own, but I thought the whole batons were too much pickle for one bite. They overpowered. I would dice them next time before using. I thought the port-poached batons were great just as they were. The panna cotta, a dessert that I’ve never been wild about, was one of the best I’ve ever tasted and had great texture. Thanks the smoothness of fromage blanc there is great, tangy flavor with absolutely no textural interference with the creaminess, which usually bugs me in buttermilk panna cottas. The crispy phyllo added lots of great crunch and held up well to the juices from the rhubarb batons.

This post is an installment from the ongoing Dessert FourPlay project, in which I prepare and write about all of the desserts in Dessert FourPlay: Sweet Quartets from a Four-Star Pastry Chef by Johnny Iuzzini. For more on this project, click here.

Oh. My. God. I just loved making this so much. First off, there is the doughnut component. As in, the dessert item that brings my two favorite culinary worlds together – bread and pastry, and throws in my favorite guilty pleasure – fried dough rolled in some sort of sweet granulated substance, just for good measure. Then there’s the subtle, mellow, slightly sweet and oh, so creamy cheese filling. And, the bright flavor from confit of meyer lemon. Yes, this is sunshine and light and guilt and cheese (!) all on one plate.

A few weeks ago I saw some perfect meyer lemons at the market and I impulsively bought them with this confit in mind, because I was worried that I’d never find such perfect specimens for the rest of the citrus season. If you were wondering, meyer lemons are the darling of the winter pastry kitchen. They have intense lemon flavor and bouquet, less of the bitter white pith, and are sweet enough to avoid making the involuntary pucker-fish face when you taste them. To confit them, you cut them into very thin slices, submerge them in simple syrup, and allow them to simmer in the sugar and their own juices at a very low heat for several hours.

Next, I scooped the insides and all of the white stuff out of Kumquat halves and blanched the skins four times, draining the water each time to remove the bitterness. After the blanching, I simmered the skins in simple syrup, to make candied Kumquats, which I then minced to add to the doughnut filling.

I also prepared a pastry cream that contains one scraped vanilla bean and almost no sugar at all – a departure from the pastry cream that I’ve now prepared a bajillion times in school, that is super sweet.

I added the leftover vanilla bean pod to the bowl of my food processor and pulverized it with some sugar, which, after sifting, became my vanilla sugar.

I tossed the vanilla sugar with the zest of an orange, lemon, and a key lime and then set it aside for dredging my doughnuts.

Meanwhile, the dough that I’d prepared had finished it’s bulk fermentation, so I rolled it out and cut it into small circles. I refrigerated the circles until I was ready to use them, allowing them to come back to room temperature and finish their final proof before frying.

If you’ve never deep fat fried something at home, then you don’t know what you’re missing.

After frying, I poked a hole into the side of each doughnut and I moved the skewer around inside to hollow out the doughnut and make room for the filling (a trick I learned from the doughnut master during my internship at the Brooklyn restaurant). I piped in the cream filling, made from a blend of the pastry cream, mascarpone cheese, ricotta, and shards of candied kumquat. I should have rolled the doughnuts in the vanilla-citrus sugar first, but I didn’t, so the sugar did not evenly stick to the outside. I compensated by mounding it on top, deliciously, but not so artfully. The results were amazing. The citrus was bright and refreshing. There’s nothing like a doughnut that’s only 30 seconds out of the fryer. And the cheese filling? Unbelieveable. Not too sweet with strong notes of creamy vanilla and kumquat. Oh my. Yes.

Next up: Grapefruit Gelee ~ Honey-Ginger Ice Cream

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We’re in the home stretch of winter, but it sure doesn’t feel like that here in New York, with another foot of snow getting dumped down just before the weekend. And while I can debate forever with the snow lovers, weighing the virtues and the pitfalls of having such a large amount of snow around, setting aside the tiny window of city beautification, no one can argue that it sucks when the sewers get clogged, causing mass confusion for each street crossing on every corner. Bah! humbug! to that. Even folks rocking those country-chic Hunters I’m seeing everywhere can’t escape from the lakes of slush unsplashed.

Why do I rant on about this? Well, in spite of the slushy walking conditions, I had promises to keep and dinner to make for two semi-celebrity guests: Paul, the incredibly gifted designer who is responsible for giving this site its face, and his lovely wife Jen. When selecting the menu, this recipe spoke to my favorite fun fact about the couple – they met, unbelievably, on spring break in Cancun, and ten years later, they’re one of the happiest couples you’re ever likely to meet. Rum and coke ice cream? Tropical caramelized bananas? Perfect, no? But back to the slush – this recipe had some doozies on the shopping list, so there I was, running around from store to store, covered in slush.

Nothing that  a little planning ahead couldn’t have prevented, but my lack of foresight sent me off around the city in search of peanut flour – which is blanched, ground, partially-defatted peanuts. I hit all of my favorite specialty spots, and no one had it. Other nuts, no problem. Hazelnut flour? Sure.  Almond flour? You got it! Even at Whole Foods! Chestnut flour? Yes ‘mam. Defeated, I returned home and made my own version, by grinding unsalted, dry roasted peanuts to the point that they were still somewhat granular (as opposed to peanut butter – hence the defatted property of the genuine article) and then blanching them (to remove some of the oil), draining them, dehydrating them in the oven, grinding them, and sifting them. They were still too coarse, the real deal would have produced a better texture, but they worked enough. In the future, I’ll just buy the stuff from this website.

But wait, there’s more. The ice cream recipe calls for cola syrup, which imparts the concentrated flavor of Coca Cola and all of the sugar, without adding a ton of extra liquid that would otherwise create additional, unwanted ice crystallization when freezing. This syrup is used by any bar or restaurant with a soda fountain, it come is huge bags and is combined with CO2 and water to make soda. When Brian commented earlier in the week that perhaps I should go online to find it in smaller quantities, I blew him off, “pshaw, I took cola syrup when I was a teenager for an upset stomach, it’s a pharmacy staple.” When Brian ran out of fingers to count how many years have passed since I’d last taken coke syrup for an upset tummy, he stopped talking, and because he is a great boyfriend, he accompanied me to CVS, Duane Reade, and Wallgreens, where each time, I was shot down by the pharmacist. Feeling desperate, I tried the mom and pop pharmacy down on 5th and A, which, in addition to a scary window display of prosthetic legs, happily carries the old-timey remedy.

Returning home victorious, I made the ice cream, which I was surprised to learn, does not contain any heavy cream. I was pleased with the rum and coke flavors, but felt that the texture could have been improved with the addition of some fat. I’m still wondering why it didn’t have any, and that perhaps Johnny Iuzzini left it out because the additional fat, combined with the alcohol and high fructose corn syrup (definitely a first for this kitchen, by the way) would have prevented it from freezing at all. Indeed, the addition of rum at the end made it dangerously soft, but with some time in the freezer it was scoop-able.

Then it was time to try out my homemade peanut flour. I buttered sheets of phyllo, layering them between a sifted mixture of confectioner’s sugar and the peanut flour, attempting to keep the mixture as even as possible. I hadn’t ground my peanuts finely enough, resulting in some dark roasted peanut specks between the caramelized phyllo layers after baking. I didn’t care though – the phyllo crisps were still awesome and utterly addictive. We couldn’t stop nibbling at the edges as they cooled.

While the phyllo sheets were in the oven, I chopped some more peanuts and tossed them with corn syrup. I baked them, stirring regularly, on a silicone mat.

And, in classic style, I stopped taking pictures. Guests were here. Wine was poured. We enjoyed Brian’s amazing, deconstructed caviar potatoes (that’s a “blanket” of creme fraiche gel, on top, just in case you were wondering). I walked away from the table and caramelized the bananas, something I learned to do at the Brooklyn restaurant internship, but had never mastered. The first pan was mushy, but the second pan was a lot better. Either way, there’s not a lot that could be bad about caramelized bananas and rum.

The caramelized bananas were made for the rum and coke flavor from the ice cream. The complimentary roasted peanut flavors were a bit of a surprise, and the phyllo shattered between our teeth before melting on the tongue. It was the perfect escape from the slush piles, and totally worth the scavenger hunting through them.

Next up: Cheese Doughnuts ~ Lemon Confit

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I have to admit it, the “puffs” pictured above are impostors – Whole Foods 365 brand that I purchased while at my wits end grocery shopping on Valentine’s Day weekend. I’m not sure that it made a difference, but, being the daughter of an emphatically anti-sugar cereal mother, I’ve still never had the pleasure of tasting real cocoa puffs. The real bummer, however, was that I’d planned on buying Valhrona 40% milk chocolate for coating the puffs, as the recipe suggested, but found myself screwed over once again by the romantically inclined shoppers of Whole Foods. They were fresh out and I settled on the Callabaut 33% instead, which is more sweet and strongly vanilla flavored, and has a markedly lighter color.

The biggest star in this dessert is the flavor of juniper berries, which I crushed and infused with some of the warmed milk for half an hour. The flavor imparted from the juniper berries, when combined with Valrhona 72% bittersweet chocolate, is complex and divine, and I’m so excited to now have this flavor combination in my arsenal as we begin working with chocolate at the FCI.

I used an immersion blender to create an emulsion of melted chocolate and juniper-infused milk, and just like that, the soup was ready to chill.

Devon cream, aka Devonshire cream, according to Wikipedia, is: “a type of clotted cream made by heating unpasteurised cow’s milk and then leaving it in shallow pans for several hours. During this time, the cream content rises to the surface and forms clots.” I didn’t anticipate having trouble finding a jar of the stuff, considering the number of Brits in Manhattan, but after three unsuccessful attempts in specialty stores I opted for plan B: making the cheat version. Luckily, I learned to make a lovely styling of Devonshire cream back at the Brooklyn restaurant where I used to intern, using Mascarpone cheese, heavy cream, and just a bit of sugar and lemon juice. I subbed it in for the real deal, and created my foam using the immersion blender once again.

Components: Devon foam, bittersweet, juniper-infused cold chocolate soup, chocolate-covered cocoa puffs, and extra-tall shot glass (which we had on hand courtesy of Brian’s fraternity ball, circa 2000, but I’ve also seen them at CB2).

This dessert goes down as perhaps my favorite incarnation of chocolate to date. There’s nothing too sweet here, the milk chocolate of the cocoa puffs is well-balanced with lots of intense bitter flavor from the soup. The juniper berries, as I already mentioned are made for this kind of chocolate, they harmonize so well that I can’t believe more pastry chefs and chocolatiers are not pushing the combination. The Devon foam, though not completely authentic, still lent a nice contrast of subtle sweet flavor and smooth texture, I found myself trying very hard to ration the cocoa puffs as to get a little foam, puff, and soup on my spoon with every bite. I can’t wait to make this for dinner party guests.

Next up: Flameed Bananas ~ Rum and Coke Ice Cream ~ Peanut Phyllo Crisps

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So yesterday was Valentine’s Day. Was it just me, or did it seem like people made more of a fuss about it than usual this year? My feelings on this Hallmark holiday can best be described as love/hate. One the one hand, all that pink and red crap, the blatant consumerism masquerading as love, and the starry-eyed, cooing couples who seem to think that grotesque displays of PDA are suddenly acceptable… all of that is completely off-putting. On the other hand, I have some great memories of nights inspired by Valentine’s Day backlash; wine-fueled all-girls dinner parties, slasher movie marathons, defiant nights out in the Village with every unattached friend I’d ever had. This year, the fact that Brian and I cooked a decadent dinner of caviar potatoes and cracked a bottle of amarone had nothing to do with the fact that it happened to be Valentine’s Day, and everything to do with us seizing the opportunity to spend a nice night at home together – something our schedules haven’t permitted us to do since New Year’s Day.

When I selected two chocolate desserts (this, and also, the Chocolate Soup – post coming soon) for the Dessert FourPlay project this week, it much less a coincidence: I did it, unabashedly, as a tribute to the holiday that I so love to hate. When I set out to blog the whole book, I knew that I would eventually have to make this, the most “conventional” dessert, at some point. What I hadn’t anticipated, however, was how much I would enjoy doing it. But enough of my blathering.

The Jean-Georges Warm Chocolate Cake did not inspire a whole lot of excitement at first glance. I’m not one of those Cathy cartoon style “chocoholics” who’d, I imagine, swoon for desserts like this. I enjoy chocolate, but when it comes to selecting a dessert, I get way more excited about fruit, spice, or caramel. But, I wasn’t bored, because I learned a lot of cool new things with this dessert, and discovered some new loves of my own. For starters, the candied vanilla bean pod garnish is exactly my kind of thing. Vanilla Beans are, for me, one of the most sensual, complex ingredients – the very act of cutting one open and scraping the lush, oily seeds from the pod, the unbelievable fragrance… just wow. That takes me there. Do that, then take the pods, slice them thin, simmer them in simple syrup and roll them in granulated sugar so they shimmer, and you may begin to understand just what I love so much about this cooking stuff.

Equally delightful, the chocolate sauce also took me by surprise. Others that I’ve tried before called for corn syrup and liquor for texture and flavor, but this deceptively simple recipe has neither. Slow simmering coaxes out the most unbelievably thick and dark chocolate flavor that I ever could have hoped for. I’m resisting the urge to go stick a spoon in the leftovers right now.

Heaps of praise are also due for the chocolate crumble, which is essentially a cookie made from a dark, buttery dough…

…baked until crisp, and then pulverized in the food processor. In addition to lending contrast of texture, the crumble serves the purpose of cradling ice cream on the plate, preventing it from sliding away and colliding with the cake.

The vanilla bean ice cream recipe called for both invert sugar (which I made by cooking sugar, water, and lemon juice) and corn syrup, which some might balk at until they taste the creamy results. Iuzzini explains that invert sugar helps reduce ice crystallization and lends a softer mouth-feel and smoother texture, both of which are especially hard to achieve in my detached canister model home ice cream maker. I’m looking forward to using this technique whenever I make ice cream in the future.

With all of the accessories ready, all that remained was making the cake itself. For this recipe to be successful, it’s important to that you achieve proper volume when whipping the eggs and yolks with the sugar. Stand mixers make this extremely easy, and the cake batter can be piped into ramekins and stored in the fridge for up to 8 hours before baking.

Which makes it a great dessert for showy dinner parties, because once you have everything ready to go, you can entertain your guests, pop the cakes in the oven, plate, and serve, like nothing ever happened. They’ll all think you’re some kind of domestic god(dess).

Just to recap, the elements of the dessert: chocolate crumble, vanilla bean ice cream, candied vanilla bean, and the warm chocolate cake (not pictured).

So here’s where it becomes painfully apparent that I’m not up to the point in school where they teach us how to artfully plate anything. That swoosh of sauce  in the picture is try #4, and it still looks like a fifth grader did it. Also, the quenelle of ice cream is very very sad. Nothing like the museum-quality one in Johnny Iuzzini’s book, with the perfect points on either end. And, I had an unmolding issue with my cake, due to insufficient buttering of the ramekin. Despite the fact that by appearance, this is a plate that only a mother could love, it put a smile on my fiance’s face, and that’s all I ever really need.

Next up: Chocolate Soup

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I am so excited to be posting installment #1 of the Dessert FourPlay project! It took me a while to decide which recipe would make the best opener, but after narrowing it down by season and deciding that I wanted to save chocolate for next week’s valentine’s day post, I decided to focus on the light and bright flavors of the citrus salad. It seemed like an appropriate starter.

For those of you who are not familiar with the book, the desserts in Dessert FourPlay are organized into sets (tastings) of four different desserts, served together for a ridiculous experience of flavor, texture, and taste. Since I’m too strapped for time to tackle four at once, I’ve decided to focus on one or two of the component desserts each week. So imagine, if you will, this salad, sitting alongside lemongrass ice cream with dehydrated grapefruit, carbonated lime curd, and crispy tangerine sticks; a citrus almond sponge cake with margarita semifreddo; and a meyer lemon tart with chocolate creme chiboust and earl grey fluid gel – and you begin to get the idea, this ain’t your grandma’s cookbook.

The very first task that I completed was baking the brioche. I’m always down for trying a new brioche recipe, and Chef Iuzzini’s proved to be a delight: light, rich, and extremely buttery. This particular recipe employs thin slices of brioche, destined to become sweet croutons.

The most difficult step in the process was procuring the calamansi puree, a task that prompted some internet research. The names “calamansi” and “kalamansi” appear to be interchangeable for this lime-like citrus fruit that is popular in the Philippines and other parts of Southeast Asia. I tried Kalustyans (who carries fruit puree, but not this flavor) and Dual Specialty (which does not carry any purees at all), before finally scoring at SOS Chefs, just blocks from my apartment. I was less successful in finding micro shiso (or even the alternative, red shiso), and after trying Whole Foods followed by some Asian groceries in Chinatown, I decided that I’d try to find some small mint leaves to use instead, which is what is suggested as an acceptable substitute for shiso in the Alinea cookbook. Unfortunately, even the nicest mint I could find looked like it had been severely beaten, and it smelled like nothing at all. I couldn’t bring myself to use such a sad product, and so, I forged on, without it.

I diced a very thin slice of brioche and allowed it to stale on the counter, then I tossed it with good olive oil, a pinch of salt, and a sprinkle of granulated sugar and toasted it in the oven at the same time as some black and white sesame seeds.

I let some gelatin bloom in cold water before adding it to a saucepan of simple syrup. I very carefully circulated the pan over a low flame just until the gelatin had melted, with the warning from my Pastry I  chef echoing in my head “DO NOT heat gelatin over 100 degrees, or your mousse will smell like a barn!”. I’m not sure if that’s true, but I’m just as happy never really knowing for sure.

To the gelatin solution, I added lime zest and the calamansi puree.

I had decided not to taste the calamansi until it was part of the final dessert, just so I could be surprised. It smelled amazing – like the lovechild of a lime and a tangerine, and it was all I could do to wait while the gelatin set up.

While I was waiting, I kept myself occupied by cutting supremes of blood orange and clementine.

Once the calamansi gel had set, I cut it into “noodles”.

Dessert components: blood orange and clementine supremes, toasted sesame seeds, sweet and salty brioche croutons (warning: addictive), and calamansi “noodles”. Missing components: micro shiso.

The verdict: Just WOW. It’s been kind of a dark week for me, our cat Nico is very sick, the weather has been cold and isolating, and a whole crack team (get it? crack team? Plumbers? heh) can’t seem to figure out how to fix the heat in my apartment. This dessert is like an uplifting, sunny day on a plate, an homage to citrus flavors as they are. The presentation is gorgeous, it reminds me of stained glass in natural light. The first bite was an explosion of perfect citrus, subtly sweet and tangy, accented by a hint of caramel crunch from the croutons. The best part is when the “noodles” start melting on the tounge, coating it with a sweet/tart layer to compliment the firm flesh of the citrus perfectly. Calamansi is truly unique, like a lime but sweeter, with a hint of good, solid bitterness. The leftover puree is destined to find its place in the best pisco margarita this kitchen has ever seen.

As for the leftover gelatin, I couldn’t resist the book’s suggestion to add gin “for a killer “jell-o” shot. Salute!

Interested in playing along? Click to get your copy of Dessert FourPlay: Sweet Quartets from a Four-Star Pastry Chef

Whenever I put a variety of cookies together, I try really hard to include something for every kind of cookie taste. For example, I always include some kind of buttery and crumbly sable, something uber-chocolate, something gooey, something jammy and fruity, and something nutty and spiced. I’m never short on ideas for these categories, but I always freeze when it comes to bars. I love including a bar cookie, no question, but with the dizzying variety, from cheesecakes to lemon bars to brownies, it’s almost another food category entirely and I just can’t decide.

This year was no exception, and an exhaustive research session with my stacks of cookbooks only left me feeling more bewildered. That’s when I decided to combine two of my favorite recipes of all time, this one, and this one (which resulted in EVK recently being featured on Saveur.com). The cookie love-child that resulted was absolutely worth my angst.

There’s just something so right about using a fresh ingredient, in this case, the cranberries in the topping, in holiday baking.  They make for a topping that’s both sweet and tart, and the addition of pecans lends a lovely toasted flavor and some crunch. The shortbread, which is the most crumbly (thanks to the semolina) and rich (ahm, butter!) that I’ve ever had. Together, get gooey, sweet-tartness layered over a cookie that crumbles as it melts in your mouth. With or without white chocolate drizzles, they’re a gorgeous addition to your holiday game plan.

Cranberry Shortbread
Adapted from Baking: From My Home to Yours by Dorie Greenspan and Cook with Jamie by Jamie Oliver

Cranberry topping

6 tablespoons butter
6 tablespoons sugar
2 cups fresh cranberries, coarsely chopped
1 cup chopped pecans

Shortbread

1 cup plus 2 tablespoons unsalted butter, plus more for greasing the pan
1/2 cup plus 1 tablespoon superfine sugar (or powdered sugar)
2 scant cups (a cup, minus a tablespoon) all-purpose flour, sifted
2/3 cup semolina
big pinch of kosher salt

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter the bottom and sides of an 8 inch x 8 inch pan with two inch sides.

Melt 6 tablespoons of the butter in a small saucepan. Sprinkle in 6 tablespoons of the sugar and cook, stirring, until the mixture comes to a boil. Pour this into the bottom of the pan, then scatter over the nuts and top with the cranberries. Set the pan aside.

Cream butter and sugar together with a whisk or wooden spoon or paddle attachment of a stand mixer until very pale, light, and fluffy. Add the flour and semolina. Mix very lightly with a wooden spoon and then with your hands until you have a smooth dough.

Pressed the doughevenly into your pan, on top of the cranberry mixture, poking it into the corners with your fingers – don’t worry about it having to look perfect. Bake in the preheated oven until slightly golden, 40-50 minutes. Don’t be alarmed if some of the cranberry caramel seeps up along the edges.

Allow the pan to cool completely. When you are ready to serve, dip the bottom of the pan in hot water for 10 seconds to help loosen the caramel and cut into squares. Use an offset spatula to remove the squares from the pan. Scrape additional cranberry mixture from the bottom of the pan and return to the tops of the squares.

Stores in airtight container in the fridge for 2 days.

This Thanksgiving, for the first time in my thirty year long pie-eating career, I had a pumpkin pie breakthrough. Each year of my life someone has baked one and I always partake, unable to resist what I’d imagined and build up in my mind as a creamy, airy manifestation of pure pumpkin flavor. And year after year, I’m met with disappointing first bites that are some variation of overly-spiced, too-sweet, oily, or lumpy-textured pies (many of which are made by otherwise great cooks). And so, I’d come to accept that what I hoped pumpkin pie to be was not actually what it was.

But for Thanksgiving this year, the pumpkin pie gods were smiling down on me.  As the only guest at the table who has logged over two months in pastry school and done some time in a real restaurant kitchen, I was put in charge of desserts. In my role as pastry chef of Thanksgiving, I seized the opportunity to create the pumpkin pie of my dreams, with the help of this book.

This pie is simply beautiful for what it is and, just as importantly, for what it isn’t. The recipe is uniquely designed to allow the sweet mellow flavor and creamy, velvet texture of pumpkin to rule, banishing heavy spices and condensed milk trickery that are all too common in the pies that grace our tables each Thanksgiving. This beautiful custard, layered upon a thin bed of ground pecans and gingersnaps and an outrageous flaky, all-butter crust, closes the meal with a reminder of what fall flavor truly should be, a subtle remainder after a meal of over-pronounced flavors.

Great Pumpkin Pie
Adapted (slightly) from Rose Levy Beranbaum’s The Pie and Pastry Bible

I would probably follow Rose Levy Beranbaum over the side of a cliff if she told me that it would help me make better crust, but there is one point on which she and I do not agree. In her recipe, she urges the use of canned pumpkin, while I am waging a campaign to convert people over to making their own fresh puree for pumpkin recipes. My contention is that there is really no comparison when it comes to flavor and texture – the fresh blows away the canned. Her point, and it is definitely valid, is that the consistency of canned pumpkin is, well, consistent, and as a writer of recipes, this is an important factor. Still, if you make your puree the right way, you can avoid this issue. Click here to go to my instructions for making pumpkin puree, and be sure to follow the part about allowing excess liquid to drain off, which will ensure that you get a thick puree that is closer to canned in consistency. Also, don’t miss Ms. Beranbaum’s note at the end of this recipe concerning pumpkin pie baking time and cracking.

For Crust:

1/4 cup or 1 scant oz. whole pecans
1 Single flaky pie crust (click here for recipe)
4-5 gingersnap cookies, crushed
1/4 cup pecans

For Filling:

1 3/4 cups or 15 oz. unsweetened pumpkin puree (click here to learn how to make this, or use high-quality, organic canned pumpkin)
3/4 cup or 5.75 oz. light brown sugar, firmly packed
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon salt
2/3 cup or 5.6 oz milk
2/3 cup or 5.5 oz heavy cream
3 large eggs
1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Special Equipment: A 9 inch pie plate, preferably the Pyrex or ceramic kind with extra space for a crust set down into the pie a bit, a small cookie cutter for decorating (optional)

On a floured pastry cloth or between 2 sheets of lightly floured plastic wrap, roll the pastry 1/8-inch thick and large enough to cut an even 13-inch circle. Use an expandable flan ring or a cardboard template as a guide to cut out the circle. Transfer it to the pie pan and tuck the overhanging pastry under itself. If desired, reroll scraps, chill and cut out decorative designs such as leaves. (Bake them separately at 400°F. for 6 to 10 minutes or until golden brown, brushed with milk and sprinkled with sugar in the raw. Remove to a rack to cool.)

Cut the border into a checker board design or use a form or spoon to make a flat but decorative border. If you are using a pie plate that has space for a fluted crust set down into the dish, then this is acceptable (as i’ve done in these photos). Do not make a raised border or extend it over the sides of the pan as it will not hold up so close to the heat source. After pouring pumpkin filling into the crust, push every other checkerboard border well over toward the filling or it tends to flip over against the pie pan. Refrigerate, covered with plastic wrap, for one up to 24 hours.

Preheat the oven to 375°F. at least 15 minutes before baking time.

***Bake directly on floor of oven or have the oven shelf at the lowest level and place an oven stone or cookie sheet on it before preheating.

Process the gingersnaps and pecans until finely ground. Sprinkle them over the bottom of the pie crust and using your fingers and the back of a spoon, press them into the dough to coat the entire bottom, going about 1/2-inch up the sides.

In a small, heavy saucepan, stir together the pumpkin, sugar, spices and salt. Over medium heat, bring the mixture to a sputtering simmer, stirring constantly. Reduce the heat to low and cook, stirring constantly, for 3 to 5 minutes, until thick and shiny.

Scrape the mixture into a food processor, fitted with the metal blade, and process for 1 minute. With the motor on, add the cream and milk, processing until incorporated. Scrape the sides of the work bowl. Add the eggs, one at a time, processing just to incorporate, for about 5 seconds after each addition. Add the vanilla along with the last egg.

Pour the mixture into the pie shell and set it directly on the floor of the oven. Bake the pie for 50 to 60 minutes or just until a knife inserted between sides and center will come out almost clean. The filling will have puffed and the surface dulled except for the center (The filling shakes like jelly when moved. This will happen before it has finished baking so it cannot be used as a firm indication of doneness; conversely, if it does not have this consistency you can be sure that it is not baked adequately.) If the crust appears to be darkening too much on the bottom, raise the pie to the next rack. After 30 minutes, protect the edges with a foil ring.

Place the baked pie on a rack to cool. When cool, the surface will be flat. If you have made decorative designs, place them on now.

Store: 3 days,room temperature.

Understanding

The crust border should not be too raised, nor extend past the pie plate because baking so close to the heat source, and at the lower temperature required for the custard filling, the border would not set quickly enough and would droop over the edge and break off. Since it does not extend past the edge, it is not necessary to shield the edges until 30 minutes instead of the usual 15 for a one crust pie.

Characteristic star-burst cracking is the result of overbaking. If desired, cover any crack(s), should they develop, with baked pastry cut-outs.

It never ceases to amaze me just how fast the biggest meals go rushing by before our very eyes. As cooks we spend days, even weeks choosing our menu, shopping for our ingredients, and stocking our fridges to the gills with containers filled with our raw materials. We cook and cook our hearts out until the last guest has taken his seat at the table, the last bowl of soup placed upon the serving plate.

And then, for one exquisite moment, not a word is spoken and the only sound that can be heard is that of silver brushing against china. For those of us who love entertaining, this is the payoff for all of our toils.

That beautiful moment of silence, an homage to to the cook, is of course followed by lots and lots of satisfied grunting, chomping, and gulping, and if you are dining with my soon-to-be -in-laws, a healthy dose of rambunctious laughter as well. Too soon, it’s over; careful cooking is reduced to leftovers and dishes. And this is why the dessert course is so important. It puts on the breaks after a fast-paced meal, giving us time to stop and savor, not just the food, but each other too. The way I see it, the better the desserts, the longer folks will linger, and maybe they’ll even stick around to help with the dishes.

Salted Chocolate Caramel Tart
Adapted from Saveur, Issue #119 from Marlow & Sons in Brooklyn

This tart recipe comes from a restaurant that holds a very soft spot in my heart. It was a huge hit at Thanksgiving this year, satisfying both the caramel lovers and the chocolate lovers at the table. I love the contrast of sweet and salty, complimenting the deep dark chocolate and the tender, cookie-like crust. It’s perfect for the holidays because it can be made in advance (and ideally, needs to be, since there are three steps with three pauses for things to cool or set), freeing the cook from the burden of thinking about it on the day of the big meal or having it take up oven space.

Serves 8 (or more in a multi-dessert situation)

FOR THE CRUST
1 1⁄2 cups flour
1⁄4 cup plus 1 tbsp. dutch-process unsweetened cocoa powder
1⁄4 tsp. kosher salt
10 tbsp. unsalted butter, cubed and softened
1⁄2 cup plus 2 tbsp. confectioners’ sugar
2 egg yolks, preferably at room temperature
1⁄2 tsp. vanilla extract

FOR THE CARAMEL
1 1⁄2 cups sugar
3 tbsp. light corn syrup
1⁄4 tsp. kosher salt
6 tbsp. unsalted butter
6 tbsp. heavy cream
1 tbsp. crème fraîche

FOR THE GANACHE
1⁄2 cup heavy cream
4 oz. bittersweet chocolate, finely chopped
Gray sea salt or Maldon sea salt for garnish

1. Make the crust: Heat oven to 350˚. Combine flour, cocoa powder, and salt in a medium bowl and set aside. Using a handheld mixer, cream the butter and sugar in a large bowl until mixture is pale and fluffy; mix in yolks and vanilla. Mix in dry ingredients. Transfer dough to a 9″ fluted tart pan with a removable bottom and press dough evenly into bottom and sides of pan. Refrigerate for 30 minutes. Prick the tart shell all over with a fork, line with foil or crumpled parchment, fill with pie weights (I have a jar of beans that I use over and over for this purpose), and bake until it is cooked through, about 25 minutes. Transfer to a rack, remove the weights and liner and let cool.

2. Make the caramel: In a 1-qt. saucepan, whisk together sugar, corn syrup, salt, and 6 tbsp. water and bring to a boil. Cook, without stirring, until a candy thermometer inserted into the syrup reads 340°. Remove pan from heat and whisk in butter, cream, and crème fraîche (the mixture will bubble up) until smooth. Pour caramel into cooled tart shell and let cool slightly; refrigerate until firm, at least 3 hours.

3. Make the ganache: Bring cream to a boil in a 1-qt. saucepan over medium heat. Put chocolate into a medium bowl and pour in hot cream; let sit for 1 minute, then stir slowly with a rubber spatula until smooth. Pour ganache evenly over tart and refrigerate until set, at least 2 hours. Sprinkle tart with sea salt, slice, and serve chilled.

Last year at this time, I was fretting over the crusts for my Thanksgiving pies. Would they be as flaky as they were tasty? Would they live up to the high standards of my soon-to-be mother in law’s beautifully set table? And, the ever-popular, who the heck has time for all this nonsense anyway?

During that time, when my fascination with making pie evolved into a love for doing it, I also started to appreciate why so many people would rather just not even bother.

However, being a pie-lover, I firmly believe that on Thanksgiving, everyone is entitled to the delight that is steaming fruit (or squash custard, or peacans with caramel, or, or…) encased in flaky, melt in your mouth pastry. And given that pie is just one sideshow in a meal akin to a three-ring circus, it might come as something of a relief to cooks that there is a pie alternative that delivers all of the satisfaction and beauty, without the fret.

The gallette, a rustic version of classic double-crust fruit pie, takes the pressure off of the cook to produce a curst that is ohh and ahh worthy by placing the emphasis on the fruit instead.

It still has all the tender, flaky crust that you would expect from a pie, and I think that it’s rustic look is just as lovely. The biggest difference, and this is key for fretting cooks, is that there is no careful manuvering involved in the placement of a top crust, and if a big hole happens to appear in the middle of the dough, it ain’t no thing.

You simply remain calm and patch that hole with a bit of extra dough, and later, sit down with your guests and enjoy all of the pie payoff, without any of the Thanksgiving fret.