Making mostarda is an art and a process. It requires poaching fruit—either whole, large pieces, or sliced—in syrup over the course of several days, until it is saturated and beautifully translucent. Once this candying process is completed, mustard essence is stirred in drop by drop until the mostarda is sufficiently spicy—spicy enough to make your eyes water! The type of fruit depends on what’s in season, but quince, pears, apples, melon, and figs are all good candidates. Of all those, I prefer pears, which take beautifully to the candying process without (by some miracle) turning mushy at all. Although traditional mostarda is made with small whole or halved fruits, I cut the pears into thin slices, as I find the large pieces unwieldy.
From the court of the Bentivoglio family in Bologna during the 1600s comes this recipe for hot chocolate. Their cook, Giuseppe Lamma, was responding to the fashion of the day in writing a recipe for processing the cocoa bean along with his own rendition of the drink, chocolate (the candy was still far off). Some historians claim Italians taught the art of chocolate making to the French and English in the 1700s. Another logical explanation is all the Spanish connections with those countries through diplomacy, noble marriages and alliances. After all, it was the Spanish who brought chocolate to Europe from the Americas, and they adopted chocolate drinking with great enthusiasm.
Blurring the lines between ice cream and mousse, simplicity and finesse, nostalgia and novelty, this is the kind of dessert that’s hard to categorize but easy to love.
Lemon curd whizzed in a food processor for a minute or so becomes a lighter-than-air, creamy sauce for these sweet and tangy dessert crepes, which were created by pastry chef and cookbook author Kir Jensen of The Sugar Cube food cart in Portland, Oregon. If you're using fresh rhubarb, pick out the darkest red stalks you can find—they have the best flavor and color.
Kir Jensen, a pastry chef and owner of The Sugar Cube food cart in Portland, Oregon, created these crepes to go with the roasted rhubarb and lemon cream recipes. But these nutty crepes would be great in many of the sweet recipes in this book, or eaten on their own with just a smear of butter and a drizzle of honey. Look for almond paste and almond meal in the baking section of your local supermarket. (When choosing almond paste, avoid marzipan, which is not the same thing.) Almond meal is very finely ground almonds; it's like a coarse flour.
Popsicle molds are inexpensive, but don’t hesitate to turn the whole batch into a large container and serve it as sorbet. Let’s keep this short and sweet: these frozen pops are indecently delicious and easy. The angels had to be on Sally’s shoulders when she conjured this one up. There’s such an intense hit of chocolate you won’t believe there’s not a jot of fat in them, and they’re just the comic relief needed at the end of an impressive meal.
You can make this dish with either sweet or sour cherries, adjusting the sugar upward for sour ones, and cooking down their abundant juices as necessary.
If desired, just before serving, drizzle a few drops of fine aged balsamic vinegar on the pears.
The fruit is delicious served warm, with or without a small scoop of ice cream or a tablespoon of crème fraîche.
For this recipe you must put bay's association with stews and stocks out of your mind. The flavor of the fresh leaves is full of sweet spice. When I was dining at a small restaurant in Sussex, England, I had a wonderfully subtle bay leaf custard for dessert, and I learned there is a long history of bay being used to flavor sweet custards or rice pudding before vanilla was widely available. I like to use both. Fresh bay gives the custards a warm comforting flavor with hints of nutmeg and citrus and perfectly complements the crisp caramelized topping. Most important, it's subtle enough to be respectful of this classic dessert's simplicity.