Fruit

Although I’ve outed myself as someone who often prefers savory to sweet, even after dinner, I’ve found the perfect compromise that is sure to keep everyone happy. This is one of my favorite summer desserts, for those long, hot nights when you crave something lighter as a finish to your meal. This sorbet is just the ticket; make it when the blueberries are fat and sweet and fresh basil is everywhere you look.

Campari and soda is one of my favorite aperitifs. Not only is Campari a brilliant vermilion that looks stunning in the glass, but also the liquor’s bitter edge whets the appetite for the dishes to come. Transformed into a gorgeous, not-too-sweet sorbet, Campari is equally at home finishing a meal. (Although this sorbet would also make a nice refresher between courses if you were feeling fancy.) The addition of sweet, ruby-hued blood orange juice makes this a perfect dessert for midwinter when summer’s fruits are still months away. Before you freeze your sorbet, I recommend you pour a little into a highball glass and add some ice and gin. It makes the wait so much more enjoyable.

The very essence of summer, this recipe features, really, just one ingredient. It takes multiple steps to transform the melon into this dense, creamy sorbet, but don’t be tempted to take shortcuts. Your reward is in the intense flavor and hue of the finished product. This is one case where you must go to the farmers’ market and seek out the gnarled old guy who lovingly raises organic muskmelons—maybe Crenshaws or Hearts of Gold—and picks them only when you can smell their perfume a mile away as they warm in the sun. Go. He’s there, and he’ll make sure you get a good melon.

I can’t decide whether I love the color—a pale celadon—or the exotic flavor of this ice cream more. The pear causes the base to have a thinner consistency than some other ice creams have before freezing, but the final texture is lovely. It’s hard to peg the flavor as star anise in the ice cream, because the spice mellows with the cold and the cream, but it’s addictive. This isn’t a scoop-in-a-cone kind of dessert, but an elegant cookie on the side would be nice.

This dessert is layered with toasty, earthy flavors, from the concentrated sweetness of the roasted figs to the nutty brown butter to the chocolate ganache deepened with a touch of coffee. You can ride the sweet-salty wave by sprinkling with a finishing salt at the end, or simply dust with powdered sugar. You can’t go wrong.

Rhubarb is one of those love-hate foods. For me, it’s all about the love. Not only do I like the tartness, a zinging alternative to too-cloying desserts, but it’s pretty, too. Yes, it’s pink and it’s pretty and I’m secure enough to admit it. With the gentle bubbles emanating from the prosecco, this soup is impressive enough to end a fancy spring meal, and it’s easy, to boot.

Cacio Faenum is a fragrant sheep’s milk cheese that, like little baby Jesus, is lovingly laid on a bed of hay to rest. Unlike the newborn king, however, the cheese is actually wrapped in dried grass and buried in a hay-filled barrel for a little more than a month. You’ll recognize this incredible cheese by its charming hay wrapper and a grassy, barn-y fragrance that marries nicely with the earthiness of apricots and almonds.

I think of Robiola as what I always want Brie to be. It’s even more lush than that French imposter, with a smooth, flowing core that’s like pure silk. The very best specimens must be tasted in Italy, where they don’t let unpasteurized milk stand between any man and his cheese. We get very fine imports here, however, and depending on the producer, your Robiola may be fashioned from either goat, sheep, or cow’s milk, or a combination. Because Robiola is so rich, I like to pair it with something tart and jammy, like this easy gooseberry compote. To serve, make sure the compote has cooled completely and the Robiola is at room temperature to allow it to be its runny, best self.

There are fruit people, and there are chocolate people. Even chocolate people will lick their plates clean when presented with a refreshing, lemony panna cotta strewn with wine-steeped peaches. Panna cotta makes a nice spring and summertime dessert because it’s not so rich that you leave the table feeling stuffed, and the lemon verbena adds a welcome, herbaceous tang. This dish is perfect for company because the panna cotta must be made ahead, and the peaches “cook” while coming to room temperature.

A cheese course for gin lovers, Ginepro is a sheep’s milk pecorino from Emilia-Romagna that is first rubbed with balsamic vinegar and olive oil and then buried in juniper berries. It’s a salty, herbal cheese with an awesome tang. To complement the flavor and amp up the juniper, caramelize some pears and flame them with gin, then allow them to macerate to develop the flavor. With that much gin going on, pour a dry prosecco to drink with it.

Mackerel is a rich fish with fabulous texture and depth of flavor. Though it’s not traditional, preserved lemon adds a piquant, salty touch to a rustic pounded sauce. To make sure the potatoes are crispy when you serve the dish, grill the fish first and fry the potatoes right before serving. Parboiling the potatoes makes it easy to get them crispy, while ensuring they’re cooked through.

This beautiful fall dish is a study in silken textures, from the velvety purée to the creamy interior of the ivory scallops. Quick searing gives the scallops a crispy, caramelized exterior that is well matched to the sweetness of the pear in the purée, while the chanterelles add texture, depth, and a luscious, buttery flavor. Although there are three separate parts to this recipe, it’s still relatively straightforward to prepare. Make the purée first, then hold it at room temperature; the searing and sautéing take no more than five minutes.

There’s nothing fancy about a whole, roasted fish—it’s just good. While the fish cooks, the herbs and lemon perfume the flesh, and the fish turns out moist and succulent with crisp skin. It doesn’t get much better. If you can’t find black bass, branzino, snapper, or rockfish would also work. This recipe is for one whole fish, but it’s just as easy to double the recipe if you’re having friends to dinner. Roast off a couple of fish, add a couple of other dishes, and let everyone share.

Fluke—often called “summer flounder” on the East Coast or hirame in Japan—is an extremely light and delicate fish. Because of its mild flavor, I like to pair it with this citrus relish, complementing, but not overpowering, the fish’s characteristics. For the baby leaves, you can use arugula, Italian parsley, microgreens, or whatever you can find and like. Feel free to vary the citrus in the relish as well, experimenting with grapefruit, blood oranges, or sweet Cara Cara oranges in the winter. Because fluke cooks so quickly, have your relish ready before you begin the fish. To make sure you get a nice crispy exterior on the fillets, use two sauté pans if necessary. Crowding the pan will cause the fish to steam instead of sear.

For those of you who crave the ubiquitous duck breast all dressed up for company, I offer you my version, the little ducky paired with sweet-and-sour roasted figs and given a little edge from the arugula. I won’t lie—it’s good. However, in exchange for my providing a traditional duck breast recipe, you must promise me that you will try either Party Tripe on Soft Polenta (page 159) or maybe Geoduck Crudo with Fennel and Radish (page 24). Do what scares you.

This riff on veal piccata is not a complicated dish, but it does have a few steps to it and requires some planning to allow the sweetbreads time to soak overnight. Poaching the sweetbreads in milk and aromatics before sautéing them ensures they’ll turn out sweet and meltingly tender. I prefer veal sweetbreads, though you can use lamb. Either one is usually sold in one-pound packs, with two large lobes per pack. If you don’t see them out on display—they’re usually not—ask the butcher if there are any in back, and make sure they are impeccably fresh. The delicate richness of the dish means that nothing more than boiled potatoes are needed as an accompaniment.

Swiss chard, with fleshy stems that offer nice texture, has a milder flavor than other greens such as rapini or mustard. I highlight its sweetness with golden raisins and white wine, then add pine nuts for richness and some crunch. Be sure to dry the chard carefully before sautéing, because it gives off a lot of liquid.

Many recipes that pair carrots with orange call for cooking the carrots with orange juice. Here, I use strips of peel instead, so that you get just a hint of orange, keeping the flavors bright. In the restaurants, we use Thumbelina carrots, a cute, round variety with incredible sweetness. Don’t go crazy chopping the mint—you don’t want to turn it into paste. Just do a few quick strokes with the knife, toss with the carrots, and serve right away. You might want to caution your guests not to eat the orange peel.

This salad is a stellar addition to a midwinter antipasto plate, full of bright flavors that seem to hint at warmer days ahead. In the short, dark days of a Seattle January, that’s especially welcome. Because of the salad’s simplicity, it’s important to use the heaviest, sweetest oranges you can find and use a firm, briny olive. Arbequinas or Gaetas are fine substitutes for the Taggiascas; mushy supermarket Kalamatas are not. Serve the salad shortly after you prepare it. As it sits, the flavor of the shallot continues to develop and the lovely balance of the salad is lost.