Fruit

I’ve been unable to master Arabic, so I have no idea if there’s a translation for the phrase “snack cake.” My mother, who was half Syrian (and never mastered Arabic either), often made this cake for me when I was a kid. As an adult, I frequently find myself craving a piece for a snack. Or whatever a between-meal nibble is called. When I got the recipe from her, I read it through and noticed there wasn’t any butter in the cake. I figured it was probably a mistake, but when I baked it up, I found that no butter was necessary—the cake simply didn’t need it. It does benefit from a very generous dusting of powdered sugar, which can be a little messy, but part of the fun of Middle Eastern desserts is licking your sugary fingers after you’ve polished off the last bite.

American cheesecake is to Italian cheesecake what slouching around the house in a sweatshirt and jeans is to stepping out on the town in a tailored Armani suit. When I stopped comparing Italian cheesecake to its comfy American cousin, I was finally won over. Made with ricotta cheese instead of pounds of cream cheese and sour cream, it’s lighter and leaner, and perfectly accompanied by fresh fruit compotes or colorful sauces. For best results, use whole-milk ricotta cheese. Or even better, seek out fresh ricotta from a local producer. And be sure to watch it carefully during baking, taking it out when it is just barely set.

There seems to be an irksome theme in dessert books suggesting that a particular cake or pastry be served “with tea, in the afternoon.” I don’t know who has time to sit around and sip tea in the middle of the day, but I know at least one person who can usually be found foraging in his kitchen in the late afternoon, on the prowl for something to snack on. This cake combines everything I crave: tangy plums, toffee with a bit of salt, and buttery cake. If you do take tea in the afternoon, I’m sure it’d be a fine accompaniment. But I’m happy to enjoy it all by itself, whenever I can.

During a baking demonstration, I once inadvertently blurted out, “I don’t like sweet things,” at which point the room erupted with laughter. I didn’t quite see what was so funny until someone pointed out that I was making desserts. Well, yes. I was. But it’s true—I don’t really like oversweet desserts. I adore caramel and toffee more than anyone, but I like them paired with something to balance the sweetness. Sticky toffee pudding is the Holy Grail for toffee lovers. My version is topped with slices of kumquats as a puckery counterpoint to the gooey-rich sweet toffee.

This cake always reminds me of my trips to Brittany, an exceptionally beautiful region in western France that borders the Atlantic Ocean. The often-blustery weather is the only thing that stands in the way of Brittany becoming a major tourist destination. Aside from the chilly climate, the region is famous for its hand-harvested sea salt and salted butter caramel, both of which I would travel to the ends of the earth for. And no matter where you go in the region, you’ll find buckwheat being served in various guises, from griddled galettes to kig ha farz, a local curiosity made by poaching a pasty buckwheat batter in the sleeve of a linen shirt until it’s firm. Then it’s rolled on the counter until it breaks into tiny bits, like buckwheat couscous. They say it’s something that you need to be Breton to enjoy, so I must have some Breton in me since I loved it since the first time I tried it. I’m happy to have this cake in my repertoire because I enjoy the hearty taste of buckwheat in my desserts, too.

As everyone knows, the best part of an upside-down cake is the caramelized bits of topping and batter that get stuck in the bottom of the pan after the cake is unmolded. Instead of eating these bits, the right thing to do is to scrape them out and smear them back onto the warm cake. If you can do that, you’re a better person than I.

This is the classic upside-down cake that takes advantage of the summer season, when plums and berries are in full swing. I love how the flavor of tart plums contrasts with the toffeelike brown sugar topping. But feel free to swap out other favorite fruits of summer; I offer a few of suggestions in Variations, below.

An Italian acquaintance once pleaded, “Please—tell your American friends not to bring us any more maple syrup. Basta!” At first, I didn’t quite understand. I mean, who doesn’t love maple syrup? But then I remembered that while we Americans love to douse everything we can with the sticky stuff, Italians take their infamous 30-second breakfast by downing a quick espresso at their corner caffè and never belly up to a stack of pancakes or plate of waffles in the morning. Since I’m not Italian, any gifts of maple syrup are encouraged. And I promise not to save it just for breakfast.

To boost the reputation of the much-maligned fruitcake, I wanted to create a version quite different from those sticky, oversweet loaves riddled with iridescent fruit and soggy pecans. This recipe was my answer: an exceptionally moist loaf, chockablock with freshly toasted nuts, perky dried cherries, and a double wallop of chocolate flavor, courtesy of cocoa powder and lots of chocolate chips. I was glad that my modern-tasting fruitcake made converts out of those who tried it. But I didn’t expect that so many would want to give it a traditional soaking of spirits to preserve the cake. I set to work and experimented a few times, but I had a hunch that something was amiss when I noticed some movement underneath the gauze wrapping. I unwrapped the cake and . . . well, let’s just say I discovered I was only one of the many creatures who enjoy this fruitcake. That was the end of my experiments. Instead, I just use kirsch-flavored glaze that can be added at the last minute.

Skirt steak is a chef’s best friend. Besides cooking up fairly quickly, it’s got a great flavor and a price tag that shouldn’t break the bank. However, I’ve found that traditional supermarkets sometimes charge substantially higher for it than Latino markets and carnicerias, so shop savvy—especially if you plan on cooking for a larger crowd. Use the carne asada in tacos, burritos, or tortas, or atop a piping hot plate of nachos. diced onions, chopped cilantro, lime wedges, sliced radishes, and, of course, more Sriracha make excellent toppers

Sriracha and seafood truly are a perfect match. To me, it’s an excellent example of the whole being greater than the sum of the parts, and this ceviche just reinforces my belief. I’m a fan of just scooping it up with tortilla chips or tostada shells, but you can also fry up any wonton wrappers you might have chilling out in your freezer, leftover from making our Sriracha and Crab rangoon Wontons (page 35), for a nice Asian twist. If you are unable to find persian cucumbers, feel free to substitute the english or hothouse variety.

This light, playful salad can wear several pairs of shoes. While substantial enough to be a main course when you just don’t feel like heating up the kitchen, it also makes a great mealtime bookend, equally pleasing as an inviting appetizer or as an exotic dessert.

While I was playing around with salad ideas in my head, my good buddy Elliot happened to email me asking if I’d make him a grilled-vegetable salad with a Sriracha vinaigrette. He’d been gallivanting about our local farmers’ market and forwarded to me a list of produce that had looked appealing that day. We gave it a go not long after, and I hope you do, too.

In Mexico, you know that guava season has started when the fruit’s sweet aroma perfumes the air. There are many varieties of guavas, and, thankfully, more and more of them are available in the United States. The skin can be yellowish (often with brown spots) or green, and the flesh may be white, yellowish, or pink. Look for guavas that are very fragrant and feel slightly soft but not mushy. They have many tiny seeds, which are edible, so you can choose to leave them in or strain the drink if you prefer. Personally, I always choose with seeds.

The literal translation of the name of this drink is “the Virgin’s tears,” as the red color of the beets resembles tears of blood said to have been shed by the Virgin Mary. This beverage originated in the state of Guanajuato, maybe as long ago as the end of the sixteenth century. I found a few different variations, but this one seemed to be the most common, and it’s quite special. Although this beverage is customarily prepared during Lent for the festivities of Friday of Sorrows (the Friday before Good Friday), it’s a wonderful drink during fall, when beets and apples abound. This recipe makes a large batch to share at your next gathering.

This is the kind of drink that made me feel like a grown-up when I was little. It feels like a cocktail, but there’s no alcohol (though you could certainly add some vodka or rum). You can make it with precut canned pineapple, but it’s so much tastier if you get a fresh, whole pineapple and use that.

When I was growing up, my sister and I often went to the market with my mom. There was a great juice stand where they made all kinds of aguas frescas and smoothies. This was my sister’s favorite one. It’s incredibly refreshing, and really good for you, too. The type of alfalfa used for these drinks resembles wheat grass and is grown abundantly in Mexico; you may be able to find alfalfa at nurseries and farmers’ markets. Pineapple is commonly mixed with a variety of green herbs. In the Yucatan, for example, it’s often blended with chaya. If you can’t find alfalfa or chaya, use a couple tablespoons of fresh mint.

This is essentially a fresh orange cooler with a little sparkling water, so it’s kind of like a natural soda. It isn’t as bubbly, but it is quite refreshing and flavorful.

This quick and refreshing drink is great on its own, but it’s also a good base for other beverages. Try stirring in some chopped fresh mint, raspberries, honeydew, or pineapple, or a combination. I’m not sure how it works, but rubbing the end really does help remove bitterness from standard cucumbers; the trick doesn’t apply to English or Persian cucumbers.

When I first moved to the States, I often had major cravings for this beverage. In Mexico, chia seeds are sold in most markets and spice shops, but I couldn’t find them anywhere in the States, and when I tried to explain what they were, people looked at me like I was crazy. Then, late one night when I was watching TV, I saw this thing called the Chia Pet. I had found my seeds! Chia seeds look like poppy seeds, but when soaked in liquid for a while, they bloom and develop an awesome gummy texture. This limeade is made using the whole lime, which gives it a slight bitterness, but trust me: it’s so good you won’t want to make it any other way.