Fruit

This is a great sandwich to make with leftovers (in this case, leftover pork loin). One of the key elements in this sandwich is the choice of greens. Dandelion greens are bitter, but balance the other flavors of prunes and mustard. If the greens are not to your liking, either try buying smaller-leafed dandelion greens (the larger the leaf, the more pronouncedly bitter) or substitute mustard greens or endive.

This sandwich was adapted directly from a meal Tom had developed years earlier for Gramercy Tavern. We cure the duck lightly, for about 24 hours, more for flavor than to remove moisture. Then it is cooked verrrrrry slowly, with the fat side down. It is particularly important in this recipe to use a heavy-bottomed pan so that the heat distributes evenly, and to cook the duck over a super-low heat in order to render the fat without overcooking the duck. Once it’s cooked and you let it cool, you can slice it and use it in myriad ways—as an appetizer, in salad, on canapés. Note that because the duck’s been cured, its flavor is now concentrated and a little goes a long way. We pair the duck with caramelized apples and endive, which provide sweetness, acidity, and just the right edge of bitterness. Felling extra-indulgent? Save the pan in which you cooked the duck and toast the bread in the fat!

While we use a delicious aged Cheddar, this sandwich will be a success with other cheeses, too, as long as they have a big presence, such as a sharp Gouda (no subtle fontinas or mozzarellas); because the cheese is the star of the sandwich, it needs to stand up to the other flavors. Use just enough smoked ham to balance the cheese and poached pear. Use a very thin layer of mustard on the bread, right next to the cheese. The bread in this instance should be something nutty and fruity. The tartness of the dried cranberries in our bread is a great addition to the sandwich, so if you don’t have them in your bread, you could add them to the poaching liquid when you prepare the pears.

What self-respecting sandwich shop doesn’t carry a tuna sandwich? We admit that we almost didn’t. But when a magazine wanted to do an impromptu photo shoot before we opened, we had to improvise with ingredients already on hand at Craftbar. We seized a can of Sicilian tuna and added a few other items—and when we tasted the sandwich after the shoot, we realized we had a winner. Let go of the traditional tuna with lots of mayo—the mayonnaise masks the taste, a pity when using good tuna. Instead, use just a bit of lemon-flavored mayo on the bread, and season the tuna with lighter ingredients, such as the fronds of the fennel, similar in texture to dill but lending a fresher flavor to the fish.

We use unripe mango here as one would a vegetable. Be sure that the mango is still hard to the touch (you should not be able to put a dimple in it) so you can then julienne it. Adding a bit of lime enhances the mango’s freshness.

Left uncooked, beets are not only crunchy and refreshing but also surprisingly substantial, making a satisfying base for this sandwich. Radish sprouts add a bit of heat as a counterpoint. And the avocado adds the needed element of richness.

Eggplant is like a sponge, soaking up whatever moisture it encounters. This, at least in part, is why it is typically breaded when fried—the bread crumbs serve as a shield to limit how much oil is absorbed. In this recipe, however, we salt the eggplant for about an hour to remove excess moisture and then fry it without a coating so it absorbs some oil. Decadent? Absolutely; the eggplant becomes luxuriously creamy and custardy. As buffalo mozzarella is a bit milder and softer than regular mozzarella, it is a perfect complement to the eggplant, but you can use whichever mozzarella you prefer. Interestingly, both the eggplant and the cheese are really the supporting cast in this sandwich; it is the relish that’s the star. The secret ingredient? Anchovies. If you need a purely vegetarian sandwich, leave them out, but they lend a subtle kick, and with the sweetness of the raisins and texture of the pinenuts, you have a picante and assertive relish.

Our regulars love this bright and flavorful vegan sandwich, especially in summer. It’s light yet absolutely satisfying. We like to cook our own chickpeas, but you can use canned—the chickpeas are a great vehicle for all of the vibrant flavors of the marinade. The red peppers provide a sweet counterpoint to the chickpeas; if you have the time, forgo the ones in the jar and roast your own (page 184). Then we add a low note (the Niçoise olives), and a high one (the confit), and finally the parsley (using whole leaves, not just a sprinkle). A final hint: toast the bread (just on the insides of the sandwich) for the perfect texture inside and out.

We came up with this as a canapé for a party and had a hit on our hands; it’s utterly simple and elegant. Boucheron combines the tartness, chalkiness, creaminess, and pungency that are the hallmarks of different goat cheeses for a beautiful balance of flavor and texture. Served open-faced on delicate bread as a finger sandwich or a canapé, this is dainty and easy to eat, but it can also be grilled as a sandwich if you want something hot and just a little bit oozy.

A cheese-and-fruit Danish, the Austro-Hungarian apricot dumpling called Marillenknödel, a Turkish dessert of poached dried apricots with sweet-tangy cream and pistachios . . . some flavor combinations just work well, across cultures and continents. This especially pretty open-faced sandwich is great for breakfast, brunch, a light lunch, an afternoon snack, even a dessert; it’s sweet but not too sweet. The colors, tastes, and textures of puffy white ricotta, velvety golden apricots, silky syrupy ribbons of fennel, crunchy toasted green pistachios, and a grinding or two of black pepper on top create a surprise for the palate and a feast for the eye. We both love putting a big platter of these sandwiches in the middle of the table and watching them disappear. Use slightly under ripe apricots; you can stew them longer than riper fruit and so they will absorb more of the flavors of the spices. Other stone fruits such as plums work well, too. The stewed fruit can be prepared in advance and kept refrigerated in its own syrup for several days.

This is a spin on the cream cheese and jam sandwich. We thought the tartness of the goat cheese would marry well with the sweetness of the marmalade, with the rosemary accent to wake you up in the gentlest, nicest of ways and the multigrain bread sending you off on your day feeling you’ve eaten a meal. The marmalade could certainly be made with oranges or grapefruit—the rosemary would complement them as well.

At ’wichcraft, we make our own peanut butter and we make our own jelly, usually strawberry, Concord grape, and for a brief time in the spring, rhubarb. We feel that even the humble peanut butter and jelly sandwich deserves the finest ingredients. Here’s one of our top secrets: We doctor up standard peanut butter by adding real butter, which mellows the flavor, adds richness, and makes the texture more velvety. Is it excessive or—as some have suggested—even evil to add butter to peanut butter? Well, we think of it as substituting one fat for another, modest as long as you spread the same amount on your sandwich.

Purées have become the foundation of my cookie and cake recipes. Roasting and breaking down fruits to incorporate into your batters is an ideal way to take your baked creations to the next level—and you’ll notice the difference immediately. This simple addition provides hearty flavor, moisture, and can be tailored to your taste with minimal fuss. The recipe that follows applies to any of the fruits (pears, peaches, even pumpkin) included in this book. Simply roast your chosen fruit (see page 27 for more information on roasting fruit) and proceed.

If ever we cross paths, there’s a 99 percent chance you’ll find me sipping a yerba mate tea. The South American beverage quickly became part of my routine once I discovered that it lifts my energy level without the highs and lows of coffee. Come summer, I ice it, stir in some Agave Lemonade (page 133), and relax with the day’s saving grace: the BabyCakes NYC version of an Arnold Palmer. If you’re confined to the kitchen and have a blender handy, toss in the ingredients, add ice, pulse for a minute or so, and sip your way through the afternoon.

Until the newest wave of mega-size frozen yogurt franchises catch on to the fact that even those of us who can’t have dairy would still like a frosty, probiotic-packed soft-serve now and then, we’ll just have to make do. And by “making do” I mean blending a chilled masterpiece that will have all the teenyboppers banging down your door for a taste. Tell them to take a number.

Hey, Dad! Remember those surprise outings Team McKenna took to Knott’s Berry Farm in the early 1980s? When we piled into the station wagon for a two-hour voyage with one seatbelt stretched over three kids? The trips that got you significantly more amped than they did anyone else? I do. Will you admit now that the real reason for those trips was that you were in thrall to the Knott’s Berry Farm restaurant’s strawberry-rhubarb pie? Twenty years later I’ve finally come around, and I now understand the overwhelming allure of this delicious pairing. This one’s for you, Dad.

Inspired by my daily “free lemonade” that I used to make at the old KFC in grade school, here’s a recipe so simple and refreshing that you’ll be shocked there are only four ingredients!

Think of pairing fruit in recipes like planning a seating chart at a dinner party. It’s usually a good idea to split up your two anarchist teenage nephews, right? Similarly, in a crumble it’s best to avoid putting two tart berries, like blackberries and cranberries, in the same bowl. For this recipe, I partner the testy blackberry with a dose of mellow peach, whose sweet charms keep the party on an even keel. Also, blackberries tend to lose their structure under heat, while the peaches—like apples and pears—stay true to form and give your crumble hearty body.

Overthinking is one of the most common problems when it comes to baking pies, having the same devastating effect as putting too much makeup on a pretty girl. Often, bakers trying to doll up a basic recipe find themselves left with an overburdened crust and fruit drenched in starchy goo. Have faith in your ingredient selection, and hold back when possible. Here’s a recipe that lets each part carry its own weight, leaving your hands free to twiddle thumbs, shoot finger guns, or slap high-fives.

Due to the especially juicy and tart nature of cherries, I substitute evaporated cane juice for agave in the cobbler topping for this dessert. It adds a stable texture that can stand up to the cherries. This recipe is for individual-size portions—sometimes (okay, often) it’s just fine to indulge this type of selfishness.