Stand Mixer

A group of us here laughingly call Molly Stone “the Cake Bitch of Savannah, Georgia”! This girl knows what she’s doing; her wedding cakes are incredibly divine. They are moist and bursting with flavor. The only thing bigger and better than her cake is her personality. I love you, Molly.

Hands down, this is Michael’s favorite cake. It’s a sweet, scrumptious memory of the days when his mother, Carmel, would bake it for him. In the Groover household, it was a family tradition that on your birthday you chose your favorite cake. Michael remembers this cake becoming his favorite at age five, and his request has not changed to this day. So naturally this just had to be his groom’s cake.

Torta al vino is a traditional wine-country cake with white wine in the batter and seedless grapes (or any kind of berry) folded in. The acidity of the wine and the whole juicy fruits—baked grapes are luscious!—give this easy cake a delightful complexity of flavors and textures in each bite.

These are my favorite kind of cakes to make: mix a batter in a bowl; put it in a pan with fruit; set the cake in the oven; remove when done—and that’s it! They’re ready to enjoy, with no fancy finishing or decorating needed. Such cakes are perfect for afternoon tea or as a simple dessert after a big dinner. But you know when I most love these cakes? In the morning—I just cut a small piece from the pan and sit down with a cup of excellent coffee, a copy of the New York Times, and my torta. It’s a great way to start the day. Simple as they are, both of these cakes have interesting, and lovely, touches: the torta invertita is (as you may have guessed) an upside-down cake. You put sugared rhubarb in the bottom of the pan, spread the batter on top, and bake. The fruit cooks and caramelizes and moistens the cake on top; then, when the torta is partly cooled, you invert the pan so the fruit turns into a glossy topping. I love rhubarb, and in this recipe I’ve incorporated a great technique I learned from my editor, Judith, who grows rhubarb in Vermont. The cut-up fruit is tossed with sugar and sits overnight, to soften and release lots of its liquid. The drained pieces go right into the cake pan, and I cook down the juices to make rhubarb syrup (to drizzle on the cake). When rhubarb isn’t available, other fruits make a great torta invertita: ripe stone fruits like apricots, nectarines, peaches, or plums; ripe pears, figs, and pineapple are good, too.

When we arrived in Vermont to visit my editor for several intensive days of work on this book, she had made the focaccia from her children’s bread book for our lunch. Several days later, when we were winding up, I noticed on the windowsill a pint basket of fresh figs we hadn’t used up, and, remembering how much I loved the sweet fruit-studded focaccias I had had as a child, I suggested we improvise with those figs. So here is the recipe we put together, which celebrates a warm childhood memory reborn in the northern hills of Vermont. It fits right in with our dessert theme in this book of fresh fruits embedded in crusts, and is lovely for breakfast, for tea, or with after-dinner coffee.

Sabbiosa means “sandy,” and that’s a good description of this delightful cake. At first bite it seems dry, but then it melts in your mouth, and you will love its golden hue as well. The cake can be enjoyed plain, simply dusted with confectioners’ sugar, or doused with amaretto or limoncello and a topping of cream and/or fruit and berries. Serve it warm right from the oven; freeze it to pull out when unexpected guests drop in—or (as I do) have a piece for breakfast with cappuccino. All in all, this is a recipe you need to try.

Cheesecake is one of my favorite desserts, and I love the kind that is a little bit sour. This one is made with a little crema and a hazelnut crust. I like to serve it with quince, a natural pairing with cheese. I also gave it a little heat from arbol chiles to showcase the wonderful combination of sweet, sour, and spicy that is popular in modern Mexico.

When we were little, my sister Yael and I would often hang out with our aunts Cucus (her real name is Lina, but I don’t think we knew that back then) and Alex. They liked to take us to the parque España, one of the few parks in Mexico City, and I always made sure to ask my mom whether she needed us to drop off or pick up anything from the dry cleaner, which was only a few blocks away from the park. I was such a good daughter. . . . Truth be told, there was an ulterior motive. Across the street was a wonderful bakery, and I would always get strawberry jelly–filled doughnuts with a sugary topping. Invariably, I would squirt jelly all over myself and get my aunts in trouble, because my mother warned them not to give us sweets too often. The bakery, unfortunately, no longer exists, but my memory of what those doughnuts tasted like still does—even though the last time I had them was almost two decades ago. They are a bit time-consuming to make but well worth the effort. You can substitute the jam for a store-bought kind, but if you happen to be making these during strawberry season, I highly suggest you give it a try because it is quite easy and absolutely delicious!

The last days of October are filled with the aromas of marigolds, copal (incense), toasted canela, orange blossoms, aniseed, mole, tortillas, and wood. Many people are busy preparing for the Día de los Muertos celebrations that take place during the first days of November (the main festivity is on the 2nd). The celebration dates back to the Aztec times, when it was believed that the deceased embark on a journey, eventually leading them to the Mictlan, the highest level of the underworld, where they would finally rest in peace. People gather in cemeteries and bring the deceased’s favorite foods and music. It is a way to celebrate the time we had with our loved ones and keep their memory alive. The cemeteries are filled with laughter, mariachis, food, lights, and flowers, and it is a celebration of life. There are many different breads made for this celebration. In Michoacán, they are sculpted into shapes of flowers, the Virgin Mary, skulls, and animals. In Oaxaca, you will find round breads topped with sesame seeds and colorful heads coming out of them. In the center of Mexico, the dough is made with pulque (a fermented beverage made from the maguey plant) instead of yeast, giving it a very distinctive, somewhat herbal, acidic flavor. Many places dust the tops with pink sugar to remind us of the ceremonial use of bread. The varieties are too many to count, but this one is perhaps the most well known. This recipe is adapted from Maricu, a chef from Mexico City who owns a cooking school of the same name. Even though you may not celebrate Día de los Muertos, I encourage you to make this delicious bread decorated with “bones” and take a moment to remember those who are no longer with you in this life.

The small bicycle town of Pomuch in Campeche has some of the best bakeries in Mexico. One of the oldest, La Huachita, still uses a brick oven and has been around for 120 years. They were kind enough to let me spend hours as a spectator, and this is a recipe I adapted from one of their creations. These small sugary breads are slightly flaky, buttery, and filled with a rich cream cheese mixture.

Campechanas are fragile, crunchy, glasslike sweet treats that crumble as you take a bite. Valle de Bravo, a town a few hours from Mexico City, has some of the best ones, but you can find them everywhere. Funnily enough, though, they are hard to find in Campeche, where their name comes from. They are a bit tricky to make, but once you start, you’ll quickly get the hang of it. You may be surprised by the amount of fat that goes into these, especially because you couldn’t tell from eating them. The lard or shortening is what makes these incredibly flaky. You will need a very thin rolling pin that is at least 15 inches long and no thicker than the stick of a broom; you can find one at a hardware store or a woodshop.

Ah, the conchas! These wonderful soft breads with their crunchy shelllike topping are a favorite in Mexico. This particular recipe is based on one made by Irving Quiros, a pastry instructor at the Colegio Superior de Gastronomía in Puebla. The dough is almost like a brioche, and the buttery bun makes wonderful, melt-in-your-mouth conchas. To make a chocolate topping, substitute 3 tablespoons cocoa powder for 3 tablespoons flour.

Any kind of round cookie with a hole in the middle is called a rosquilla. Esther Villarreal Garza from Monterrey makes these sugary ones with a lovely orange flavor.

These cookies from Tamaulipas get their crunchy texture from the lard and the corn flour. They are rarely glazed, but you may choose to brush a beaten egg white and dust with sugar before baking them, as I like to do.

You can find all sorts of corn flour (masa harina) in Mexico, and their colors can seem almost fake. The best place to find them is the food mills, and they are commonly found near markets. Whenever I can, I like to make this dish with pink or blue corn because it enhances the color in a natural way and it somehow seems more fun.

Corn tamales have prevailed for at least five centuries as ubiquitous protagonists in ceremonies and rituals such as Día de los Muertos. This preparation is from Durango, and I want to thank Ricardo Gurrola for providing me with the recipe. They go deliciously well with Strawberry Atole (page 29).