Stand Mixer

I’ve been making these for parties ever since I joined forces with my old friend Marianna Green. We both had little babies, and together we catered weddings, birthday parties, and more parties. I froze these two-bite nibbles by the dozen—I always had a batch on standby for last-minute events. They’re still one of my favorite party hors d’oeuvres. No fuss, no muss, no sauce needed.

I keep a batch of these buttery, cheese-laden cookies on hand for drop-in guests year round as they’re better than a bowl of mixed nuts and just about as easy to make. Versatile, attractive, and positively addictive, they’re great for a before-dinner nibble, a cocktail party hors d’oeuvre, or a pre-theater or movie snack with a glass of wine.

When I brought this cake to a last-minute dinner, my hosts, Mary and Marshall Cunningham, loved it so much they begged me to take the remainder home. “Don’t leave it here,” they pleaded. “We’ll eat it. We’ll probably eat it for breakfast.” A simple vanilla cake with a layer of tart Key lime curd and a blanket of lightly sweetened whipped cream, Mary dubbed it “the perfect cake for spring or summer.”

I make batches of these in mini muffin pans, wrap them well, freeze them, and keep them on hand for last-minute parties. What a relief it is to have a dessert ready and waiting for an impromptu dinner. The only problem: I know where they are, and sometimes, especially late at night, I can’t resist unwrapping a few and eating them. (Yup, they’re pretty good frozen.) Before long, my party stash has dissipated, and I have to make some more. (Pictured on page 164, center tray.)

Discovering something new to bake is half the fun of attending potlucks. I’m always on the lookout for new recipes that others might enjoy. One of my servers gave me this recipe, which her grandmother has been making for as long as she can remember. I took these bars to a recent potluck supper, where they drew raves and more than a few requests for copies of the recipe.

In my family, it wouldn’t be homecoming without at least one old-fashioned layer cake, so I developed one inspired by a recipe from my Grandma Nez, the cake champion of her generation. As a child I wasn’t sure which I loved better, her cakes or her ample lap. I’d nestle into her smooshy interior and feel so comfy and protected there underneath her big bosoms. I admit this cake is a lot of work, but bring it to any event and no one will forget it. It makes a great cake for birthdays, wedding or baby showers, and anniversaries.

This cake is a riff on my great-aunt Lorena’s 1-2-3-4 cake, a classic confection dating back to at least the mid-1800s, made with one cup butter, two cups sugar, three cups flour, and four eggs. It’s a simple cake, perfect for the likes of Aunt Lorena, who was better known for her prowess as a drama teacher than for her ability in the kitchen. (The auditorium in the Grapeland, Texas, high school where she taught for many years is named after her.) My favorite story about Aunt Lorena comes from Uncle Jack, Lorena’s middle son, who says he was in high school history class before he discovered the South did not win the Civil War. As he tells it, his mom was so proud of her grandfather, William Burroughs Wright, who fought in the war alongside his brother and his brother-in-law, that she managed to brush over the fact that the North won.

I felt like a modern-day Pied Piper as I carried a tray of these cupcakes to the dessert table at a picnic last fall. A throng of kids sprang up behind me, each one clamoring for a cupcake decorated with the familiar white curlicue and enriched with a hidden cream filling. Soon, all that was left was an empty tray and the hilarious chocolate smears that decorated the faces and fingers of the youngest children. These are simpler to make than you’d imagine and, given the excitement they always inspire, they certainly are worth the effort. You’ll need a pastry bag with a number 10 tip to inject the cream filling into the center of the cupcakes.

My friend Stirling Greenlee’s sense of humor is as well developed as her cooking skills. She admits to being a fervent potluck lover, and I suspect it may be because she says that for years her idea of formal dining was eating from a tablecloth without cat hair. One of her most amusing potluck stories involves a less than successful event where guests were asked to bring something that “reminds you of your childhood.” Much to her horror, everyone brought white food—bland grits, milk toast, angel food cake. “As soon as everyone got out of there I imagine they bolted and went straight to Burger King,” she recalls. Too bad no one thought of butterscotch brownies, a childhood favorite of mine. This version features a sugary, lightly caramelized butter icing that ensures the brownies stay moist and travel well. On top of that, the king-size recipe makes it a top-tier candidate for large potlucks, as well as picnics and family gatherings.

I recently happened upon a sand dollar cookie stamp at Der Kuchen Laden, Frederickburg’s topnotch kitchen store, and snapped it up, thinking what a great hit beach-themed cookies would be during Gulf Coast getaways. For kids summering on Bolivar Peninsula, a day at the beach meant a fistful of sand dollars, sugar shells, and colorful beach glass as smooth and opaque as Texas honey. Sand dollars were the hardest to find because the disk-shaped marine creatures habitually burrow into the sand. We’d swim out to the sand bars and dig for dollars by burying our feet a few inches into the sand and sliding along until our toes hit the critters’ hard internal shells. We’d pluck them out of the sand and haul them home. Popular legend holds that sand dollars are really mermaid’s coins. If I’d heard that as a little girl, I surely would have gathered even more. This recipe is a variation on the common shortbread cookie, without eggs or other leavening, because, according to the cookie stamp people, the rising of the cookies obscures the pattern left by the stamp. Makes sense to me. Although it is expensive, I like to use vanilla bean paste because it has little flecks of vanilla seed in it, giving the cookie a sandy, beach look. It is available at kitchen specialty stores and at many upscale grocers.

I know it’s tough to keep things fresh in the salt air, but my favorite cousin’s pineapple Bundt cake stays delectably moist for days—even at the beach. Sometimes I make it ahead and tote it to the beach; other times I make it there and keep it on hand. Who knows when we might be inspired to host a last-minute party? My cousin Vicki has been making this cake forever. She still bakes it in her grandmother Hille’s cast-iron Bundt pan, which she inherited along with a boxful of prized family recipes. Vicki says, “Every time I make this cake I feel like my grandmother is watching over me.”

This party-perfect showpiece recipe is pure simplicity: fresh plums, flour, sugar, butter, salt, and water. Once it cools, free the tart from its springform pan and you’ll have a golden-crusted beauty with a jewel-toned plum center that advertises—in an elegant but low-key way—the wonders of summertime fruit. If you feel your guests need more, serve it with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream.

My backyard fig tree is not always the most reliable producer, but when I have figs I make this dessert. It pairs an old-fashioned pound cake (recipe courtesy of my great-aunt Emma) with a chunky sauce made with my homegrown Brown Turkey figs. I love this dessert’s down-home elegance—a figgy topping poured over individual pound cakes baked in cupcake pans. You can use any fresh fig that’s available—light green, brown, or purple. In Texas you’ll most likely find Brown Turkeys, which I’ve been told were planted throughout the state by early homesteaders. If fresh figs are not available, use Bosc pears or tart apples. If you want a large, belt-busting dessert, use Texas-size cupcake pans. Standard-size cupcake pans will give you double the servings.

Eating ice cream sandwiches always brings out the kid in me. Why not spread the joy? At a recent party, more than a few giggles erupted when I handed out overstuffed ice cream sandwiches for dessert. I owe my renewed interest in ice cream sandwiches to a herd of Belted Galloway cows that I often spot as I head home on Route 290 just outside of town. Those dark cows with the big white stripe running right around their middles remind me of great big ice cream sandwiches. I found the perfect recipe for the chocolate cookie part in an old favorite of mine, the Deer Valley Ranch Family Cookbook, a spiral-bound treasure trove of recipes from the kitchen of a Colorado dude ranch. The soft, slightly cakey cookies are the perfect foil for a creamy vanilla ice cream center. These cookies are also fabulous alone: sometimes I don’t quite get around to filling them with ice cream and before I know it they are gone.

Why wouldn’t you bake cookies for yourself? Cookie dough freezes beautifully, and if you cut it into portions before freezing, you can have a plastic bag filled with the potential for cookies any time you feel like it. These salty-sweet cookies use one of my go-to ingredients: homemade nut butter. I use a Vita-Mix to churn just about any freshly roasted nut into butter, but you can accomplish the same trick with a food processor and a little oil. A food processor nut butter won’t be as super-smooth as one made in a Vita-Mix, but in a cookie like this, a little sandy texture from the bits of ground pistachio is a good thing.

I know I’m not alone when I say that snickerdoodles were my favorite cookie as a kid. Hell, they’re pretty much my favorite cookie as an adult. My mother’s 1970s recipe used shortening, but I prefer to make them with all butter, to deepen their flavor with brown sugar, and to scent them heavily with ethereal cardamom. This recipe calls for them to cool on a wire rack, but do yourself a favor and eat at least a few while they’re still warm, and be prepared to go weak-kneed. Snickerdoodles will keep at room temperature, in an airtight container, for about 3 days.

We use Benton’s bacon, the meatiest, smokiest bacon around, in our plugs. If you have the Momofuku cookbook, you know the wonders and glories of Allan Benton, the man behind the smoky cured pork down in Madisonville, Tennessee. His product reigns supreme in punch-you-in-the-face bacon flavor. When he answers the phone himself to take your order, you know you are getting a handmade, superior product from a man who loves his art and keeps it simple—even though he has orders from all over the country to fill that day, many from big-name chefs and restaurants in NYC and beyond. I have been known to swap cookies for moonshine with this adorable man—both of us feeling like we’ve made out like bandits.

Mascarpone cheese is a little fussy. It breaks really easily, so it is important here to make sure that both the lemon curd and the mascarpone are cold. Don’t even think about overmixing this!

We made this dessert because of our love for Thai tea sweetened just the way the Thai do, with sweetened condensed milk. We got so many compliments on it that we left it on the Ssäm Bar dessert menu for over a year, which we almost never do. To this day, we still get requests for it. While the ingredients here are off the beaten path of your average pantry, they can easily be found in Chinatown or a Latin market or at amazon.com.

Nut crunch makes a great pie crust! I absolutely love this pie, but it doesn’t fit into the composed dessert realm of Ssäm Bar’s menu and it isn’t quick and easy to pack like Milk Bar pies need to be, so it never made it onto a menu. It’s a delicious recipe you’ll only find here.