Cream Cheese

When I’ve made spanikopita in the past, it’s been for appetizers, so I make them a lot smaller. Everyone likes them, but they are incredibly tedious to make. These are bigger and much easier and quicker to make. Just be careful if you happen to be eating them in the car on the way somewhere, because they definitely leave crumbs all over.

Here is that American favorite, Chicken Cordon Bleu, deconstructed. This gorgeous dish pulls the soggy ham and cheese out of the stuffing, layering them instead over a crisp, juicy chicken cutlet. The rich triple cream cheese begins to melt when it hits the panko-crusted chicken, which then anchors the paper-thin slices of cured ham to them both. Baby arugula is tossed in a bright, acidic vinaigrette of Dijon mustard and red wine vinegar before being placed atop the dish. The peppery arugula and mustardy vinaigrette cut through the richness of the cheese and complement the salty ham. I serve this at lunch, but it would be wonderful at dinner as well.

This casserole is a lot like the man who invented it—larger than life, over the top, and guaranteed to make you happy. Bud’s the name behind Royers Round Top Café, a “contemporary comfort food” oasis in, no surprise—Round Top, a 1 1/2-hour drive from Austin—that serves up heaping portions and Bud’s famous pies. Bud’s casserole is a side dish that’s hearty enough to qualify as a main course, and a great option if you have vegetarian guests coming for dinner.

Stuffed quail sizzling on the grill is a common sight at many a West Texas barbecue. A lot of my friends use a shotgun to bag their quail, but I snag mine on the Internet from The Diamond H Ranch in Bandera, Texas (www.texasgourmetquail.com), where they raise the birds and process them, too. They come vacuum-packed and ready for cooking, with the back, breast, and thigh bones removed. All I have to do is stuff them with a spicy chile-cheese mixture, wrap them up with a piece of bacon, and then put ’em on the grill. I finish them off with a jalapeño jelly glaze just before serving. In all, a mighty nice dinner treat to share with friends.

A sensational ending for a dinner party, cocktail party, or just about any event, these rich cheesecake-like bars always draw sighs of pure delight. The recipe comes from my early days as a caterer in Houston. I think they taste best cold, but no matter how they’re served, they disappear quickly.

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.

This recipe is simple yet magical. It will make you look like you paid $30,000 for a fancy culinary education when you dip the guava sorbet in it. It must be made right before you are going to use it, or it will set hard in your fridge, and trying to melt it back down and get it back to the perfect temperature will be the bane of your existence—the opposite of setting yourself up for success.

When I moved to NYC to attend cooking school, I dove right in. I got several part-time jobs in a variety of locales. Basically, I worked for anyone who would hire me. Early morning. Late night. Magnolia Bakery didn’t bite, but there was a bakery (now closed) in the West Village off Jane Street, run by a fiery Cuban woman who agreed to put me on the schedule. After a late night of work as a hostess, I would drag myself in early the next morning to this strange bakery, almost the only motivation being a pastelito, a Cuban puff pastry topped with cane sugar and filled with guava paste and cream cheese. It was the most delicious and different pastry I had ever tasted, and I knew I’d want to use the flavor combo one day. One time, when we were changing the menu at Ko and I was on a breakfast-inspired kick (guava and cream cheese is a classic breakfast pairing in many Spanish-speaking cultures), an idea took hold. I knew guava would bring the perfect acidity to a pre-dessert, and combining it with liquid cheesecake, which always makes me happy, was a no-brainer.

When we opened Ko, we did so with a deep-fried apple pie. It resonated so much with people that we decided to use the apple pie as inspiration for a cake. We already had the crumb-into-ganache-into-frosting down and we loved the pie crumb we had developed for a few Noodle Bar and Ko desserts seasons before. This cake will make you seem like a genius, though all you are doing is layering apple pie fixins between layers of slightly nutty (with brown butter) cake. Leftovers make especially delicious impromptu cake truffles (see page 122).

When we first opened Milk Bar, at 4 or 5 o’clock every morning we would make fresh cinnamon buns with liquid cheesecake rolled up into the dough instead of applying cream cheese frosting on top. Cinnamon buns are something I feel very strongly about, since my mother started a tradition of making (not-so-great) ones for breakfast on every holiday. (Sorry, Mom, but you can’t give a kid a Cinnabon and then expect her to be OK with cinnamon buns made with margarine and skim milk!) We’d make them before the crack of dawn so they’d be ready for breakfast . . . and then we’d sell most of them to people on their way home at night, ready to tuck in with dessert and some TV. So we decided to get smart and create something that was delicious, available, and fresh at any hour, and didn’t have to be made to order every morning: the cinnamon bun pie.

At our East Village Milk Bar, we have two big-boy soft-serve machines that churn ice cream day and night. To keep ourselves entertained and to keep customers interested, we change the flavors every six weeks, basing each flight of flavors around a theme. This recipe was part of a suite of ice creams flavored liked baked goods, and, true to its name, it tastes just like cheesecake. The twist with it and our key lime pie ice cream was crazy good!

We tried, tried, tried to make this work with our liquid cheesecake—one of our mother recipes and one of my favorite things to eat and cook with—but the finished pie just wasn’t right. So we came up with this work-around. This filling is very deep in flavor and sweetness, only meant to be layered in a gooey brownie pie. Do not attempt to snack on it or use it in another recipe.

Our most successful new offering in 2010 was our cake truffles, spawned entirely from leftovers. We had once served slices of cake to order, but after hemming and hawing with our endearing staff of counter employees over the correct way to slice and serve a multilayered cake, we decided to get smart. Helen and Leslie were the catalyst behind convincing me to make cake truffles with all of our leftover cake and cake layering scraps. Now, instead of committing to a whole slice of cake, you can get a bite or two or three. You can choose to follow the recipe, or get crazy, without our guidance, using leftovers to concoct your own. Don’t limit yourself to carrot cake; you can use any cake scrap and any leftover fillings, crumbs, or crunches. Chocolate Chip Cake (page 94) scraps with Fudge Sauce (page 136) and ground Peanut Brittle (page 169) couldn’t be anything but a success.