Dried Fruit

Making strudel dough from scratch is a pain, but puff pastry is a terrific substitute that makes this dessert surprisingly easy to put together. The crust gets all flaky, and with the apples and cinnamon . . . oh man, it’s good.

I am usually not a particular fan of dates. Normally, I think they are too sweet and sticky, but in this dish the smokiness of the bacon offsets some of the sweetness and the combination is delicious. They’re also easy and fast to make.

This was my great-grandmother’s recipe and has been the traditional Carle family birthday cake for four generations. That means that for four generations we have argued about how many raisins should be in the cake. My grandfather liked it like a fruitcake, loaded with raisins and other dried fruit, and my oldest sister, Mindy, likes it with none. But, since we are writing the book, it’s 1 cup.

This recipe makes jumbo-sized, chewy oatmeal cookies, ideal for sandwiching ice cream. They stay nice and moist after they’re frozen and are especially good (in my humble opinion) filled with Plum Ice Cream (page 77). Let them cool completely before trying to lift them off the baking sheet. They’ll be somewhat soft, since they’re designed to be retain their tenderness even after they’re frozen. Since these cookies are larger than normal, I find that I can get 6 onto a standard baking sheet (11 by 17 inches, or 28 by 43 cm), so that even when they spread, they don’t touch. If you have several baking sheets, this is a great time to put them into service. If not, let your baking sheet cool completely before baking the next batch of cookies.

One winter I visited my friend Kate Hill, who lives in Gascony, a region famous for its tasty prunes, les pruneaux d’Agen. As a means of prying me away from the cozy kitchen hearth, where I could happily eat cassoulet and drink Armagnac all day by the fire, we decided to do something cultural and visit the local prune museum. It was all rather exciting: an entire museum full of educational displays on the history of prunes, including informative dioramas showing the various phases of prune production. We ended our visit with a thrilling film explaining prune cultivation and harvesting, which was a real nail-biter. On our way out, near the prune-filled gift shop (there was a comic book about a prune-fueled superhero…I’m not kidding), was a shrine with a jar holding what they claimed was the world’s oldest prune, dating back to the mid-1800s. For this recipe, you should use prunes that are wrinkled but not necessarily that old, and be alert that it’s become au courant to call them dried plums in America.

I love, love, love dried apricots. They’re one of my favorite foods on earth, as long as they’re the ones from California. People are often tempted by Turkish and Chinese dried apricots, since they’re usually more colorful and far more plump (and cheaper), but I find them terribly sweet, and ice cream made with them lacks the delicious flavor and intensity of dried apricots. The combination of pistachio nuts and apricots is particularly good. Don’t toast the pistachio nuts or they’ll lose their lovely green hue. Make sure the pistachio nuts you’re using are fresh and crisp.

The first time I discovered “gourmet” ice cream, the flavor was rum raisin, made by one of those premium brands with lots of vowels in its name. Aside from all those vowels, it also had lots and lots of raisins plumped in real, honest-to-goodness rum, and I had never had store-bought ice cream that was so smooth and so creamy. Coincidentally, at about the same time I discovered those little round pints of premium ice cream, I learned a new way to eat ice cream: right from the little round pint container. Which, by strange coincidence (or shrewd marketing, more likely), fit just perfectly in my hand.

This ice cream tastes just like a big, moist, chewy oatmeal cookie, thanks to the winning combination of plump raisins and crunchy oatmeal praline folded into a custard made with just the right touch of brown sugar.

This is the perfect date ice cream. Ha ha…er, sorry about that. Ahem. Anyway, sweet dates and rum make a good duo, but having lived in San Francisco for many years, where it’s often whispered that there’s no better way to liven up a pairing than by adding a third element, I offer you this ménage à trois of flavors in one sybaritic ice cream. Be careful when heating the rum and dates: The rum can flame up, so keep an eye on the action before it gets too hot to handle.

This tart-sweet relish is thick enough for you to plop some into the crevices of a samosa for a wonderful, classic Indian food taste treat. Tamarind is known as the “date of India,” and the delectable marriage of the two kinds of dates in this chutney is a natural. Both ingredients lend body, their flavors perfectly complementing each other. I’ve eaten this chutney off a spoon. If available, use jaggery (unrefined Indian sugar) or Southeast Asian palm sugar instead of the brown sugar. Sticky dark brown slabs of tamarind pulp are sold at Chinese, Indian, and Southeast Asian markets in a double layer of plastic packaging. Soft dates, such as Medjools, work best. Otherwise, soak chewy, hard dates in just-boiled water for about an hour to soften them, then drain and proceed.

Like fried lumpia (see page 87), these savory-sweet turnovers are beloved Filipino snacks. Empanadas in the Philippines are usually deep-fried, as they are in other places, such as Argentina, where the Spanish pastry has also been adopted. Filipino-American cooks, however, mostly wrap theirs in a short pastry crust and bake them, with delicious results. If you’ve never had Asian pastries like those in this section, this is a good one to start with because it is easy to prepare and love. For richer, deep-fried empanadas, swap the filling below for the one used in the Shrimp, Pork, and Jicama Turnovers (page 118) or Curry Puffs (page 125) recipe. Feel free to substitute other ground meat for the beef.

Florina peppers are named for a city in western Macedonia (Greece), a part of the Greek countryside in which peppers are an all-important agricultural crop. They have a thick, red, sweet, firm flesh and are perfect for stuffing. I was first served them at the table of Mrs. Fany Boutari, the gracious matriarch of Greece’s premier winemaking family. While Florina peppers are not easily found in the United States, you can buy them roasted and bottled, or you may be lucky enough to find some red Anaheim chiles that will work. In a pinch, you can use good old green Anaheims or the bigger poblanos, as I do. They won’t be quite as sweet, but they will be good.

Amarillo means “yellow” in Spanish, and it is also the name of one of the seven classic moles, or sauces, from Oaxaca, known as “The Land of Seven Moles.” Though far from yellow (it’s more of a brick red), it can be used as a base for a delicious and very spicy vegetable stew that can stand alone or be served over rice to cut its heat.

Most Americans would consider eating oatmeal for breakfast, but for the vast majority of Asians, rice is the breakfast food of choice. Here is a distinctively Indian variation on the Asian breakfast theme that can be cooked while you sleep and be ready for breakfast when you wake up.

Even when they’re in season, fresh apricots aren’t always easy to find, so I turn dried apricots that are available everywhere and at any time of the year into this delightfully tangy apricot sauce. I always use California dried apricots, which have a much deeper flavor than imported ones, and I highly recommend you do the same.

It was a happy day when an enterprising midwesterner decided that the surplus of sour cherries could be dried instead of left neglected on the trees. And thus, one of my favorite baking ingredients was born. But this recipe is eminently adaptable and you can use any kind of dried fruit or toasted nuts that suits you. Diced apricot pieces and cranberries, walnuts and toasted pecans, and roasted cocoa nibs have all found their way into various batches of this bark. I even got really crazy once and crumbled candied bacon into a batch. That one met with a few raised eyebrows, but was gobbled up by all.

I love chocolate. But sometimes I want something that’s packed with intense chocolate flavor yet not outrageously rich. These biscotti certainly fit the bill. Italians often add a dash of black pepper to desserts and give them the designation pepato. I share their affection for a hit of peppery flavor in desserts, but feel free to omit the pepper if you’d like.

I was doing a cooking demonstration in health-conscious Los Angeles, and when I melted the half-stick of butter that this recipe calls for—a modest amount by my standards—a woman near the front row panicked and exclaimed, “Oh my God! Look at all that butter he’s using!” I’m not sure these cookies fall into the “healthy” category, but with just a half-stick of butter for nearly 2 dozen cookies, I’d say you shouldn’t feel all that guilty about indulging in one—or maybe two, for those of you who really want to live on the edge. These cookies are a riff on Anzac biscuits that were created as sustenance for the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps (Anzac). I adapted a recipe from Cooking Light magazine, adding dried cranberries and naming them “cranzac cookies,” but I’ve left them lean enough to keep those who eat them in fighting weight.

I definitely have obsessive-compulsive baking disorder. I’d hoped to recreate the classic gâteau de riz, a French cake made by baking rice pudding in a mold. I tried fourteen times. The first time I made it, it was perfect: custardy and topped with a deep-golden crust, the top and sides bathed with a slick of glossy, thick caramel. When I attempted to reproduce it, it came out completely different with each try. Flummoxed, I sent my recipe to a friend in California. She made it two or three times and each time she also had completely different results. After a transcontinental tossing up of our hands, in her last anxiety-ridden response she told me, “but right out of the pot, it was the best rice pudding I’ve ever had.” And when I made it again, for the fifteenth time, I realized she was right.

These light, lean soufflés get their lively flavor from the intensity of readily available dried apricots, so this dessert offers the added bonus that it can be made all year. It’s imperative to use the highly flavorful dried apricots from California rather than imported varieties, which are bland and uninspiring. You won’t be disappointed.