Pear

This is a standard tart in France, and I thought the combination of pears and chocolate on flaky pastry was so tasty I had to bring it back. This would be a perfect ending to one of the “Impressing Your Date” meals. It’s easy, tastes great, looks really cool, and can all be done ahead of time.

Choose a fragrant, tasty variety of pear for this granita, such as Comice, Bartlett, or French butter. Few people think of pairing pears with chocolate, but it’s a surprisingly good combination, and once you taste it, you’ll wish you’d known about it sooner. Don’t hesitate to use one of my Perfect Pairings that follow the recipe to make up for lost time.

Use fragrant pears that are buttery ripe and slightly soft to the touch. You’ll be glad you did when you taste how good this simple sorbet is. Pears are one of the only fruits that ripen off the tree, so if your pears are rock hard when you buy them, chances are they’ll transform into soft, luscious, sorbet-worthy fruits in a few days. When just right, pears exude a strong, unmistakable sweet pear fragrance at the end opposite the stem. Bartlett, Comice, and French butter pears are varieties that I recommend.

When friends found out I was writing a book on ice cream, many felt compelled to “help out” by passing along really odd flavor combinations they’d either seen or heard of. But somehow, I just couldn’t seem to get enthusiastic about combinations like Clam-Raisin or Duck Fat Swirl. However, when Judy Witts raved about this combination, which she’d enjoyed at her local gelateria in Florence, it piqued my interest. After a bit of trial and error, I discovered that the key to preserving the character of pecorino is to very finely dice the cheese rather than grating it. The little bites of salty cheese are the perfect counterpoint to the fruity, pear-flavored custard.

This ice cream combines the best of two worlds: deeply caramelized sugar and sweet, juicy pears. Use the ripest, most flavorful pears you can find, since you want the flavor of the pears to stand up to the slightly burnt taste of the caramel. I recommend Comice or Bartlett pears, which have a heady, roselike aroma when ripe. Don’t be alarmed if the sugar hardens and crackles when you add the pears. Keep cooking, and the pears will dissolve the caramelized sugar nicely.

When I was going over the recipes to include in this book, next to this one my editor wrote in big letters “BY ALL MEANS.” So I took that as a “yes.” Because of the caramel, the mousse is slightly soft even when frozen, so it’s best stored in the coldest part of your freezer. But don’t forget about it back there. Once you taste it, I doubt that you will.

The surprising zip of fruit chutney counters the richness of mousse au chocolat and adds a whole other dimension to this unconventional dessert. I don’t know if it’s a combination the French would approve of, but when I made it as a pastry chef on a cruise line, a few thousand people gave their consent. Each plate that came back to the kitchen was scraped clean. Unlike traditional chocolate mousse that uses uncooked eggs, this one has a cooked custard base. So, there’s no reason for anyone with concerns about consuming raw eggs to jump ship rather than dive into this dessert full-steam ahead.

I’ve been living with a kitchen a fraction of the size of a normal kitchen for a number of years, so I’m always looking out for desserts that can be made with a minimum of fuss. And I’m happy when a dessert requires a minimal amount of counter space because between my imposing stand mixer and the half-eaten chocolate bars and other edibles scattered around my kitchen (and on my desk, and in my living room, and, I’m not embarrassed to say, sometimes even in the bathroom), I’m lucky to have enough space to peel a few pears. That’s a good thing, actually, because it means I can make this dessert all winter long, no matter what shape my kitchen counter is in. Once peeled, just pop the pears in the oven, and when they come out, strain out the liquid and use it as a base for one of the best—and easiest—caramel sauces imaginable.

I’m a big fan of fruit crisps. When I worked at Chez Panisse, I learned I wasn’t alone—they were more popular than our signature dark chocolate cake. But I’m not entirely convinced that I’d choose a fruit crisp over chocolate cake. Maybe I’d order both in the name of research. This fruit crisp topping, made with crunchy polenta, stands up well to the juiciest mélange of fruits. Here, I mix apples and pears, and it may seem like a lot of fruit when you’re doing all that peeling and slicing, but it cooks down considerably during baking. Use a good baking apple, such as Gravenstein, Winesap, Pippin, Northern Spy, or Cortland.

If you’ve never made brown butter, it’s simple. You put butter in a pan and cook it until it develops the wonderful nutty aroma for which the French named it: beurre noisette, or hazelnut butter. Here, custard flavored with brown butter provides a rich background for a tart filled with dark rum–spiked pears and toasted pecans.

An Italian acquaintance once pleaded, “Please—tell your American friends not to bring us any more maple syrup. Basta!” At first, I didn’t quite understand. I mean, who doesn’t love maple syrup? But then I remembered that while we Americans love to douse everything we can with the sticky stuff, Italians take their infamous 30-second breakfast by downing a quick espresso at their corner caffè and never belly up to a stack of pancakes or plate of waffles in the morning. Since I’m not Italian, any gifts of maple syrup are encouraged. And I promise not to save it just for breakfast.

In this light and elegant dessert, the pears turn a beautiful rosy color from the wine. The slightly tart taste of lemon topping drizzled over the pears and the crunch of toasted pistachios complete the dish.

While vacationing in Paris, I fell in love with the delicious fruit tarts. Here is my whole grain, sugar-free version with a fragrant frangipane filling made in the classic tradition using finely ground almonds. Now you can indulge and feel great afterwards. C’est magnifique.

I call this “company food”—as in, what can I make for company that’s easy but impressive? Poaching a pear sounds fancy, but all you’re doing is simmering it in a fruity broth. The poaching softens up the pear, making it a breeze to chew and digest. The Saffron Broth turns the pears a beautiful sunset yellow color. Or if you prefer, check out the vanilla and star anise variations below. All three are light, refreshing, and nourishing; if you’re looking for extra calories, top with a generous dollop of nut cream.

Chutney is a relish, but believe me, it doesn’t taste anything like the relish you’re probably used to. Here the mellow sweetness of the pears plays perfectly against the tartness of the apricots. The sour-sweet combo leaves those taste buds wanting more, kind of like delirious rock fans screaming for an encore, and they’ll stay at the table until their demands are satisfied! This chutney is also a nutritious alternative to jam or jelly. Any pear will work for this recipe; some of my favorites are Bosc, brown Asian, or Anjou.

This is a simple, elegant, not-too-sweet dessert that you can whip up in no time. I recommend using Bosc or Anjou pears in this recipe, because they hold their shape when baked.

Cold fruit salads like this one are an old-fashioned piece of Americana. You can find recipes for stuffed canned peaches and pears and other so-called salads like this one in historic Southern cookbooks and of course in classics like the Joy of Cooking and The Settlement Cookbook. You don’t see them much around anymore, which is a shame because this salad is cool and refreshing—a great thing to serve for a summer lunch or as a first course for a dinner party. It may seem weird nowadays to serve canned pears with mayo, but would I waste my time with something that wasn’t good as hell? I didn’t think so.

Crisps and crumbles—they are one and the same—were always a favorite in our family, and I miss having them on a regular basis. But I found it’s very easy to make just one portion in a small casserole dish (I use an onion-soup bowl).

This is the most amazing upside-down cake you’ll ever make. And if you don’t already know how, you’ll learn to make caramel—which used to scare me to death. I always worried about burning it. But making caramel does not have to be an intimidating process—you just have to pay attention. You also want to remember that this is a flipper situation; you need to make the bottom of your tart look pretty because it’s going to end up as the top.