Pineapple

Nothing can compare to a Virginia baked ham, but any good-quality ham used in this recipe will yield surprisingly delicious results. This is truly one of those foolproof throw-everything-in-the-cooker-and-walk-away kind of dishes. Mashed potatoes and green beans make a great accompaniment.

My mom thinks these might be more ’60s than ’80s, but they sound ’80s to me, so here they are. These open-faced grilled cheese sandwiches are easy to make and sure to get a comment or two from your friends.

The sweet-tart taste of candied pineapple spiked with real vanilla makes a lovely accompaniment paired with any tropical fruit–flavored ice cream or sorbet. Be sure to cook the pineapple long enough so the juices and sugar mingle together and caramelize to a dark amber color for maximum flavor.

Curiously, this granita really comes alive when a few grains of coarse salt are flecked over each serving. When I had friends over for a taste, they were surprised to see me salting their granita, but they quickly changed their minds when they tasted it. Try fleur de sel, hand-harvested salt crystals from France, or whisper-thin squares of Maldon salt, from England.

I’ll bet Dom Pérignon, the monk who is often given credit for inventing Champagne, would be turning over in his grave if he knew I had mixed his fizzy elixir with pineapple. But I’m sure I’d have his blessing if he tasted how good this combination is.

If you don’t have fresh passion fruit or pulp, make do by adding more tangerine juice. But I do advise looking around for it (see Resources, page 237), since its unmistakable flavor gives this sorbet an authentic taste of the tropics.

If I was stranded on a deserted tropical island and could have only one dessert, this would be my choice. Admittedly, it would likely be my only choice, since all the ingredients are native to the tropics.

Once upon a time, before the advent of mass transportation, only the rich were privileged enough to taste pineapples. They became a status symbol, meaning that one had great wealth and enjoyed much prosperity if one was able to afford them. Nowadays, fresh pineapples are available just about everywhere, and few of us have to deprive ourselves of enjoying a juicy, sweet pineapple whenever we want. Now that’s my idea of progress. To peel a fresh pineapple, use a knife to lop off the bottom and the top. Cut away the skin and pry out any “eyes” with the tip of a vegetable peeler. Then cut the pineapple flesh into quarters and remove the tough inner core.

Eating is practically a sport in Singapore, and these very popular pastries are part of he city-state’s eclectic and irresistible cuisine. Possibly Portuguese in origin, these intensely flavored pineapple tarts come in many shapes, from fancy open-faced tarts to carefully carved tiny pineapples. However, for the Lunar New Year, they’re made to resemble tangerines, a symbol of good fortune; in Chinese, tangerine is a homonym for “gold.” A decorative clove (not meant for consumption!) sits atop each one to mimic the fruit’s stem. Traditionally, fresh grated pineapple is used, but many modern cooks opt for canned pineapple. A long simmering turns the fragrant pineapple into a lovely amber-colored jam resembling tangerine flesh. Instead of adding food coloring to the egg-yolk glaze to enhance the pastry’s appearance, I add a touch of ground annatto seed to brighten up the dough. Without the natural colorant, the pastries still taste great.

I make this marmalade in the dead of winter whenever my collection of confitures is running low, since, happily, good pineapple is always available. One pineapple yields a lot of jam—another thing to be happy about. The best way to judge if a pineapple is truly ripe is to take a whiff. If the fruit is ripe, it will smell strong and sweet and the flesh will be sweet, too. Using the old wives’ tale method of plucking a leaf from the top just means you’re going to get strange looks from the people in the produce department. And if you do it in France, where I live, you might even be reprimanded.

If you’re having a party, this dessert is the most dramatic way I can think of to dazzle the crowd, no matter the setting. I made this towering version of the classic baked Alaska for the birthday of my friend Susan Loomis, who lives in the rural French countryside, and I don’t think the locals ever saw anything like it. Nor have they stopped talking about it, as I learned from subsequent visits. It left quite an impression! In spite of the fanciful name, baked Alaska is simply made of layers of ice cream or sorbet, a cakelike bed for them to rest on, and billows of meringue to cover it all. The recipes for the sorbets make 1 pint (500 ml) each. The recipe for the toasted coconut ice cream makes about 1 quart (1 liter), so there will be more than enough to fill up the bowl that the baked Alaska is built in.

One of the questions I’m often asked is “How do you stay so thin?” I want to respond by saying that I’m about average for my height and age, but instead I tell people that I eat only my own desserts. I’m not just being a salesman, it’s close to the truth. Aside from the occasional treat, for everyday meals, I prefer to make desserts that are well balanced rather than outrageously rich. I’ll often serve small slivers of cake, a plate of cookies, or scoops of icy sorbet along with a fresh fruit compote and have never met with resistance from any of my guests. When it comes to this virtuous fruit soup, the thin sheet of crackly coconut meringue always seals the deal for those who are doubtful that lean can taste luxurious.

I was in line at an outdoor market in Paris and une dame d’un certain âge in front of me was getting a lesson on preparing rhubarb from la vendeuse, who insisted that rhubarb absolutely, positively had to be peeled before cooking. Having prepared quite a bit of rhubarb, often in a professional capacity, I figured I could add my deux centimes, so I spoke up, telling them that I’d never done that and that it really wasn’t necessary. Immediately, the line of French housewives erupted, insisting that yes, you simply must peel rhubarb. Seeing as I was outnumbered, I decided to not argue the point. Safely back at home, I’ll admit with confidence that I’ve never found the need to peel rhubarb for a recipe, but I have experimented with using it in unconventional ways and found that it has a remarkable affinity for pineapple and raspberries, a mix that makes a delicious fruit cobbler—which no one should have any quibbles with.

I’ve found that as I get older, I tend to forget about the things that aren’t all that important to me, like paying bills, what day it is, and so on. But I never, ever forget a dessert. A few decades ago, some friends who had lived in Brazil for a few years invited me for dinner and served bien me sabe, a moist concoction of sponge cake and coconut cream. And I never got it out of my head how fantastic that simple combination tasted. Years later, when I was the pastry chef at a restaurant that specialized in Asian cooking, I had the opportunity to seek out and use all sorts of tropical fruit, many of which I hadn’t ever seen before. And I thought bien me sabe would be the perfect backdrop for a jumble of exotic flavors. Although I’ve used the types of tropical fruit that are the most widely available, feel free to add or use others in place of what I’ve suggested. But just be sure to heat them through, as most tropical fruits contain a heat-sensitive enzyme that causes custards to break down. I learned this the hard way. I like the way large shreds of fresh coconut look on top of this dessert. If you have the inclination, crack one open, shave off large shards, and toast them to use as garnish.

This light, playful salad can wear several pairs of shoes. While substantial enough to be a main course when you just don’t feel like heating up the kitchen, it also makes a great mealtime bookend, equally pleasing as an inviting appetizer or as an exotic dessert.

This is the kind of drink that made me feel like a grown-up when I was little. It feels like a cocktail, but there’s no alcohol (though you could certainly add some vodka or rum). You can make it with precut canned pineapple, but it’s so much tastier if you get a fresh, whole pineapple and use that.

When I was growing up, my sister and I often went to the market with my mom. There was a great juice stand where they made all kinds of aguas frescas and smoothies. This was my sister’s favorite one. It’s incredibly refreshing, and really good for you, too. The type of alfalfa used for these drinks resembles wheat grass and is grown abundantly in Mexico; you may be able to find alfalfa at nurseries and farmers’ markets. Pineapple is commonly mixed with a variety of green herbs. In the Yucatan, for example, it’s often blended with chaya. If you can’t find alfalfa or chaya, use a couple tablespoons of fresh mint.

Perhaps piña coladas are cliché, but there’s a reason why they’re still very popular: because pineapple and coconut make a perfect combination. I’ve never been much of a coconut person myself, but my sister absolutely loves them and would always get a virgin piña colada when we went to the beach. Holding a large green coconut that was bigger than her head, she would position herself on a chair, fixing her hair or hat and imagining she was a glamorous movie star. She would then carefully sip through the straw as slowly as she could, but always managed to finish drinking the coconut water within a few minutes. This recipe is for her.

In Mexico, fruit and chiles are often found together: in fruit stands, where ground chiles are sprinkled over freshly cut fruit; in fruit-flavored lollipops covered with ground chiles; and in many different ice pops. The spiciness in these ice pops comes from a chile-infused syrup and chunks of fresh pineapple tossed with ground chiles, so they have different layers of flavor and spiciness.

This filling adds a little tropical flavor to a basic vanilla sponge cake. Frost it with whipped cream and you’re done. For a special vegan dessert, top the Dairy-Free Cheesecake (page 62) with this sweet and tangy topping.