Frozen Dessert

Cutting up a papaya can be a rather messy affair, with the dark, slippery seeds spilling all over the place. I always eat a few of them, which I call the caviar of the fruit world. Try a few; you’ll find they’re quite spicy and peppery. If possible, choose a brilliant orange variety of papaya. I find Latin American markets usually have the widest selection, with the best coming from Central America or Hawaii. Sometimes you’ll find giant papayas cut into small pieces, which gives you a good chance to check out the color of the flesh beforehand.

I once wanted to try my hand at making coconut milk and read that the best way to crack open a coconut is to mimic the way monkeys do it. So I went out to my driveway, lifted my coconut high above my head, and sent it crashing down to the pavement. Suddenly, I began to feel rather wet from my knees down, and I realized that the watery liquid had splashed everywhere, saturating my shoes and trousers. I suppose I should have followed those instructions more literally. Since monkeys don’t wear clothing, I probably should have removed mine first. So if you see a scantily clad man hurling coconuts around in your neighborhood, don’t call the police. It’s probably me preparing the ingredients for this really delicious sorbet, which combines two of my favorite flavors: dark, bittersweet chocolate and sweet coconut. On second thought, maybe I should just stick to store-bought coconut milk from now on.…

This granita is a favorite in Italy, where they top it with what seems like an unspeakable amount of whipped cream, which I see many Americans scraping off just after they walk out the door—to the shock of passing Italians. You don’t need to heap it on quite as high, but a dollop of Whipped Cream (page 170) is always a welcome, and sometimes necessary, counterpoint to the strong coffee.

One of the best-tasting plums for cooking and eating is the Santa Rosa plum. Their meaty, succulent yellow flesh contrasts in color and flavor with the tangy purple skin. When cooked together, the sweet-tart flavors meld perfectly to make a heavenly granita. If you find it a bit too tart, serve it with a dollop of Whipped Cream (page 170).

Nectarines make a particularly enticing summertime granita that definitely merits precious freezer space as the temperature climbs. I patiently wait and wait for the first of the sweetest-smelling nectarines to appear, and then bang—I hit the markets, buying as many as I can. Try serving this granita surrounded by a mixture of raspberries, blueberries, and sliced strawberries sweetened with a touch of honey.

Inspired by the classic Kir Royale, this granita makes a similarly elegant after-dinner dessert. Because of the quantity of Champagne in this recipe, it takes bit longer to freeze than other granitas.

This sorbet should be frozen right after it’s mixed to preserve the fresh flavor and color of the bananas. They should be very ripe. If you want to add a spoonful or more of dark rum to taste, feel free to do so. One of my testers, Joanna, mentioned that this was the most budget-friendly dessert she’d ever made.

Kiwis are people from New Zealand. Kiwifruits are the emerald green fruits that we consume. The difference is important to New Zealanders, who are apt to look somewhat terrified if you present them with a bowl of sorbet and proudly tell them is made from fresh kiwis.

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.

When I was a professional baker, foodies would walk into the kitchen, look down their noses at my gorgeous flats of cultivated blueberries, and sneer, “Oh, I only like wild blueberries.” Then they’d stand there making idle chat while grabbing fistfuls of domestic blueberries and gobbling them up. Wild blueberries are indeed wonderful, but they can be hard to find (unlike annoying food snobs), so you can use any kind of blueberry here. Just don’t gobble them all up, or let anyone else do so, before you get a chance to use them.

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.

Should you ever find yourself in Spain, withering away during the fierce heat of summer, rejuvenate with the locals at one of the many heladerías that make the country a top destination for any ice cream aficionado. I always order leche merengada, a cinnamon-and-lemon-flavored frozen meringue. To make it more invigorating, I sometimes ask for a shot of high-strength café exprés poured over.

Although the official title of this recipe is Raspberry-Champagne Sorbet, I invite you to improvise, and economize, by substituting a sparkly cava from Spain or a prosecco from Italy, which provide an equally lively sparkle. Have a tasting (and invite me!) and find one that you like. Here’s a tip: The one in the black bottle is a good budget option. Note that this recipe makes a small quantity, as the sorbet is better when it’s soft and freshly churned, and doesn’t improve with age. If you’re expecting lots of guests or just have a big appetite, simply double the recipe.

My lifelong dream is to own an ice cream shop. But rather than start from scratch, there’s one in Paris that I used to dream of taking over: Raimo. The interior was a perfectly preserved midcentury ice cream parlor, with curved, undulating ceilings, shiny leather-and-chrome swivel chairs, and a truly contemporary touch for a city as old as Paris—a machine dispensing ice water. Très moderne. In spite of an unfortunate recent remodel, Raimo still serves an unusual frozen glace called fleur de lait, which means “flower of milk.” Although they once invited me into the workshop for a tasting, I was too intimidated to ask for the recipe. So I played around in my kitchen and got it just right by using cornstarch instead of eggs, which not only preserves the milky whiteness of the cream and milk but also adds a pleasing richness that’s not overwhelming. If you ever come to Paris, stop in at Raimo. And if you see me behind the counter churning away, you’ll know I’m no longer just a contented customer but a happier glacier.

The flavor of raspberries is so intense that they can simply be blended with milk and sugar and made into this sumptuous, full-flavored sherbet. The mixture is best frozen right after you’ve blended together the ingredients, which preserves the vivid taste of the raspberries.

If you’ve ever gone shopping at the Fairway Market on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, you’ve found that the simple act of buying a good basket of strawberries has become a full-contact sport. Never in my life have I left a market with so many bumps and bruises! Next time I go, I’m wearing football gear to protect myself from the combative shoppers who wield their carts like modern-day jousting vehicles, ready to take on any and all oncoming produce shoppers who might happen to be heading toward the basket of berries they’ve set their sights on. If you think this is just an East Coast phenomenon, you should visit the Berkeley Bowl, in California, where people who’ve just parked their Volvos with fading “Make Love, Not War” bumper stickers are more than happy to hike up their drawstring pants and trample you with their Birkenstocks while homing in on their berries. But no matter where you live, I recommend that you take the trouble and assume all risks to find good strawberries with which to make this intensely flavored sorbet at home, where you’re safe and sound.

I’m insatiable when it comes to fresh cherries, and I eat pounds and pounds of them right off the stem during their ridiculously brief season, which I’m convinced is one of nature’s cruelest acts. But their characteristic flavor really becomes pronounced when warmed, so I sauté them first to deepen their luxurious flavor. Be sure to start with full-flavored, very dark cherries, like plump Burlat cherries or blackish red Bings.

You can tell a lot about people by looking in their freezer. Next time you’re at a friend’s house, peek in theirs and you’ll discover their most hidden desires. One secret I am willing to share is that I’m hopelessly frugal and it’s impossible for me to throw anything away, no matter how trivial. One day when I had lots of blackberries on hand, I pulled out one of my buried treasures, a small container of frozen lime juice left over from an overanxious lime-buying spree. I was curious about how the tart lime juice would play against the sweet blackberries. Happily, it was a great combination, and it’s one secret I don’t need to keep to myself. Although I recommend that you use freshly squeezed juice, frozen lime juice that you’ve kept well concealed is the next best thing.