Frozen Dessert

Sitting in the sun, overlooking the beach, I could drink margaritas all day. Unfortunately, or maybe I should say, fortunately, I don’t live in a warm climate or anywhere near a beach. If I did, I’d never get anything done. Whenever I’m looking for a taste of the tropics at home in Paris, I’ll start squeezing limes in my kitchen and I’m immediately transported to paradise (albeit with bills piled up on the counter and the dishes in the sink). Practically obligatory to serve alongside margarita sorbet are salted peanut cookies. They were inspired by the disks of solid peanut paste sold in Mexican markets called mazapan or dulce de cacahuate, which I’ve been known to nibble on with a margarita, or two, south of the border. And above it, as well.

If you can’t decide whether to serve something chocolatey or fruity for dessert, this sorbet is for you (and your guests). It’s incredibly easy to make, and even people like me, who aren’t especially fond of chocolate and fruit combinations, will be won over.

The first time I split open a passion fruit and slurped down the dripping juices, the intense flavor knocked me for such a loop that I felt as if a tropical bomb had gone off in my head. From then on, I was hooked. Depending on where you live, fresh passion fruit may be hard to find, but they’re well worth tracking down. Don’t shy away from ones that are a tad wrinkled, as the creases indicate ripeness (they’re often marked down in price, too!). You can also buy frozen passion fruit purée (see Resources, page 270), which is inexpensive and convenient. It’s great to have on hand in the freezer: I’ll often lop off a chunk and add it to a pitcher of orange juice for a morning tropical blast.

I read an article in a magazine about the difference between being “frugal” and “cheap” and was relieved to find myself in the frugal category. I’m certainly not cheap when it comes to buying ingredients, but it does go against my frugal nature to throw anything away. Here, oranges do double duty: the insides supply the juice and the rinds become the serving dishes for the sorbet. Those who are extra thrifty can candy some of the leftover peels to go alongside (see Candied Orange Peel, page 254). Egg whites left over from another project can be used to make the fluffy meringue that hides the sorbet surprise underneath.

There were quite a few things I missed about the Bay Area when I packed up my bags and moved to France. Burritos, bean-to-bar chocolates, and “centered” people were some of them. Okay, I didn’t miss the centered people. But I was surprised at how much I missed Meyer lemons, which are sweeter and more perfumed than regular Eureka lemons. Their vibrant, deep yellow color makes other lemons pale in comparison. If you’re lucky enough to know someone with a Meyer lemon tree, you’re likely to be handed a large sack of them when the fruits are in season. Some greengrocers and specialty markets now carry them, too. Otherwise, you can use regular Eureka lemons in this recipe, but increase the sugar to 1 cup (200 g).

In the ’80s, sangria’s reputation took a nosedive when it came to be known as a syrupy-sweet wine sold in green bottles with a toreador deftly skirting a charging bull on the label. But if you go to Spain, you’ll quickly realize that real sangria isn’t a sugary liquid confection, but a fruity, icy cold drink that goes down easily, especially when the temperature outside is soaring. This simple-to-make sorbet turns sangria into a frozen dessert that’s even more refreshing than it is as a beverage. And that’s no bull.

Lots of people eat grapes out of hand, but they don’t quite know what else to do with them. Well, I do. I use them to make sorbet. Though seedless grapes are great for snacking, they’re the least flavorful varieties. If you’re lucky enough to live near a farmers’ market, or if you can get your hands on grapes that are good for wine making, like Chardonnay, Merlot, or Zinfandel, you’ll find they make the most amazing sorbets. I have a few older Jewish aunts who swear that Concord grapes make good wine (that comes in a square bottle). I’m not so convinced about the wine, but Concord grapes do, indeed, make one of my favorite sorbets.

Somewhere along the way, mint sherbet got a bad rap. Perhaps too many catered wedding receptions began with a pallid artificially green scoop melting away in the middle of a melon half, the sherbet chosen because it matched the bridesmaids’ dresses rather than for its taste. Thankfully, any color you’ll find in this mint sherbet comes naturally from a big handful of fragrant, zesty fresh mint. Unlike ice cream, sherbet is usually made with milk, and no cream or eggs, so I never feel guilty about indulging in a couple of scoops. Nor do I feel deprived if I’m craving something a tad creamy. Light yet creamy—it’s a recipe for a perfect marriage.

In case anyone thinks that the Internet is a cold, impersonal place, I’ve got evidence to prove them wrong. One day, completely out of the blue, I received an e-mail from a server who worked at a restaurant where I’d been the pastry chef, saying that not only did I have the sweetest smile, but that she loved the sherbets and sorbets that I made there. I don’t know which compliment was more touching, but I take any and all whenever I can, and via whatever medium they are sent. This was one of the sherbets I made at that restaurant, where I remember a different server taking a bite and her face lighting right up. “This tastes like a Mounds bar!” she exclaimed with a mix of surprise and delight. For me, that was another compliment, since that’s one of my favorite candy bars.

There are some very strange people out there who claim not to like coconut. I don’t know how on earth a person couldn’t love something that’s naturally sweet, creamy, and the ideal companion to any and all tropical fruits—and a perfect mate to chocolate, too. This sherbet drizzled with Bittersweet Chocolate Sauce (page 243) will make a coconut convert of any nonbeliever.

Some folks tell me they don’t like white chocolate. “It’s not chocolate!” they’ll say with a bit of smug certitude. True, but that’s like saying “I don’t like Champagne because it’s not white wine.” Both have merits and to say you don’t like one because it isn’t the other isn’t very logical. I fall into the camp of white chocolate lovers. To convince people of how good white chocolate can be, I often make ice cream with it and add fresh ginger for spicy contrast. And if that’s not enough, I stir in shiny, dark chocolate–covered roasted peanuts to give it nice crunch. If anyone still has any resistance to white chocolate, I call it their loss and am happy to eat the ice cream all by myself.

My parents were pretty strict with desserts. I wasn’t completely deprived, but sweets were few and far between. (I’ve since made up for lost time.) One treat they did keep on hand was a bag of store-bought pecan shortbreads, which were quite thick, had a sandy texture, and seemed a bit more sophisticated and “adult” than most other supermarket snacks. Whenever these cookies were in the house, I ate as many as I could and left a seriously plundered bag for my parents to discover. Times have changed and I’m sure the quantity of pecans in those cookies has dwindled since the good ol’ days. Now that I’m all grown up, I can enjoy pecans in any way I choose, and that doesn’t mean just pecan shortbread, but also this rich pecan-studded ice cream.

This is the world’s easiest ice cream. It takes literally a minute to put together, and doesn’t require an ice cream maker. You just toss everything in a blender, then pour the mixture into a container and freeze it, so there’s no excuse for even the machineless not to enjoy homemade ice cream. The one caveat is that the generous amount of alcohol is necessary to prevent the ice cream from freezing too hard. The good news is that all that booze means you don’t have to share your ice cream with the kids.

The first time I went to Mexico, I had no idea that ice cream was such a popular treat there. I had always associated ice cream with Italy, France, and the United States. Who knew? During that first trip, and more than a few subsequent ones, I made it a point to try the more unusual flavors, like ice cream flavored with cheese, smoked milk, and kernels of corn, and even fried ice cream (which was delicious!). But as much as I enjoyed trying new ice creams, I always found myself going back to chocolate. Here’s a recipe inspired by those coarse chunks of chocolate for sale in Mexico. They taste nothing like the disks of Mexican “drinking chocolate” sold in America, which are mostly sugar and rather skimpy on the chocolate. For this ice cream, use real chocolate and add freshly ground cinnamon for the best flavor.

When you live in San Francisco, it’s likely that at least 50 percent of your friends are real estate agents. One of my realtor friends is whippet-thin because he’s always watching what he eats. But he met his match with this frozen dessert. When he isn’t trying to talk me into buying or selling something, he talks about this gelato. People often ask about the difference between ice cream and gelato. As with most things Italian, it depends on whom you ask. But most people agree that gelato has a lower-fat base, which allows the flavors to shine through. This chocolate gelato has no cream and is proof of that theory. As is the waistline of a certain San Francisco realtor. This gelato is inspired by a recipe from Marcella Hazan.

If there’s anything better than a big, melty scoop of caramel ice cream, I don’t know what it could be. On second thought, I take that back. How about a big scoop of caramel ice doused with lots of warm chocolate sauce and sprinkled with toasted pecans? To make this ice cream the most perfect caramel ice cream you’ll ever eat, it’s crucial to cook the sugar until it’s dark amber in color and as close to—but just shy of—burnt as possible. I call it “taking it right to the edge.” I like the flavor of the ice cream made with the larger amount of salt, but because some people are salt sensitive, the recipe says to start with less, then taste the custard and add more if desired. No matter how long it’s frozen, this caramel ice cream stays scoopably soft, a big relief to those of us who are irked by homemade ice cream that freezes rock-solid and delays immediate gratification.

This is the vanilla ice cream recipe that I’ve been using for over three decades, and I’ve not found one better. Some ask why I choose to use both vanilla extract and a bean. While I love the taste that the bean infuses into the custard, I find that a little extract boosts and brightens the vanilla flavor tremendously, so I use both. You can use any kind of vanilla you prefer: Bourbon is the strongest, Tahitian is more floral, or real Mexican (not the cheap stuff), which is a revelation if you haven’t had it.

Whenever I create a new dessert or want to reinterpret a classic one I am often inspired by other cuisines. During a visit to Italy I had a ricotta cheese granita and, although I have never seen one in Mexico, it inspired this raspado. I’ve incorporated apples, which are a classic pairing with cheese, to make a raspado that is unusual and unexpected—but certainly very, very tasty.

This type of ice is very popular, and why wouldn’t it be? It has the perfect combination of sweet ripe mangoes, spiciness, a little acidity, and saltiness. This recipe calls for chamoy, a sauce or condiment made from pickled fruit, usually apricots or plums. Chamoy is a little salty and acidic and it’s an acquired taste, but I personally love it and encourage you to try it if you haven’t.

Glorias are a typical dessert in Veracruz. Traditionally, they use a syrup made from grosellas, a small red fruit similar to a red currant. Since it’s hard to find grosellas outside of Mexico (but by all means use them if you have access!), I used the syrup from the Raspado Rojo as a successful alternative. However, you can also use red currant marmalade by thinning the marmalade with a bit of water and cooking it over low-medium heat until you obtain a light syrup consistency (you can blend it if it’s chunky). I was quite surprised that I liked this concoction because I’d imagined it was going to be super sweet—but the ice helped balanced everything out.