Pudding

This recipe is very similar to the last, only a bit grander.

This rice pudding is known as kheer in North India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh, and eaten under different names throughout South Asia. It consists, in its basic version, of nothing more than milk, cardamom for flavor and aroma, rice, and sugar. In villages and towns, rice harvests are generally celebrated with a kheer. In some communities, new husbands and wives feed each other a spoonful of kheer during the final part of the wedding ritual. It may be served lukewarm, at room temperature, or cold. Because it is associated with celebration, expensive ingredients are often added, such as saffron, nuts, and dried fruit. Here is the basic version, the one I love the most; you may scatter a tablespoon of chopped pistachios over the top before serving.

This pudding is cooked just like the preceding one but with a few additions.

Tapioca pearls and sago pearls are made from two completely different plants, the first from the starchy tapioca/cassava root and the other from the starchy pith removed from the trunk of the sago palm. One originated in the New World, the other in Southeast Asia. Yet the two are endlessly confused. Since their starch is very similar, it hardly matters where cooking is concerned. Indian grocers often put both names, tapioca pearls and sagudana or sabudana (sago pearls), on the same packet. I grew up with this kheer, or pudding. When I came home from school in the middle of a hot afternoon, my mother would have individual terra-cotta bowls of this waiting in the refrigerator. It was very simple and basic, nothing more than milk, sago, cardamom for flavor, and sugar. We called it sagudanay ki kheer, or sago pearl pudding, though it may well have been made with tapioca pearls.

It looks like white opaline encrusted with little stones. When it is served, it trembles like a jelly. It is customary for an admiring audience to compliment a belly dancer by comparing her tummy to a balouza.

The name means “Ali’s mother,” and it is the most popular sweet in Egypt. I had never heard of it when I lived there, but now it is everywhere. People in Cairo say it arrived in the city from the villages of Upper Egypt, but there it is said to be from Cairo. One joker explained that it was a bread pudding introduced by a Miss O’Malley, an Irish mistress of the Khedive Ismail. Go and believe him! People find all sorts of ways of making it—with pancakes, with thinly rolled-out puff pastry, with pieces of bread, and with fillo pastry. Fillo gives the most appealing texture, and it is good to bake the pastry initially rather than fry it in butter as is usual in Egypt.

Mastic, the resin from the lentisk tree, a native of the Greek island of Chios, gives this homely pudding an intriguing and, to me, very delicious flavor. (Lebanese pronounce it miskeh, and some restaurants wrongly call it “musk.”) It is bought in small translucent grains or crystals. You have to pound or grind them to a powder with a pinch of sugar.

This Turkish cream with ground almonds is one of my favorite milk puddings.

This intriguing rice pudding made with water—not milk—called zerde in Turkey and sholezard in Iran, has a delicate flavor and pretty, jellylike appearance.

Muhallabiya is the most popular Lebanese dessert. In restaurants it is usually made with cornstarch. At home, ground rice or a mixture of both is used. It is a special refinement to pour a little honey syrup over the top and to garnish it with a large amount of chopped nuts. It is very easy to make, but it needs attention and patience during the long stirring.

Rice pudding is a homely pudding. Topped by a fruit compote such as stewed apricots, it becomes elegant, dinner-party fare. It is also good served with rose petal jam, which you can buy in Middle Eastern stores. Gum mastic (see recipe on page 321) gives the pudding an intriguing, and to me, very delicious flavor, but it is optional. Serve the pudding cold.

Turkey has a very wide range of milk puddings. I once spent much of one night watching specialist milk pudding–makers at work, endlessly stirring creams in giant copper cauldrons. They said they had to work at night because that was when the milk arrived, which was why, they complained, they could not recruit young people to do the job. I don’t blame them. This pudding, made with ground almonds, is my favorite.

Egg yolks give this version of rice pudding a wonderful creamy texture. It has a delicate taste of rose water and mastic. The mastic—unfortunately labeled “gum mastic”—has nothing at all to do with the waterproof filler called mastic, nor with the glue called “gum arabic” sold in the building trades. It is an aromatic resin from trees that grow on the Greek island of Chios. It comes in tiny translucent grains. Be careful not to use too much as it results in a bitter taste. You must pound and grind the grains with a teaspoon of sugar to a fine powder in a pestle with a mortar. A few drops of vanilla essence are an alternative flavoring if you cannot get gum mastic. The pudding is addictive, homely, comfort food. A brittle caramel topping turns it into a more glamorous option.

Corn pudding is deliciously simple to put together.

Semolina cooked in cream becomes a thick, delicious porridge, with an almost puddinglike consistency, that can be enjoyed many ways. In Sardinia I have had it as an appetizer with honey drizzled on top, and as a dessert with a sauce of mirto, or myrtle. I loved both! And I’ve made it as a warm breakfast treat, too. Here I give you mazzafrissa as a dessert, with a lovely blueberry sauce (strawberries or cherries or other seasonal berries would be good, too). Scoop the warm cereal into serving bowls and top with the blueberry sauce, or serve the sauce on the side and let your guests help themselves.

This delightful pudding is a fine example of the art of using leftovers to make something fresh and new (without evidence of recycling). Here, crumbled biscotti, chopped chocolate, and chopped hazelnuts are mixed into the warm custard. As it cools and sets, the dry cookies absorb and meld with the custard, but also contribute their flavor and texture. This recipe is one upon which you can improvise, using whatever sweet remnants you have on hand, whether ginger snaps or shortbread cookies, or bits of dry sponge cake or pound cake.

Biancomangiare (known as “blancmange” in French and English) is a very old milk-pudding dessert that food historians say has been made since the Middle Ages, in countries from the Middle East to Scandinavia. I am delighted with this modern biancomangiare, which I had recently in Valle d’Aosta. Rich with cream, flavored with both vanilla bean and almond extract, and molded in individual ramekins, it is quite similar to panna cotta. So, if you and your family like panna cotta, you will love this, too. The puddings are lovely as is, unmolded onto plates, with their caramel syrup. They’re even better served with poached fruit in season, such as poached pears or cherries. For a special touch, have the poached fruit ready when you make the biancomangiare. Place a pear half or a few big cherries in the bottom of each ramekin or cup just before filling with the sweet pudding mixture. When you unmold it, the biancomangiare will be crowned with the fruit and glistening with caramel.

My friend Mario Piccozzi and I discovered this deluxe version of bread pudding on a winter visit to Merano, the historic resort town in the middle of the Alps, in Alto Adige. It was the perfect dessert on a cold day, served in its baking dish, still warm from the oven. Spooning the pudding onto plates, I was thrilled to find it loaded with apple chunks and walnuts, oozing rich custard and bubbling apricot jam. I make this at home now (it’s very easy) and serve it just as they do in Merano, family-style, setting the steaming, gold-topped pudding in the middle of the table, with a serving spoon and lots of plates. It disappears fast.

The secret to Sticky Toffee Pudding sweetness is dates, baked into a dense cake that's drizzled with caramel—special enough to be served for company and simple enough to be enjoyed after a weeknight dinner.

No yolk: Egg whites and meringue cookies are virtually fat-free, making way for heavy cream in this chocolaty dish. And yet each portion comes in at only 234 calories.