Torte

I don’t have an Austrian bone in my body, but there was just something about the beloved linzertorte, Austria’s cross between a tart and a cake, that seemed ripe for an all-American adaptation. Traditionally, the crust is made with almonds and the filling is raspberry jam. But mine is made with peanuts and is filled with peanuts’ natural partner: grape jelly. Delicious on its own, linzertorte needs no accompaniment.

I’ve been unable to master Arabic, so I have no idea if there’s a translation for the phrase “snack cake.” My mother, who was half Syrian (and never mastered Arabic either), often made this cake for me when I was a kid. As an adult, I frequently find myself craving a piece for a snack. Or whatever a between-meal nibble is called. When I got the recipe from her, I read it through and noticed there wasn’t any butter in the cake. I figured it was probably a mistake, but when I baked it up, I found that no butter was necessary—the cake simply didn’t need it. It does benefit from a very generous dusting of powdered sugar, which can be a little messy, but part of the fun of Middle Eastern desserts is licking your sugary fingers after you’ve polished off the last bite.

I have always felt that cooking is the time to tell stories. In the sixties, when I learned to make this Passover carrot torte from Ruth Moos in Annecy, we talked about lots of things, but never about World War II. When I cook this torte now, after her death, I tell the story of how brave she was during the occupation. Not only did she help so many Jews trying to flee, but she had a narrow escape herself once. When the Annecy police warned the Mooses that the Gestapo was looking for her husband, Rudi, he went underground, hiding between the pork sausages and hams in a butcher’s smokehouse. Looking for him, the Gestapo went to the hotel where the Mooses had been hiding in nearby Talloires. Ruth, walking outside for a quick breath of fresh air while her tiny daughter was sleeping upstairs, turned around to see the Gestapo agents entering the lobby. In order to sneak past the guards, she grabbed some sheets from a chambermaid and, posing as a maid herself, climbed the stairs, passing the Gestapo. Terrified, she snatched her baby and fled to safety.

A fancy take on tiramisù: Layers of tender, espresso-infused cake, chocolate ganache, and espresso mousse.

The delicious breadcrumb crust was probably created when white flour wasn't readily available in Friuli.

This is a delicious, very delicate cake. It's served for dessert everywhere in Charleston, but I like it as a morning cake or afternoon snack. The recipe was named for a small but influential group of French Protestants who fled persecution by their Catholic countrymen and settled lands that became South Carolina more than a century before the Revolutionary War.

For more on assembling the torte, see "Prep School."

Akashah's tasty citrus torte is both gluten-free and a source of healthy unsaturated fat.

This layered dessert gets its name, volador, from the way the edges of the pastry "fly up" as they bake. The combination of thin, crackly pastry with creamy dulce de leche is unbeatable in its simplicity. Don't worry if the torte doesn't slice neatly—it's meant to be an informal dessert, the kind that invites guests to swipe crumbs from the serving platter and dip them into stray puddles of dulce de leche. It's too good to let a single bite go to waste.

This is a taste of prewar Hungary, from the family repertoire of my dear friend, Judy Abrams, gifted teacher and poet. Based on ground walnuts and leavened only with eggs, this light, fudge-luscious cake has not a jot of butter or flour, making it Passover-perfect for meat or dairy meals. To conclude a meat meal, it is delectable plain or dusted fancifully with confectioners' sugar (a Passover recipe without cornstarch below) or glazed with a simple chocolate icing. For a dairy dish, cover the torte in swirls of lightly sweetened whipped cream or serve with scoops of vanilla ice cream on the side, accompanied by a steaming cup of strong cappuccino. Enjoy this beautifully moist and virtually no-fail torte not just on Passover, but year round. When well wrapped (without icing), it keeps very well, tasting even better a day or two after it is made. As with all nut pastries, be sure the walnuts you are using are very fresh-tasting.

For dessert, Grimes was inspired by something from Vienna, a little farther along the Danube: linzertorte. It's traditionally made with hazelnuts and raspberry jam, but this version, with its warmly spiced almond pastry and vivid apricot filling, spoke to Grimes of the highly polished coffeehouses in that part of the world. Cooking dried apricots with brandy and sugar allows you to control the sweetness quotient, and the result is all about the magically musky, tangy fruit.

This fudgy cake is packed with intense, chocolaty richness.

Serve this elegant Euro-style treat with a sweet late-harvest Sauvignon Blanc.

Here's a real showstopper, with an exotic touch of cardamom. To crush the cardamom, place the seeds in a resealable plastic bag and tap with a rolling pin.

Ingredients of Sephardic cooking—dates, cardamom, and orange zest—bring a mosaic of Mediterranean scents and textures to the Passover table. The cake has a coarse crumb yet is incredibly moist and chewy, thanks to the dates. A sprinkle of our Passover version of powdered sugar dresses up the torte for a special occasion.

A little bit of olive oil makes this cake especially moist.

Caramel and tart Granny Smiths that turn almost saucy breathe new style into upside-down cake; toasted walnuts, ground with sugar and mixed into the batter, lend moistness, and their flavor is teased out with spices and a nip of almond extract.