European

Choose a fragrant, tasty variety of pear for this granita, such as Comice, Bartlett, or French butter. Few people think of pairing pears with chocolate, but it’s a surprisingly good combination, and once you taste it, you’ll wish you’d known about it sooner. Don’t hesitate to use one of my Perfect Pairings that follow the recipe to make up for lost time.

If you’re looking for a chocolate dessert that’s fudgy and festive without being fussy and filling, here it is. Using a top-quality cocoa powder and just the right amount of dark chocolate ensures that this granita will satisfy any and all chocolate lovers.

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.

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.…

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.

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.

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.

I wouldn’t dream of visiting the vast Central Market in Florence without my friend Judy Witts, known throughout town as the Divina Cucina. With Judy as my guide, butchers and cheese merchants greet us like given-up-for-lost family members, and everywhere we turn another oversized platter appears, heaped with Tuscan delights: sheep’s-milk pecorino, candied fruits spiced with mustard seeds, fresh raspberries dotted with syrupy balsamic vinegar, and, gulp, juicy tripe sandwiches (which I haven’t built up the courage to try). And because we’re in Italy, it all ends with shots of grappa taken straight from little glass vials, obbligatorio after all that sampling. This sorbetto is adapted from Judy’s recipe. One of her favorite parts is the little chocolate “seeds” it contains. Since watermelons have a lot of water, take the sorbetto out of the freezer long enough ahead of serving to make it scoopable, 5 to 10 minutes. To pass the time, serve shots of grappa, and if there’s any left by serving time, splash some over the sorbetto too.

My well-meaning hostess, knowing that I had come to Italy to sample chocolate and gelato, planned a special dinner in my honor. As we drove up the mountain to the restaurant, she turned to me and said, “We’ve arranged a special dinner just for you. Each and every course is going to have chocolate in it!” Gulp. Dinner was, um, interesting, and chocolate was indeed incorporated into each and every course—except for dessert! However, the chef presented us with a selection of ice creams, including one flavored with a fruity, locally pressed olive oil. Olive oil ice cream pairs remarkably well with summer fruits such as strawberries and apricots, and if you use a fruity Spanish Arbequina olive oil, you’ll find this ice cream is sublime drizzled with Lean Chocolate Sauce (page 165) too. Be sure to try it flecked with a few grains of coarse sea salt over the top.

Many apartment buildings in Paris, including mine, have a gardienne. Although their official duties are accepting deliveries and overseeing maintenance, they’re equally famous for being a steady (and remarkably reliable) source of gossip about your neighbors. My gardienne is Madame André, who has young children, so she was always quite happy to accept ice cream while I churned out recipes for this book. Of all the ice creams I gave her, this was her absolute favorite, and she went into Gallic raptures whenever she saw me for days and days afterward. I should probably recommend her for a job as my publicist too, since shortly thereafter I got a reputation in the building as being L’Américain qui fait des glaces, toujours! (the American who makes ice cream, all the time!). If you’re a rice pudding lover, this is the ice cream for you. And be sure to spread the word.

While navigating my way through the Barcelona train station, I was suddenly surrounded by a squadron of Spanish police, guns drawn, barking orders at me in Spanish. Aimed and ready, they gestured to me to open up the suspiciously overstuffed valise I was dragging. I carefully unzipped my bulky suitcase, revealing rows and rows of peculiar brown paper-wrapped bundles, all packed neatly in rows. An officer demanded that I unwrap one of the packages. I slowly tore the paper off the first one and held it high for all to see. The policemen let down their guns and had a good laugh. My crime? Smuggling home blocks of crispy Spanish turrón. This ice cream duplicates the taste of turrón with crispy almonds, honey, and a touch of candied orange, and it can be made, without raising any suspicions, in your ice cream maker at home.

True zabaglione—a foamy custard of egg yolks, wine, and sugar—is often made to order in Italian restaurants. Moments after the waiter takes your order, you’ll hear the frenetic “clang-clack-clang” of the whisk hitting the copper bowl in the kitchen. Once it’s reached a billowy peak, it’s heaped into a glass quickly but not necessarily neatly (speed trumps presentation with zabaglione) and served straight up and warm. In season, you’ll often find sliced strawberries buried underneath all that delicious froth. Zabaglione Gelato captures the taste of a true zabaglione in a cool scoop of ice cream without the last-minute flurry of activity, and it’s just as good served with lots of juicy strawberries.

On my first visit to Torino, I arrived in rabid pursuit of gianduja, a confection made from local hazelnuts ground with milk chocolate that is a specialty of the Piedmont region. I’d also never had gianduja gelato at the source. I did not leave disappointed. I watched with anticipation as the gelato maker at Caffè San Carlo smeared dense gelato from his gleaming freezer into a cone. It was hazelnut heaven. Use top-quality milk chocolate with at least 30 percent cocoa solids.

Here is another simple, delicious bean dish typical of what you might find in any Greek café. Be careful not to overcook the limas (unless you like them mushy), because they easily lose their shape with long cooking. The beauty of limas is that they have a very distinctive flavor and texture, both of which I adore. Serve the beans with a loaf of crusty country bread.

As I have mentioned, lentils and split peas are big in the rustic cuisines of so many countries. Greece is no exception. This very simple dish can either be served on a plate by itself as an appetizer for dipping warm pita or as a side with grilled vegetables and a salad.

Moussaka is a quintessential Greek dish, and one that every American knows. Usually a delicious dish of layered eggplant, ground beef or lamb, tomatoes, onions, and, best of all, a thick custard topping, moussaka is one of my personal favorites. This version calls for only vegetables, a not-uncommon variation found in rural Greece. It does well in the slow cooker, but may be just a bit juicier than if baked in an open casserole dish in the oven.

Wild mushrooms abound in the mountains of northern Greece, and like everywhere else in the world where wild mushrooms grow, they make their seasonal appearance in stewpots throughout the region. Much to the surprise of many nonresidents, pasta is very common in Greece, too.

This classic Greek soup is one of my favorites when I want to “lighten up” from a gustatory standpoint. It makes the perfect chicken soup substitute when you are just not feeling up to snuff, or a good light dinner when you’ve had enough of the restaurant-and-fine-dining circuit. It is traditionally made with chicken broth and small bits of chicken, but I think the meatless version yields even truer, clearer flavors. A touch of ground cumin adds yet another dimension to the flavor.