European

The almond-scented French cakes known as financiers are traditionally baked in small rectangular shapes meant to resemble bars of gold. Unless you’re loaded, you likely don’t have 12 fancy, expensive French rectangular baking molds lying around, so I’ve adapted this recipe for baking in a standard-size muffin tin, which works beautifully—and won’t lead you to finanicial ruin.

I’m a big fan of fruit crisps. When I worked at Chez Panisse, I learned I wasn’t alone—they were more popular than our signature dark chocolate cake. But I’m not entirely convinced that I’d choose a fruit crisp over chocolate cake. Maybe I’d order both in the name of research. This fruit crisp topping, made with crunchy polenta, stands up well to the juiciest mélange of fruits. Here, I mix apples and pears, and it may seem like a lot of fruit when you’re doing all that peeling and slicing, but it cooks down considerably during baking. Use a good baking apple, such as Gravenstein, Winesap, Pippin, Northern Spy, or Cortland.

Friend and fellow baker Dede Wilson presented me with a slice of this tart after she made it on television. Believe me, if every viewer could have tasted it, ratings would’ve gone through the roof! The name of this tart is a little deceptive, just as television sometimes is. The recipe calls for almond paste, not marzipan, as the title suggest. (Marzipan is almond paste’s sweeter cousin that’s used for molding and modeling.) Yes, Dede took some liberties when she named her creation, but no matter what it’s called, this tart is renewed season after season in my kitchen.

This is an unusual tart. Not just for its brilliant red color, but for how it takes people by surprise when it’s turned out onto a serving platter. Be sure to plan in advance, as the apples really benefit from marinating in the red wine for at least one day, although two days of steeping gives them the best color. You’ll find the tart worth the wait.

If you’ve never made brown butter, it’s simple. You put butter in a pan and cook it until it develops the wonderful nutty aroma for which the French named it: beurre noisette, or hazelnut butter. Here, custard flavored with brown butter provides a rich background for a tart filled with dark rum–spiked pears and toasted pecans.

I love a good, classic version of tarte Tatin, the famed French caramelized-apple tart, as much as the next guy—probably even more. But adding slices of quince makes this variation extra inviting to me. If you’re unfamiliar with quince, a cousin of the apple, it’s likely because they’re inedible in their raw state, so they tend to get neglected by folks who don’t know about the seductive, beguiling flavor that’s coaxed out of them by cooking. Like apples, quince are in season in the fall, and they’re easy to find by following your nose; when they’re ripe, their scent is rather intoxicating. I often keep a bowl of them on my dining table to perfume my entire apartment.

American cheesecake is to Italian cheesecake what slouching around the house in a sweatshirt and jeans is to stepping out on the town in a tailored Armani suit. When I stopped comparing Italian cheesecake to its comfy American cousin, I was finally won over. Made with ricotta cheese instead of pounds of cream cheese and sour cream, it’s lighter and leaner, and perfectly accompanied by fresh fruit compotes or colorful sauces. For best results, use whole-milk ricotta cheese. Or even better, seek out fresh ricotta from a local producer. And be sure to watch it carefully during baking, taking it out when it is just barely set.

The Basque region is an area that spans the border between Spain and France, where a strong sense of nationalism has fueled a desire for independence among some of the Basque people. (I recommend not bringing up the topic if you go for a visit.) But one thing that all sides can agree on is that gâteau Basque is one of the region’s tastiest achievements and a great source of pride. I’m an impartial observer, but I am partial to this dessert, which is a cross between a cake and big cookie. But being Basque, it’s naturally subject to controversy: some versions have pastry cream sandwiched between the layers and others are filled with cherry jam. While happily tasting my way through various examples in the region, I’ve enjoyed versions of both, which is a pretty good way to keep the peace. Don’t be too concerned if the dough falls apart as you roll it; it can be pinched together and will still bake up perfectly.

During a baking demonstration, I once inadvertently blurted out, “I don’t like sweet things,” at which point the room erupted with laughter. I didn’t quite see what was so funny until someone pointed out that I was making desserts. Well, yes. I was. But it’s true—I don’t really like oversweet desserts. I adore caramel and toffee more than anyone, but I like them paired with something to balance the sweetness. Sticky toffee pudding is the Holy Grail for toffee lovers. My version is topped with slices of kumquats as a puckery counterpoint to the gooey-rich sweet toffee.

Inspiration can strike at the strangest times and in the most unlikely places. I was in the men’s room at Racines, a restaurant in Paris. While I was momentarily preoccupied with other things, my mind wandered and I scanned the wall facing me, which was plastered with poems and drawings from local artists. Much to my surprise, in the midst of it all was a recipe for chocolate cake. When I returned to my table, I noticed a chocolate cake with the same name on the menu, so I ordered it. It was so delicious that I excused myself again, this time taking a pad of paper and pen with me. At the restaurant, the cake is baked with a handful of cocoa nibs strewn over the top. Cocoa nibs are unsweetened roasted bits of cocoa beans; they’re pretty widely available nowadays. Their slightly bitter chocolate crunch makes a big difference in the flavor and texture of the cake, but you can leave them off if you can’t find them.

I’m not a fan of fancy, complicated desserts, but I am a fan of anything delicious—especially when it involves caramelized nuts, chocolate ganache, and Cognac-flavored crème fraîche, as this cake does. True, this recipe requires a few steps to gather the components, but slicing layers of nutty meringue and spreading layers of crackly praline cream never feels like work to me. Like all good things, marjolaine is worth the effort. To make things easy, instead of laborious buttercream, I make a simple crème fraîche–based icing, which adds a distinctive tangy flavor and isn’t so rich. You can make the praline and the meringue days in advance, and the marjolaine should be assembled at least a day before it is served to give the flavors a chance to marry, so you can stage out the preparation. It’s really not difficult to assemble once you’ve gotten the components organized. And I guarantee, when you proudly glide a slick layer of chocolate ganache over the top and then take that first bite, you’ll be congratulating yourself on a job well done.

Despite the seemingly Indian name and ingredients, Chicken Tikka Masala is a decidedly British dish. While cooking spiced chicken in a traditional Indian tandoor oven is certainly nothing new, the British made it more to their liking by serving it in a rich, creamy tomato gravy, perfect to mop up with pieces of naan or pita bread. Its popularity soared, eventually leading Britain’s former foreign secretary Robin Cook to declare, “Chicken Tikka Masala is now Britain’s true national dish, not only because it is the most popular, but because it is a perfect illustration of the way Britain absorbs and adapts external influences.” Well then, they shouldn’t mind if I throw in a bit of Sriracha. . . .

Spain just might be the genius of the food world. While Spanish cuisine certainly isn’t my all-time favorite, Spain sure does churn out a lot of my favorite dishes. Among them is gazpacho, a delightful chilled soup that cries for a hot summer day and a cold, crisp cerveza. If you are unable to find Persian cucumbers, feel free to substitute the English or hothouse variety.

This creamy Greek dip is king atop pita bread or pita chips, but it also finds a home alongside fresh veggies, grilled meats, or piping-hot falafel. If you are unable to find Persian cucumbers, feel free to substitute the English or hothouse variety.

While certainly decadent enough on its own as a dip for crusty baguette or chewy ciabatta, this pesto is right at home as a base spread for all sorts of panini. Of course, it’s also a natural tossed in with penne or fusilli pasta (hot or cold), and it makes an excellent marinade or finishing sauce for chicken, salmon, or any delicate whitefish.

Substituting evaporated skim milk for some of the cream reduces the fat yet maintains the richness of this classic dessert sauce.

Is there anything more impressive and exciting than a flaming dessert? It’s not nearly as complicated as you might imagine, and what better way to make your guests feel special? You can make these crêpes in advance. Refrigerate them for up to 5 days or freeze them with waxed paper between each crêpe. Just bring the crêpes to room temperature and warm on a baking sheet in a 350°F oven for 5 minutes before serving.

While vacationing in Paris, I fell in love with the delicious fruit tarts. Here is my whole grain, sugar-free version with a fragrant frangipane filling made in the classic tradition using finely ground almonds. Now you can indulge and feel great afterwards. C’est magnifique.

I cooked for a lot of crazy signoras when I lived in Italy, and one of them whipped me into shape by insisting that the tomatoes for tomato sauce be put through a food mill first. For the uninitiated, it’s kind of like an old coffee mill, but with a more tightly geared hand crank. In would go the roasted tomatoes, and each crank by hand would squeeze them through holes in the side of the mill. I needed a tube of Bengay for my arms after the first batch, but the result is a far lighter sauce than any store-bought variety. If you’re not up for the workout, just lightly pulse the tomatoes in a food processor.

The Italians are beautiful because they’ve turned what is essentially peasant fare into an internationally renowned cuisine. Take pappa al pomodoro. Fancy, huh? Can you say, “Day-old knot of stale bread in tomatoes and water?” A staple there, a delicacy here. The same goes for minestrone, which I’ve always claimed is Italian for “Whatever is in the pantry goes in the pot!” Actually, minestrone comes from the array of dishes known as cucina povera or “poor kitchen.” It’s a bit of a misnomer, though, as minestrone is rich in vital nutrients, most notably lycopene, a phytochemical in tomatoes that has anticancer properties, especially with prostate cancer.