Chocolate

Riso nero—black rice—is the dramatic name for a nursery dish offered to children as a light supper or as a sweet after a bit of broth or soup. It is most often just made with rice poached in milk that has been scented with cinnamon and mixed with a few shards of chocolate, the latter giving the dish its name as it melts and turns the rice a deep, dark color. Surely there are lovely similarities between it and pasta in nero della consolazione (page 118). Here I offer its comfort in a more adult version. The same prescriptions apply, though, as this is best presented after a light, reviving soup or, better, after no soup at all, so one can justify slipping one’s fork into the spiced, chocolate depths of a second or third piece of the sweet little pie.

A gastronomic heirloom of the coast, this is a humble recipe made from the bits and pieces of what was at hand, sometimes eaten as a principal dish or a contorno, a side dish, other times as a sweet. It is still presented— though in dramatically different versions—in cherished places such as Da Gemma in Amalfi. This take, however, is lighter, less vegetal than most of those with which we’ve been presented, the trick being the absolute thinness of the eggplant slices. This enables them to blend better with the other components, all of them then settling down together into a nicely married sort of flavor and texture. More eccentric than it is bizarre, this version of the ancestral dish turns out to be quite luscious.

The town of Scanno is bedded quaintly on a valley floor near the tortuous Gole del Sagittario—a mountain road called the “Throat of Sagittarius,” on the fringes of the Parco Nazionale degli Abruzzi, a national park and nature reserve. Bespeaking eloquently its Late Renaissance and Baroque past, its little streets and alleyways are warmed by artisans working in gold and silver and lacemakers with their small wooden hoops. The women—many of them, rather than only an archaic few—toddle through the enchanted tableau of the old village on Sundays garbed in long black skirts that rustle their arrival, their hair swept up in gorgeous and ornate headdresses of lace and velvet, their arms comforted in black woolen capes. Theirs is no quaint, historic burlesque. They are wearing the clothes that please them, that are faithful to their images of themselves, that honor their heritage. They are at their ease. A poetically costumed nonna (grandmother) admonishes her young grandson—in jeans and a T-shirt, his hair falling in soft brown curls below his shoulders—to be neither late nor in a hurry for Sunday dinner before she disappears through the small, humble portal of her home. Scanno, if one watches her carefully, will give view to a life inviolate. And these are her traditional biscuits, all chewy and full of spiced Renaissance perfumes and savors, lovely with good red wine, especially when it’s warmed and spiced with pepper and cloves, or, in summer, a little goblet of sweet, iced moscato.

Churros and chocolate have a long history at Lucques, and an even longer one in Spain, where they dominate the dessert scene in late-night cafés. The hot chocolate is made thick and syrupy sweet, meant for dipping the piping-hot crullers. In preparation for one Spanish-themed Sunday supper, my former pastry chef Kimberly Sklar experimented with traditional churro recipes from Spanish cookbooks. Though the flavors were good, the Spanish versions seemed a little too heavy and not tender enough for our liking. Then Kim tried a batch of pâte à choux, the traditional French dough used to make such pastries as cream puffs and éclairs. It was the perfect solution. Next we set out to conquer the chocolate. Again, in my opinion, the traditional Spanish hot chocolate was better in theory than in reality. Spaniards love sugar, and their version is just too sweet for my taste. Still thick and rich in the vein of the traditional chocolate, ours is super-chocolaty but not as cloyingly sweet. I like to add a generous pinch of salt, to play up the bittersweet notes of the chocolate. This is a festive, interactive dessert that requires some last-minute attention when it’s time to fry the churros. Make the batter and hot chocolate ahead, and just before you serve dessert, invite your friends into the kitchen to help you fry. It’s fun to watch the dough transform into deep golden brown snakes and then to roll them in the glittery cinnamon-sugar.

During my last year in high school, we were given 2 weeks off from classes for “senior projects.” While my peers pursued scuba diving, rock climbing, sailing, and photography, I headed to Ma Maison, the culinary pinnacle of Los Angeles, circa 1984. Being a girl in a French restaurant in 1984, I was led straight to the pastry kitchen. When I arrived, my fear of being in the way was quickly put to rest; the pastry chef had just been fired, and the sous-chef, Aisha, was running the show all alone. In no time at all, she had me making doughs, whipping mousses, and filling tart shells. Thrilled with my newfound pastry skills, I rushed home every day after work to re-create those desserts for my family. One of the first things I learned to make that spring was a classic lemon tart with a pâte sucrée crust. The first time I tried it at home, my chocoholic sister begged me to add some chocolate. I refused and stuck to the classic French recipe. But one day, when her birthday rolled around, I gave in to her suggestion. I melted some bittersweet chocolate, spread it over the baked crust, and waited for it to solidify. Nervously, I poured the warm lemon curd over and waited to see if it would work. It was the first time I’d ever deviated from a pastry recipe, and I was terrified I might ruin it. To Jessica’s delight (and mine, too), it was even better than the original. To this day, whenever this tart is on the Lucques menu, Jessica gloats, proud of our lemon-chocolate collaboration.

This nut tart is my dream dessert: sticky caramel poured into a buttery crust and studded with salty nuts. It’s a chewy, gooey delight, and whenever it’s on the menu at Lucques I can’t stop myself from sneaking over to the pastry station and cutting paper-thin slices to snack on. It’s also an addictive finger food, so encourage your guests to pick it up and eat it with their hands instead of struggling with a knife and fork. To turn it into a decadent, highbrow candy bar, drizzle some milk chocolate over each slice and dollop with cognac cream.

The vanilla bean is one of the wonders of the culinary world. Cured until nearly shriveled, black as a two-week-old banana, the slender pods have a sweetness that belies their appearance. The rich fragrance of true vanilla is so intense that, after my first encounter with a vanilla pot de crème in France, it seemed to permeate even my dreams. I have adapted this pot de crème recipe from one of my favorite cookbooks, Simply French, by Patricia Wells and Joel Robuchon. The French-inspired chocolate sablés were developed by my pastry chef Roxana Jullapat. Encourage your guests to use them as edible spoons to scoop up the rich, silky custard.

When I was growing up, I made on special occasions what my family called “the Hemingway dessert.” My father was obsessed with Ernest Hemingway. He was an avid collector of his first-edition books, and, despite his lack of academic credentials, somehow talked his way into the International Hemingway Society. My mom, Jessica, and I would tag along on their “Hemingway trips,” whose itineraries inevitably included many stops in remote villages to locate particular taverns, hotels, and cafés that the expatriate writer had at one time visited (drinking and carousing along the way, of course!). Closerie des Lilas, a bohemian café on the Left Bank, was one of Hemingway’s Parisian hangouts, and the place where this dessert originated under the name Coupe Hemingway. Don’t be afraid of making the meringue. Just remember, meringues are never good when they’re rushed, so be sure to give yourself enough time to bake them in a low oven until they’re dry and firm.

Every Mother’s Day, I like to put something on the menu in honor of my own mother. Since my mother’s busy career left little time for baking, coming up with a dessert that represents her is sometimes challenging. One Mother’s Day, in need of help, I turned to Caroline, my business partner, and pastry chef Kimberly Sklar for inspiration. They both began to reminisce about a moist chocolate-chip Bundt cake their mothers used to make when they were little. As they compared notes other staff joined in, starting a passionate debate about whether it was best made with mayonnaise or sour cream. Soon they had all worked themselves into a Bundt cake frenzy. With all this emotional attachment to a cake, you’d think that someone out of the group would have a recipe. Alas, no one did, and we were forced to start from scratch. After lots of trial and error with sunken cakes, soggy cakes, and just plain bad cakes, Kim and I managed to re-create a stellar version of the dessert, using only the very best chocolate and substituting rich crème fraîche for sour cream. Even if this decadent dessert wasn’t part of your childhood, once you taste it, it could become a favorite, maybe even something worthy of being passed down to your own children.

No, This is not my famous molten chocolate cake. While I’m glad the molten cake is as popular as it is, this simple cake is the dessert of choice in my home. It’s Chloe’s favorite, and mine, too. My mom used to make this for me as an after-school treat. Very, very moist, it’s like a brownie and tastes even better after it sits for a day.

One afternoon, I was craving chocolate mousse, but didn’t want to mess with eggs. I came up with this super-easy version. Temperature is key here: The cream should be thick and very cold when you whisk in the slightly cooled liquid chocolate. If the cream isn’t cold enough and the chocolate’s too hot, the mixture will melt. If the cream is too cold and the chocolate has cooled too much, the chocolate will solidify. You also want to avoid overwhipping the cream to keep this dessert luscious and creamy. Even if you don’t nail the texture the first time, it’ll still be delicious. What’s not to love about chocolate and cream?

This has long been a family favorite as an everyday kind of cake. A version of it is in my first book, Vegetariana, but here I’ve updated it—no more margarine, milk, or eggs, but the result is still a moist, rich, super-easy treat. I often make it when I’m asked to bring dessert to a gathering, and when I do, I double the recipe so I can leave one of the cakes at home!

This recipe is one of those that has been passed around from person to person, its origin unknown. I’ve tinkered with it, replacing margarine with oil and adding whole wheat pastry flour. I also concocted the simple frosting, which makes this moist cake totally delectable. Our extended family’s favorite cake for birthdays and other special occasions, this demands just minutes of hands-on time.

The preparation of this dessert is almost ridiculously easy, belying its showy result. Though I’d seen similar recipes in magazines for fruit pizzas, the first time I actually had this for dessert was in an Italian restaurant in Paris, presented as “Banana Pizza Chocolatino.” Combining a good-quality pizza crust and chocolate chips with bananas and another fresh fruit results in a most impressive dessert. Use a neutral-flavored crust for this, unembellished with herbs, dried tomatoes, or other savory flavors. I like sourdough, as its slight bite contrasts nicely with the sweet dark chocolate.

One winter evening some time ago, our younger son said he had an idea for a dessert, and ordered us all out of the kitchen. He made the caramel sauce from scratch, but it was rather involved and made a bit of a mess (though it tasted incredible). Since this is a book dedicated to ease, I’ve used prepared caramel syrup in this recipe. When I was finally allowed to peek into the kitchen, I saw that Evan had combined apples with chocolate, a combination I thought wouldn’t work well. Pears and chocolate, strawberries and chocolate, yes, but apples? It turns out I was wrong. We loved this dessert, and since then have had it regularly. With prepared caramel sauce, it’s a snap to make and strikes a wonderful balance of raw and cooked, healthy and decadent. It looks pretty, too. Lucky me to have such a great young dessert chef in the family!

Why end a dinner party with a cup of coffee when you can end it with mud pie? This coffee ice cream–based pie with an infusion of espresso, highlighted with Fudgy Brownie chunks and a crunchy, sweet Oreo crust, is great at any time of the year. Be sure to eat a light meal so that you have plenty of room for this addictive ice cream dessert!