Citrus

If you make these for your friends, make sure you eat some right away, because they will evaporate if you walk away. Megan and I like our salsa saucy, more like a picante sauce, so we add some tomato sauce. But, if you like chunky salsa, you can skip the sauce and just use the diced tomatoes.

The unexpected crunch of poppy seeds in these very pretty, delicate cookie cups is the perfect foil for any homemade ice cream or a fruity sorbet.

When I was at culinary school in France, my instructor advised adding a bit of salt when candying citrus peel. When I asked why, he said that for some reason it made the peel soften, but he couldn’t explain why. So although it may be just a culinary superstition, I’ve added salt ever since. If you aren’t superstitious, simply toss the salt over your shoulder and candy the lemons without it. Although it’s not required equipment, a candy thermometer will show you when the lemon slices are done. Fit the saucepan with the thermometer before starting. When the peel is candied, it should read 225°F (107°C).

This is a terrific recipe for preserving fresh cherries during their relatively short season. As they cook, their ruby red juices gush out and continue to deepen in color until they thicken to a flavorful syrup. Before folding them into ice cream, you’ll want to make sure they’re dry, since the liquid will muddy the ice cream. Drain the cherries in a strainer for at least 1 hour first, until they are sticky and dry (save the syrup for drizzling over ice cream). Then coarsely chop the cherries, or fold them into the ice cream whole as you remove it from the machine. Candied cherries are excellent on top of Lemon Sherbet (page 116) or Olive Oil Ice Cream (page 83), and on any homemade ice cream sundae you make as well.

Do you have OSD? When you see something in a saucepan, do you find that you can’t stop yourself from giving it a stir? If so, you’ve probably got obsessive stirring disorder, and you need to curb that kind of behavior to caramelize sugar properly. Mix the sugar as little as possible, just enough to keep it from burning. Stirring encourages the jagged little crystals to join together and crystallize, which you want to avoid. If crystallization does start to happen, remove the pan from the heat and tenderly stir it to dissolve the crystals before adding the water and lemon juice. This lemony sauce is superb when drizzled over any lemon-flavored ice cream served in Profiteroles (page 232), or along with ice cream–filled Crêpes (page 233).

Not only does this chewy candied peel make a tasty tangle atop a scoop of citrus-flavored sorbet or ice cream, but it’s also terrific drained, finely chopped, and folded into just-churned Super Lemon Ice Cream (page 85), Fresh Ginger Ice Cream (page 43), or Cheesecake Ice Cream (page 62). If you don’t have a candy thermometer, simply cook the peel until most of the liquid has boiled away and the fine threads of peel are shiny and translucent.

Either cantaloupe or honeydew melon makes a wonderful granita. Use the best you find at the market. Be sure to heft a few and take a sniff to find the sweetest specimen.

I know people who are grapefruit dependent. They’re addicted to starting their day with half a pink grapefruit. They absolutely have to have one, and frankly, that’s a little odd to me. It’s not that I don’t like grapefruits, and I often buy them with the intention of following in the healthy footsteps of my grapefruit-dependent friends. But the next morning I wake up and honestly can’t seem to face anything but a much-needed, soothing pot of coffee and a couple of nonconfrontational slices of buttered toast. Later in the day, those pink grapefruits become more and more appealing though, and I’ll slice one in half and greedily attack the sections, slurping up the plentiful juice while perched over the sink to contain the mess from my assault. So perhaps I do have some grapefruit issues of my own, but I wait until later in the day before I succumb and take my tumble off the citrus wagon.

I love the word spremuta, which means “freshly pressed orange juice” in Italian. At any caffè, if you order one, you’ll be brought a tall, vivid red glass of juice served with a few packets of sugar and a long, slender spoon alongside. Although years ago Americans were astonished when confronted with blood orange juice, this colorful citrus fruit has become common stateside and can be found in many supermarkets and farmer’s markets. When sliced open, they reveal a brilliantly colored interior, and like snowflakes, each one intrigues me, since no two seem to be colored alike. The Moro variety of blood oranges is the most intensely colored, but other varieties, like Sanguinelli and Tarocco, make remarkably colorful granita as well.

Try this granita drizzled with a shot of tequila and sprinkled with a pinch of coarse salt for a Margranita.

The best grapes to use for making this granita are bold-tasting varieties. Full-flavored dark Muscat grapes are perfect, as are Concord grapes, sometimes referred to by winemakers as tasting “foxy.” Speaking of winemakers, just about any grapes used for winemaking make excellent granita. Don’t use the common seedless grapes found in supermarkets, though, since they don’t have much flavor once cooked. The amount of water will depend on the type of grapes you use. Before adding the water, taste the mixture. Add the smaller amount of water, and then taste it again to see if it needs more.

A few years back, while I was making a chocolate dessert during a cooking demonstration, I noticed a woman sitting in the third row was watching me with what I thought was disdain. Attempting to win her over, while everyone ate their samples I asked what she thought, and she responded matter-of-factly, “I don’t really like chocolate.” So smart-aleck me shot back, “You’re probably one of those lemon people!” To which she sheepishly nodded yes. I kept on baking and finished the class. But my accusatory words “one of those lemon people” stuck in my mind, and I worried for a long time that she might have been affronted by my comment. Years later, there she was again in my audience! I was happy to see her, since experts advocate finding resolution to traumatic events in your life (like meeting someone who doesn’t like chocolate). Attempting reparation, I asked if I had offended her several years back. She was surprised that I even remembered and said that no, she wasn’t offended in the least. In fact, she even brought me a tasty gift (not chocolate…but I’m letting that go) and then slipped off into the night. So this is my gift back to her, the mysterious lemon lover, whoever and wherever you are.

There’s a good reason mojitos have become all the rage. Made with rum and lots of fresh mint and lime juice, this lively Cuban cocktail practically begs to be made into a terrific granita. To make it more adult, drizzle a bit of extra rum over each serving and garnish with fresh mint sprigs.

Curiously, this granita really comes alive when a few grains of coarse salt are flecked over each serving. When I had friends over for a taste, they were surprised to see me salting their granita, but they quickly changed their minds when they tasted it. Try fleur de sel, hand-harvested salt crystals from France, or whisper-thin squares of Maldon salt, from England.

The arrival of cranberries in the fall magically coincides with the holiday food shopping frenzy. A wonder of nature? Or just good timing? Regardless, I’m happy whenever I find cranberries in abundance. Their flavor is invigorating and restorative, which is probably why they’re so popular around the time of year when many of us could use help after overindulging in copious holiday feasts.

Serve the delicate, rosy crystals of this granita with a pour of sparkling wine, making a rather sophisticated slushie. Or perfume it with a few drops of fragrant rosewater sprinkled over to transform it into something curiously exotic and a bit elusive.

Cutting up a papaya can be a rather messy affair, with the dark, slippery seeds spilling all over the place. I always eat a few of them, which I call the caviar of the fruit world. Try a few; you’ll find they’re quite spicy and peppery. If possible, choose a brilliant orange variety of papaya. I find Latin American markets usually have the widest selection, with the best coming from Central America or Hawaii. Sometimes you’ll find giant papayas cut into small pieces, which gives you a good chance to check out the color of the flesh beforehand.

This sorbet should be frozen right after it’s mixed to preserve the fresh flavor and color of the bananas. They should be very ripe. If you want to add a spoonful or more of dark rum to taste, feel free to do so. One of my testers, Joanna, mentioned that this was the most budget-friendly dessert she’d ever made.

If you don’t have fresh passion fruit or pulp, make do by adding more tangerine juice. But I do advise looking around for it (see Resources, page 237), since its unmistakable flavor gives this sorbet an authentic taste of the tropics.

When I was a professional baker, foodies would walk into the kitchen, look down their noses at my gorgeous flats of cultivated blueberries, and sneer, “Oh, I only like wild blueberries.” Then they’d stand there making idle chat while grabbing fistfuls of domestic blueberries and gobbling them up. Wild blueberries are indeed wonderful, but they can be hard to find (unlike annoying food snobs), so you can use any kind of blueberry here. Just don’t gobble them all up, or let anyone else do so, before you get a chance to use them.