Herbs & Spices

Megan and I absolutely love Snickerdoodles, but neither of us likes to roll them into balls. So, one of us will mix the dough, and then we begin “let’s make a deal” with our parents. Offering to do chores seems to be our most effective bargaining chip to trade for rolling: we have washed dishes, cooked dinner, cleaned the litter box, and when it’s a double batch, even cleaned our rooms.

Cinnamon rolls are a family favorite. We used to make them with yeast and had to let them rise twice. But, while visiting Germany I found this faster method of making the dough. These are best eaten warm for optimal gooeyness (that’s the technical term). But don’t worry if they get cool, they reheat perfectly in the microwave. These are also really good with a cup of chopped pecans sprinkled in the bottom of the pan.

These cookie chunks are inspired by the famous spiced cookies from Belgium, which are zippier than American gingersnaps. Soft-baked Speculoos meld wonderfully when folded into ice cream, but if you’d like to make them crunchier, break the cookies into little bite-sized nuggets and toast them in a low oven (325°F, 165°C) for about 10 minutes, until dry and crispy. Cool completely, then fold the crunchy bits into your ice cream.

These mint disks are adapted from a recipe passed on to me by Elizabeth Falkner, the owner of San Francisco’s deservedly popular Citizen Cake bakery. The mixture is simple to put together, and you can adjust the mint flavor to your liking. Taste a bit and add more if you wish, as mint extracts and oils vary. I make my Peppermint Patties very minty, which is especially important when they’re crumbled into deep, dark chocolate ice cream, a combination I call “The Girl Scout Cookie Effect.”

It’s often said that when selling your home, you should bake something aromatic and spicy to entrance potential buyers with the homey scent wafting from the kitchen. These pecans are simple enough to make in the mad scramble before opening your house to strangers, and there’s no better way to fill your home with a heady mix of spices. I recommend folding them into Bourbon Ice Cream (see Variation, page 24), which you can happily eat to celebrate the closing of the deal.

I think of cajeta as the risotto of dessert sauces, since it’s made on the stovetop and requires vigilant attention while it simmers and transforms itself from ordinary ingredients (milk and sugar) into a deeply browned, sticky-sweet paste. The first cajeta I tasted was made in Mexico from goat’s milk, and it was absolutely the best thing I’d ever tasted. Since you might not be able to find goat’s milk, or it may not be to your taste, cow’s milk makes yummy cajeta as well. Begin your cajeta in a very large pot, with a capacity of at least 8 quarts (8 liters), since the mixture can bubble up unexpectedly. It should be a heavy-duty pot with a thick bottom. Be sure to pay attention while you’re cooking it, especially during the last 20 minutes, when it’s vital to keep watch. If you don’t stir it constantly during that final stage of cooking, it’s likely to scorch on the bottom. If it does, simply strain it to remove any browned bits.

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.

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.

Few folks are as opinionated about all things apple as Frank Browning, whom I’ve dubbed the Apple Autocrat. Frank grew up on an apple farm in Kentucky, which nurtured his headstrong, southern-style convictions regarding apples. He offered this recipe from An Apple Harvest, which he cowrote with Sharon Silva, but absolutely insisted that I make it only in the fall, when good-tasting, red-skinned apples are in abundance. So wait I did. Okay… I didn’t wait. But please don’t tell Frank. I made this during the spring using Jonagold apples, which worked great. And although Frank insisted I use Gewürztraminer, I made it with a dry Riesling instead (blame my rebellious Yankee spirit). So feel free to use any tasty, red-skinned apple, but don’t use bland Red Delicious ones, or you might get yourself a Kentucky-style comeuppance.

After an exotic Indian or Moroccan feast, sprinkle this ice cream (and your guests) with a few drops of rosewater and top it all off (the ice cream, not your guests) with a few toasted pine nuts. For a stunning presentation, serve it on a platter with thinly sliced oranges dusted with cinnamon and scattered with candied French Almonds (page 189).

If you’re lucky enough to snag a reservation at Le Grand Véfour, the restaurant that presides over the splendid Palais Royal in Paris, you’ll be treated to a culinary tour de force. In this jewel box of a restaurant, my advice is to sit back and let chef Guy Martin and his staff pamper you like royalty, which they have elevated to an art. When it comes time for dessert, you scan the menu, but… “Can that be right?” you think to yourself, trying to recall snippets of your high school French. Indeed, chef Martin is fond of using vegetables in unexpected ways, often in desserts. But if you’ve ever enjoyed a wedge of carrot cake, you’ll know that it’s not so strange. This ice cream is inspired by a dessert I had at his restaurant: a small, crispy cone filled with bright green ice cream that had the dewy taste of tiny spring peas. At home, in addition to serving it for dessert, I’ve found that it makes a lovely garnish to a bowl of chilled summer soup.

This ice cream is very popular at a wine bar I frequent, where it’s served floating in a fruit soup surrounded by fresh berries. The contrast between the parsley-flecked ice cream and the rosy red berries floating in pink syrup is almost too lovely to eat. But after a few glasses of wine, inhibitions are lost and you’re more susceptible to sly attempts of culinary persuasion. Believe me, the combination sounds perfectly reasonable after a couple of glasses of Chablis. I use only flat-leaf parsley, which has a subtle hint of anise flavor. It first gets blanched and then shocked in ice water to preserve its brilliant green color. Note that this recipe makes only about a pint of ice cream, perfect for a small get-together. Double the amounts if you wish.

Italians will often serve a Torta di Verdura for dessert, a cross between a cake and a tart packed with leafy greens. The first time I tried it I was unsure if I’d like it, but I found it unusually delicious and devoured the slice offered. Italian basil, which has a slight aniselike scent, provides the base for this herbaceous ice cream. This is wonderful to make in the summer when large bunches of basil are abundantly available at the market.

Standing in front of an immense, intricately carved wooden door in Fez, Morocco, my guide handed me a big bunch of fresh mint, shoving it firmly under my nose and telling me not to move it from there or I’d be sorry. Sure enough, when the gate swung open and we entered a tannery I kept my face deeply buried in the mint, as advised, and was happy for the good advice. Afterward I didn’t want to part with it since I love the aroma of fresh mint so much. I use mint for much more than an air freshener. It makes a wonderfully invigorating ice cream. I’ve planted mint in my garden against the warnings of friends, who say it’ll take over before I know it, but I’ve never had a problem using it all. And they’ve never had a problem eating the ice cream I make from it either.

I’ll admit that my favorite selection from the shiny white Good Humor jalopy that cruised our neighborhood was simply called Toasted Coconut: vanilla ice cream on a stick, coated with lots of sugary-sweet coconut. On the last fateful day that I’d ever see the Good Humor man, the bully next door decided to spray him with water from a hose as he slowly circled our block. He beat a hasty retreat and never came back. Being blackballed by the Good Humor man made that the worst summer of my life. I don’t know what happened to the neighborhood bully, but now that I’m an adult I can have Toasted Coconut Ice Cream whenever I want. And I do. This ice cream is pictured marbled with Mango Sorbet (page 108).

After a big meal, when I feel like I can’t eat another bite, I like a dessert that’s been infused with an intriguing flavor, like Szechwan pepper, to coax my taste buds back to life. This ice cream starts off comfortably, with the familiar flavor of orange, and then comes alive with a kick from the Szechwan peppercorns.

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.

Fortunately, I once worked with pastry chef Mary Canales. Unfortunately, our time together lasted merely a few hours. I was ending my tenure at Chez Panisse, and she was just beginning hers. But I liked her instantly, and we kept in touch. Years later, she decided to open an ice cream shop, Ici, in Berkeley, and I was thrilled when her ice creams became legendary in the Bay Area. Here’s the most popular flavor from her vast repertoire. Panforte is a Italian cake, a Tuscan specialty that’s so dense and delicious that it’s practically a confection. And like the best panforte, Mary’s ice cream has the perfect balance of spices, toasted almonds, and candied orange peel.

The Marché d’Aligre is the liveliest market in Paris. In the center, there’s a marvelous épicerie, with bins brimming with things familiar and unusual: various grains and spices, plump dried fruits, organic honey, bars of chocolate, and artisan candies from all over France. It’s my one-stop shop for anything délicieux! When I stopped by to get some lavender flowers, José Ferré, the proprietor, shooed me away from the basket in his window and stepped into the back room. A minute later he returned dragging an enormous sack of dark purple lavender flowers that had just arrived from Provence. He gestured toward the bag, so I stuck my head in and inhaled deeply. The perfumed bouquet of the freshly harvested lavender flowers was ethereal. Of course, those lavender flowers made amazing ice cream. Try to find the most fragrant lavender flowers you can, wherever you live, and be sure to use lavender flowers that are intended for consumption.

If you need to liven things up around your holiday table, this tipsy ice cream will do the trick. Warm apple crisp, cranberry upside-down cake, or the ever-popular pumpkin pie—all are improved with a sidecar of this frozen version of eggnog. This will definitely make those obligatory family get-togethers a bit less traumatic…which I offer on very good authority. The simplest way to measure freshly grated nutmeg, which is the only kind you should use, is to fold a sheet of paper in half, reopen it, and grate the nutmeg over the paper. Then fold the paper again to direct the nutmeg into the measuring spoon.