Sauce

What is tzatziki you ask? It’s a cucumber sauce that they serve as a spread for pita bread in every Greek restaurant. And, if that doesn’t help, it’s the white sauce that they put on gyros. If you still don’t know what I mean, make it and you’ll find out.

Although we college kids are known for our love of pasta because it’s cheap and easy to make, that doesn’t mean it can’t also taste great and be low in calories. This dish is a perfect example of that. Shrimp Linguine Marinara tastes like an extravagant indulgence, but it’s only about 400 calories per serving.

I was going to call these “Walnuts Gone Wild” but took a less seamy route and decided on simply Wet Walnuts. You can draw your own conclusions. But there’s nothing indecent about these maple-glazed walnuts, except how good they taste.

All raspberry sauces need not be created equal. Unlike the previous sauce, this one is loaded with big, chunky raspberries. It was inspired by a sauce that baking guru Nick Malgieri whizzed up during a cooking demonstration, and I’ve been making it ever since.

I’m a big fan of the all-American blueberry, and why not? They’re so easy to transform into a versatile sauce that’s equally at ease atop Philly-friendly Cheesecake Ice Cream (page 62) or alongside Hollywood–healthy Vanilla Frozen Yogurt (page 49). Or forge a Franco-American alliance by adding crème de cassis, the deep, dark black currant liqueur from Dijon (see the Variation at the end of the recipe).

This sauce is so intensely flavored that just a minimum amount is needed for maximum impact. It goes particularly well over anything sharp and lemony, such as Super Lemon Ice Cream (page 85) or Lemon Sherbet (page 116).

Coulis is a fancy word that simply means a sauce made with fresh, uncooked ingredients. Feel free to change the mix of berries as you wish, depending on what’s available. If you find fresh red currants at your market, the tangy little berries are a wonderful addition.

We all need heroes in life. Someone to look up to, whom you idolize, and who does something that radically alters your life forever. For me, that person is Henri Le Roux, who makes caramel-butter-salt caramels (nicknamed CBS) in the seaside town of Quiberon, on the Atlantic coast of France. The residents of Brittany are famous for consuming shocking amounts of butter, most of it heavily flecked with coarse sea salt to preserve and complement its buttery goodness. When Monsieur Le Roux unwrapped one of his buttery, meltingly tender salted caramels and popped it in my mouth, I knew I’d found my hero. To get the same flavor, be sure to use a good-quality kosher or coarse sea salt, such as fleur de sel (see Resources, page 237), recognizable by its delicate, shimmering crystals. It makes quite a difference.

Although I like to make this chunky sauce all year long and I use it to top everything from Super Lemon Ice Cream (page 85) in the winter to Fresh Apricot Ice Cream (page 76) in the summer, you can make it more winter-holiday-friendly by adding a handful of dried cranberries in place of some of the pecans, using the variation at the end of the recipe. Then try it ladled over Cinnamon Ice Cream (page 38) for a real treat. If possible, make this sauce in advance and let it sit for a few hours, so all the ingredients have a chance to mingle and meld together deliciously.

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).

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 nothing that beats the taste of darkly caramelized sugar transformed by a pour of cream into a suave, velvety caramel sauce. If you’ve never made caramel before, it’s simple, but do take care, since the sugar gets very hot as it liquefies. Wear an oven mitt when stirring in the cream, and resist the temptation to gaze too closely into the pot while it’s bubbling and boiling away.

This decadently thick sauce is perfect if you’re nostalgic for the incredibly thick hot fudge sauce served in old-fashioned ice cream parlors, many of which are disappearing. I was inspired to use airy marshmallows (which hopefully won’t be disappearing anytime soon) as a foundation by the sauce served at Edy’s, a well-loved ice cream fountain in Berkeley, California, that (sadly) no longer exists.Warning: This sauce is very, very thick!

I love sticky marshmallow sauce perhaps more than anything else on earth. When it’s spooned over a hot fudge sundae, the combination sends me skyward to heaven. Make it for yourself and see what all the fuss is about. This sauce must be made just before serving, as it doesn’t hold well. But it never lasts long around my house, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble finding someone to help you finish it all up rather quickly either.

The coffee craze shows no sign of slowing down. And fueled by all that caffeine, it probably never will. This sauce combines coffee and chocolate into mocha, named after an Arabian port famous for its coffee. Somewhere along the line, chocolate got added, and “mocha” nowadays means coffee fortified with a good dose of chocolate.

This sauce is easy to put together and is lovely served with any of the dark chocolate ice creams or sorbets in this book. I appreciate it for its creamy sweetness, and it rarely fails to impress. Be sure to use top-quality, real white chocolate, which is actually ivory colored, due to an abundance of pure cocoa butter.

This is my favorite all-purpose chocolate sauce. Although the name says lean, it tastes anything but. It’s a wonderful alternative to richer chocolate sauces spiked with cream or butter, and gets its flavor from lots of chocolate and cocoa powder (an important reason to use the best you can find). This sauce gets gloriously thicker the longer it sits, which I find makes a reasonable excuse for keeping a batch on hand in the refrigerator at all times.

This sauce is very rich and very thick. If you prefer your hot fudge on the sweeter side, this is the one for you.

A chef once asked me if all pastry chefs were crazy. To be honest, we do have that reputation, since many of us are indeed crazed perfectionists. If we get something in our minds, we’re not satisfied until it’s just right. When I imagined the perfect hot fudge sauce, I envisioned it being gooey, shiny, silky smooth, and full of deep, dark chocolate flavor. So I tinkered around until I came up with the perfect version of this sauce.

Vietnamese cooks, particularly those from the southern region, love to add creamy richness to their sweets by drizzling on a little of this sauce (called nuoc cot dua ngot) right before serving. I don’t limit my uses to Viet preparations; this simple sauce can grace many Southeast Asian foods. Somewhat thick like yogurt, the sauce can be prepared days in advance for you to use cold, warm, or at room temperature.