Yogurt

From Greece to India, a variation of this condiment is a standard accompaniment to most meals. It’s a versatile recipe to have in your arsenal, as it lends a light richness to grilled chicken or fish, bean soups, and almost any dish of Mediterranean origin. Try adding a little minced garlic, currants, raisins, fresh dill, or lemon juice. If you can’t find fresh mint, use dried

This is a delicious low-fat version of a standard curry dish. You might think that low-fat means you won’t be full, but with all the potatoes and chicken in this easy-to-prepare meal, even big eaters will be satisfied. Curry can be a refreshing change especially if you’ve gotten stuck in a culinary rut.

This frozen yogurt is a snap to put together, especially welcome in the summer which is when you may want to limit your time in a warm kitchen. But don’t let its ease of preparation fool you; this vibrantly colored frozen yogurt provides the biggest blast of strawberry flavor imaginable.

Unlike some of the other frozen yogurts in this book, I only make this with plain, unstrained yogurt. Since the peach purée is so velvety thick, this frozen yogurt has a lovely consistency when frozen.

When I wrote my first book on desserts, I told the story of the blueberry bush my father planted when I was growing up, which was an early lesson in disappointment (there were many more to come, but that was the first). As soon as the berries would ripen, the wily and evil blackbirds would come and snag any and all berries before I got to taste even one. When I returned home about a year ago, my sister had just sold the house and was moving away, and I noticed that the lonely berry bush was still there. And still devoid of berries. Although I gave up hope a long time ago, I considered warning the family moving in not to get their hopes up for any ripe blueberries. But I decided to let them find out on their own. They’ll learn the same lesson I did, and end up buying blueberries at the store, where the blackbirds can’t get them. Hopefully they’ll spare themselves the disappointment of a life as unfulfilled as mine, devoid of homegrown blueberries.

What do you say when a nice Jewish boy gives up a promising career as a lawyer to become a self-appointed “amateur gourmet”? (“Oy!” his mom probably said.) When the audacious amateur himself, Adam Roberts, used my recipe for Strawberry Frozen Yogurt (page 91) as inspiration for churning up a batch of Sour Cherry Frozen Yogurt, he posted the results on his web site, www.amateurgourmet.com. It was an idea too delicious not to include in this book. However, when pressed for minor details like, say, a recipe or exact quantities, Adam played the amateur card and feigned ignorance, forcing a certain professional to do his duty. This recipe calls for sour cherries, which are different from their sweeter counterparts and sometimes require a bit of foraging to find (Adam found his at Manhattan’s Greenmarket). Their tiny little pits can easily be slipped out by squeezing the cherries with your fingers or with the help of a cherry pitter.

I really like frozen yogurt, but only if it’s homemade. So don’t expect this to taste like the frozen yogurt that squirts out of the machine at the mall. That kind is loaded with so much other stuff that any similarity to real yogurt is purely coincidental. Homemade frozen yogurt has a delightful tanginess and is a bit lighter than traditional ice cream. I choose to keep mine pure, relying on good whole-milk yogurt to provide much of the flavor. If you do want to make a dense, richer frozen yogurt, see the variation below.

When my father was in the army, he and his bunkmates would eagerly anticipate the care packages that would arrive from home, filled with cookies and cakes. But in lieu of homemade goodies, their Brazilian bunkmate would get sacks of aromatic coffee beans. He’d carefully prepare single, tiny cups of coffee by crushing a few of the highly prized beans between two metal spoons and then drizzling boiling water over them, creating perhaps the most labor-intensive cup of coffee ever. But I’m sure the effort was well worth it. Make sure the espresso you use for this recipe is excellent; your effort will be appreciated as well.

During the month long observance of Ramadan, devout Muslims are asked to go without eating anything substantial from sunup to sundown. Harira is a soup that is traditionally served to break the fast after sundown in Morocco. Although harira is most often prepared with lamb or chicken, a mighty savory version can also be prepared without meat.

All right, Armenia can’t really be considered “Middle East,” but it is part of the botanically very important Trans-Causcasian region that begins in Iran. Botanically important because nearly all of our favorite stone fruits (cherries, peaches, apricots, etc.) had their beginnings in this region. This unusual soup combines the apricots of the region with lentils and vegetables. There are many variations and many ingredient possibilities, including bell peppers, tomatoes, mint, allspice, cinnamon, and paprika. In some versions, the lentils and vegetables are left whole; in others, they are puréed. Vary the soup to suit your taste.

Hummus is everywhere in Mediterranean cultures. In Greece, it is generally served as an appetizer, swimming in olive oil, accompanied by pita triangles, feta cheese and olives. In the United States, it is also served as a dip for raw vegetables, and often has other ingredients, such as roasted red peppers or pine nuts, blended right in. The basic formula is pretty simple: chickpeas (garbanzo beans), tahini (sesame butter), lemon juice, salt, and olive oil. Proportions of the basic ingredients may be varied in accordance with your taste. Less garlic, more garlic, less tahini . . . whatever. Play around with it and see what you get. Fattet is a sort of Middle Eastern layered casserole or salad. Taking a left turn at traditional, it occurred to me that you could easily make a sort of Middle Eastern tostada using some of the common ingredients found in the dish.

Muslims from Persia and Central Asia invaded India from the north and ruled much of the country during the sixteenth to eighteenth centuries. As a culture, they are called “Mogul.” They brought with them a period of relative peace and affluence, unifying the native cultures and cuisines of India with those of the Persian Empire. Adding yogurt to a dish is a Mogul touch, as is sealing food with dough in a clay pot and cooking it directly over the coals of a fire. The following recipe is a typical Mogul-style dish, cooked in your slow cooker instead of over a fire. Add the yogurt at the last minute to avoid curdling. (Note: If you cut the eggplant into cubes, the dish makes an excellent sauce for pasta.) Serve with basmati rice.

Recipes aren’t written in stone, which is a good thing (literally speaking), because lifting a cookbook would be a Herculean chore, and because (figuratively speaking), I love to tinker with recipes and am always thinking of ways to improve them. Lemon has always been one of my favorite flavors of frozen yogurt, as I like things that are tart and tangy. But I often wondered how some commercial lemon ice creams and frozen yogurts got that extra zing that homemade batches lacked. The answer came to me when I was in an ethnic spice market and saw little bags of citric acid crystals. I brought some home and did a test, adding just a few granules to the frozen yogurt mix before churning. When I dug my spoon in, I realized with the first taste that I’d found exactly the flavor I was looking for.

This is one big, tall, scrumptious dessert: layers of moist banana cake topped with a mocha ganachelike frosting, and crowned with handfuls of salted candied peanuts. Speaking of tall and scrumptious, I made this cake for a friend who’s a showgirl at the Lido in Paris as a thank you for allowing me a behind-the-scenes visit. She shared it with her colleagues between high kicks on stage and she assured me that even though those women are leggy and lean, their cake-eating capacity knew no limits. The next morning, I read an email, sent at 3 A.M., undoubtedly just after the last curtain call, giving the cake quite a few thumbs up. Or, should I say, a few legs up?

To boost the reputation of the much-maligned fruitcake, I wanted to create a version quite different from those sticky, oversweet loaves riddled with iridescent fruit and soggy pecans. This recipe was my answer: an exceptionally moist loaf, chockablock with freshly toasted nuts, perky dried cherries, and a double wallop of chocolate flavor, courtesy of cocoa powder and lots of chocolate chips. I was glad that my modern-tasting fruitcake made converts out of those who tried it. But I didn’t expect that so many would want to give it a traditional soaking of spirits to preserve the cake. I set to work and experimented a few times, but I had a hunch that something was amiss when I noticed some movement underneath the gauze wrapping. I unwrapped the cake and . . . well, let’s just say I discovered I was only one of the many creatures who enjoy this fruitcake. That was the end of my experiments. Instead, I just use kirsch-flavored glaze that can be added at the last minute.

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. . . .

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.

The Greek-style yogurt provides a creamy consistency for this paleta, so you’ll have a rich mouthfeel without any of the guilt. This combination is really quite classic, but feel free to replace the blackberries with any other berry. If you want a marbled paleta, put the blackberries in a blender and sprinkle with confectioners’ sugar to taste (just a little sweet) and whirl. Pour the mixture into the molds after adding the yogurt mixture, swirling with a skewer while you pour (see page 42).

The delicately tangy flavor makes a lovely frosting for carrot and banana cakes.

I’m a big vanilla ice cream fan, so I had to create a great-tasting, low-fat alternative to enjoy guilt-free. Use a fresh vanilla bean and thick, Greek-style yogurt for best results.